#practice more!!! become better!!! so we can stay in the court for as long as we can and for as long as we want!!!

[greynoceur]

All the times I've put the ball up for you... have you ever run into a block? Ever?

[foressfaction]

Warning: mentions of s*icide and other topics that could be triggering

“My trust in you is like a dog with a broken leg”

Time to yap

Can we just talk about how I think if Toby ever got caught and arrested by the police that he would straight up just let them. His life is so shit and aside from maybe in AUs where he lives with his work partners (Tim and Brian) or with Jack, that he is practically homeless and has been barely scrapping by. Lets just say even in one of those AUs he’d surrender due to pure panic cause being held at gun point would probably freak bro the fuck out and he’d have no possible choice. Now of course he’d put up a good chase but maybe in a situation the authorities just run into him. He’d just let it happen.

I’d feel the police would know who he is even after the years. I don’t think he’d look much different other than the changes that are inevitable. I feel they’d be gentle. Though yes. He killed people, has weapons. But by then they learned the story, I just think they’d be gentle. He would have a look of pure fear for once other than what goes on in his head. All he knows is fear, anger, guilt. I think that would be very prominent in his arrest.

He doesn’t know his rights, he doesn’t know how to comply, just lets his body be escorted and almost dragged away into what ever vehicle they would transport him.

In court his mom who still lived would face him for the first time in years after thinking both of her kids were dead. What she saw of her brutally murdered ex husbands body still haunted her. And probably wouldn’t leave her mind upon first glance at her son. She sees him as a killer, but certainly not a monster. Tears would stream but her face would stay blank. Her black mascara running down her pale skin.

Her hair has grown longer and put up in a neat bun, some loose strands from the family’s genetic frizzy hair.

She’d lay eyes on her son that had gone missing all those years ago after such a traumatic event. She knew him better than anyone.

But Toby… he wouldn’t even know who she is. He would have this gut wrenching feeling something was off, everytime he would look at her, like he was supose to know something, feel something. But nothing.

I feel like the court would consist of questions, ones that would only be answered by the sweet sound of silence and head tilt downwards. Obviously he didn’t remember his past. But they would ask so much about it. About Lyra, about the fire, his home life. They probably would mention that his mom is in the room, and ask what she thinks.

She wouldn’t respond sometimes, still in complete numbness and shock that her son was not only alive, but had been homeless and taking more lives of the innocent. At first it was a case of escaping abuse, but there was something far more sinister going on as well.

He looks so much older than what she remembers. So worn out looking and exhausted. His eyes were so dark. She’d recall. So lifeless. Deep down she loved him dearly and wanted nothing bad to happen to him. But that was not up to her. He was a murderer.

I feel there would be a moment where they’d touch hands. He would be shaken up, just like when he was little. But he was so different at the same time. To him this was just some ordinary woman. She also looked so different. He wouldn’t even be able to form words, as that feeling of belonging forced itself to so badly be seen.

Connie would watch her son die. Not by body, but by soul. As he would be sentenced to life in a phych ward. Where there he would be treated like a dog at a pound, a prisoner of multiple first degree murder charges. Including the one of his father.

And in that cell block, behind those bars. He would slowly but surely lose his mind and become inhuman, unresponsive. A living life sized dog that would snap at any hand.

There however, he considered himself free. Even if the torture of the facility progressed, the Operator couldn’t reach him here. A feeling he longed for. But was it really worth it.

Toby dies in this place at the age of 31 due to starving himself as a form of s*uicide. His grief practically killed him and the staff let it happen.

It was all rumored to have been on purpose but it’s still a mystery on what happened to him those years ago. The answer would be unbelievable to most. Which is why he ended up here in the first place. He is so unbelievably ill.

[the-one-0]

I want to introduce you all to my Arcana OC – Indigo. An elegant, thin and fragile elf. We love this, huh?

It took me about two months to design the character from scratch, create an accurate design for them and draw it all. And I'm happy with what I got in the end (but I still hate drawing hair).

Some facts about Indigo:

– For their race, they possessed some magical potential, but not too powerful, which is why they spent a lot of time and effort studying and practicing magic.

– Indigo is stronger in theory than in practice, but they are working on it.

– They have some complexes about appearance, namely, they are not satisfied with the structure of the eyelids (asian lol).

– Loves makeup, but they don't know how to apply it, which makes them even more upset about the structure of their own eyelids.

– They do not have the best eyesight (Indigo is quite short-sighted), but acute hearing never fails.

– The only weapon they have is a combat fan. They don't know how to handle other weapons besides this one.

– Ectomorph.

– They love fans of different designs and types, but they don't often part with their own, which is especially valuable to them. No one is allowed to touch this object.

– Their childhood years were spent in a small mountain village in the East. Indigo moved to Vesuvia with ambitions and desires to improve their live. They did not have the heart to stay in remote places for a long time. Moving was not easy for them, just like the process of obtaining high-level skills and status. And today, Indigo value their place and work very much.

– Not very long ago, they got to the position of court magician.

– Indigo dreams of having a pet, but they are not sure that they can provide it with a better life, so they postpone this moment over and over again.

– No matter how much they like Vesuvia, they are periodically overcome by longing for their native place, where they have not returned for many years and are not even completely sure if that village still exists.

– They are wary of strangers and try to keep communication with strangers to a minimum, but on their own initiative, Indigo never reject those who want to communicate with them. But they never start a dialogue first.

– They are prone to perfectionism and are often very critical of themselves and everything they say or do.

– Indigo cries when, while reading a book, they comes across a sad moment where someone feels bad/hurt. Often their impressionability makes them cry at the sight of dead birds and animals. This can spread to plants.

– Very harmless. They defend themselves only if the attitude towards them becomes frankly disgusting. Most often, they ignore small "red flags", even if they notice them, because Indigo always believe that everyone is wrong.

– Indigo is very passionate about history, art, philosophy and literature. They admire those who can draw, sing or write poetry, as they consider these to be the highest talents.

– They also admire those who are stronger than them in anything.

– Their anger manifests itself in the fact that they isolate themselves from everyone or specifically from the one who annoys them, so as not to say unpleasant things. It is difficult to determine that Indigo are annoyed by something. They won't show it.

– Indigo loves sweets so much. Any kind. Just give them more and they will be at your feet.

– They don't like tea. And coffee too.

– They get drunk quickly. Therefore, Indigo prefer not to get involved with alcohol.

[mollymauktealeef]

Self Rec Tag Game

tagged by the wonderful @hello-eeveev!!

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.

1.something you absolutely adore

a winter's crest detour [mature, caleb/essek]

the idea for this fic actually went through two different fandoms before coming to light in critical role. i'd signed up for a christmas hallmark movie prompt thing and sadly didn't get my pick, so i left cause i got unreasonably attached to this one idea and so it came with me as i moved into another fandom where about 10k got written before the muse abandoned me until shadowgast ate my life and here we are. its probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written, purely created for moi and i love it, bonus other people seemed to like it too! woo!

2. something that was challenging to create

the edge of the blade [teen, caleb/essek]

a full YEAR in the making, this is my biggest, longest, most EVERYTHING fic. i love it, i had so much fun writing it but boy was it hard work. the time, the energy that went into this. i really challenged myself to dig deep for essek's emotions and insecurities and i'm really proud of how it turned out. i definitely improved as a writer because of the challenges this fic liked to throw at me

3. something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably)

long may they reign chapter 3 [gen, caleb/essek]

not gonna lie this is one of my comfort fics that i re-read of my things that always makes me feel better. i love the dynamic of being so comfortable and in love that the simplest acts of affection become automatic and the realisation of those acts can lead to a deeper sense and understanding of that love. i'm a sucker for the old married couple troupe.

4. something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.)

keep me warm [explicit, caleb/essek]

listen i am not a smut writer, it is not one of my strengths, it's very difficult for me and even the smallest scene requires days/weeks/months of writing cause i just struggle with it so damn much, (maybe she's (gnc) born with it, maybe its maybelline the aroace of it all). the idea for this fic just grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go so i put word to document and it actually came out alright, i was pleasantly surprised that i actually managed to put what was in my head into the fic in a very good way so very proud of myself for it

5. something you want other people to see

act i. the interloper [gen, caleb/essek]

ok ok ok i know i haven't finished parts 2 and 3 yet, YET! but i love how this series is shaping up even though it has grown beyond the teeny tiny wee fun little three part fluff ball it was meant to be into something so big and with feelings, think fluff ball the size of one of those stupidly big plastic tourist attractions they've got out in america. i love looking into old courting practices and seeing what would fit and connect with the culture of the drow and just being able to explore different aspects of their relationship and the important moments to them as well. part three especially has me a little teary cause its gonna be so gosh darn sweet so yeah, stay tuned i am writing it, its just bigger than originally designed lol

tag you're it: @aithilin, @mollymawkwrites, @ruvigapo, @mardyart, @glossolali mwah! show off your goods and wares darlings!!

[headingalaxys-spicy]

how would a yandere america, japan, and germany put up or deal with a defiant and unruly darling? especially one who is kidnapped and very non-compliant? love your work as always ❤️

Thank you Anon 😊

Anyways It’s FRI-YAY ! Enjoy!

🇺🇸 America 🇺🇸

He’ll start with mid-manipulation tricks at first. He prefers to not have to capture you and just lead you to his home and you ‘accidently’ just stayed at his house and never left. There will be gas-lighting, guilt-tripping, flattery, and especially love bombing. These tactics are all part of his arsenal of psychological tricks he’ll use to rope you in. When he does get to the end of this rope in patience in trying to wrangle you in.

Give him 6-months, that's all the patience he has.

“But babe! You promised we’d go get drinks on Thursday! You always bail on me like this.”

Even though you never told him that you could go. You couldn’t the case you were working on needed added time and special attention. Your client was depending on you to not lose the account and other assets in case.

“Look Alfred, I know you have all the time in the world to fuck around but some of us need to work harder than the devil to win cases.” You brush past him in a huff. You were irritated that he’s asked you five times in the same day.

‘Doesn’t that lazy idiot have something better to do than bother me? Fuck’s sake!’ You hurry to your office where you have a long conference call with the client’s opposing lawyers. You were going to try and broker a deal.

The air that whooshed past you had sparks that ignited America’s fury. You didn’t see him slide his glasses into his case. They uncovered the dark blues that had a malevolent flash.

He’ll nab you right as you’re leaving work at eleven-ish at night.

While you’re living with him he’ll do everything he can to put on the facade of being a “Hero”. He’ll tend to you hand and foot while he has you chained to the bed frame by your ankle. The chain is lengthy enough only to allow you to roam around the wide room.

You’re an aggressive lawyer so you do fight him a lot. You absolutely show that you hate his guts and you won’t behave for shit. You want to make sure America catch’s deez hands.

“FUCK YOURSELF!” As you grab the lamp from the nightstand and toss it at him. The loud shatter of the glass light fixture signaled an unfortunate fate for you. The reality shattering moment you’ve solidified your demise. America will dodge it and be shocked that you’re aggressive as hell even after he’s been patient for all of these months.

“Dude you have anger issues like Romano. Stop babe it's okay!”

“IT'S NOT OKAY! YOU KIDNAPPED ME YOU ASSHOLE!” You spit near his feet. “And when I get out of here I’ll DRAG you in court!”

Those were fighting words. It had been months since he’s tried to maintain his restraint. There’s a reason why you’ve managed to give him a few scars and bruises here and there. He’d been holding back his strength the entire time. No more will this be the case once you said the word “court”. It’s cute to him really that you thought you had power. That you had control. But no more.

America is going to make you into the way he wants and he doesn’t give a fuck how.

“Alright Y/N. Since you want to act like an asshole to me and can’t love me right…” His stormy blues glare gives you a pinch in your stomach.

“Would you prefer to be drugged or have your brain be mechanically rewired. You have 10 seconds to choose or I’ll do it for you.”

🇩🇪 Germany 🇩🇪

He adores your work ethic as the secretary general of the United Nations. <Yes, we gettin a little meta in this post.> He practically showers you with praise whenever you do something that he deems is becoming a world leader. I.E. You probably called someone out for bullshitting you, refined a project that you oversee so it could be optimal politically, socially, and financially. You made sure that you picked reliable undersecretaries. You banged your gavel with dutiful force. And most of all you made the major mistake of making him your under secretary for Financial and Economics.

Germany’s mind is in a lovestruck haze and in awe at your mettle, whenever shit hits the fan. You don’t turn and run. You stay until the wee hours of the morning. Raw dedication. You were propelled by the excitement of the chaos and the pressure cooker like situations that you found yourself in. You loved to think on your toes. Except for when Ludwig ruins that to some degree.

It’s a sudden world shaker when he admits that he has feelings for you. You think it’s the most unprofessional thing ever and that’s vexing for you. Ludwig of course thinks this could be advantageous for the both of you to be a political power couple of sorts. He thinks that now that he’s managed to reign in the hoard of hearts in his head, all should be well and good.

But being the high powered badass you are, you politely turn him down.

“I’m sorry, Ludwig but being in a relationship isn’t for me. But, you’ll find someone. Anyways Schönes Wochenende! Tschüss.” As you’re walking backwards and speed walk away from him into the dark indigo colored night. You tried not to think about it. You didn’t want to think about it but ….

‘Did he have a deranged look in his eyes? No. No! The lighting is bad and it’s late. I’m probably a little delirious. But, I do need to get the report for the environmental committee done tonight.’

While you worked deep into the moonless night. As you worked you stared at the pages with a seemingly infinite amount of words you begin to doze off. All thanks to the tranquilizer dart that slips sleeping meds into your bloodstream.

Germany always has plan B-Z. So, plan B it is: Kidnap and Correct your behavior through rigorous discipline. You followed his orders somewhat. Although you were difficult for most days. When he suggested that the two of you share a bed together you attempted to suffocate him with one of his hefty pillows.

One of the only things that you did without trying to fight or argue with him was exercise. Since you were in the forests of Bavaria with only books and an airtight phone that can only call him and emergency medical services, you welcomed the scenic views of the black forest. But, you also had a plan to escape. While you were making your rounds on a path that you thought could provide you with the most cover you bolted for it while he had to tie his shoe.

“VERDAMMTE SCHEIßE!“ He springs up after you.

“Y/N DAMN IT! GET BACK HERE!” You tried not to let your blood run cold and keep it hot and pumping through your veins with adrenaline. The fury radiating off that command was like explosive fireballs.

‘I’m as good as dead if I can’t lose him here.’ You jump into a raging river that had a calming sound to it that doused your ear from Ludwigs inflammatory statements. Ludwig lunges in after dragging you under the fearsome current. You kick and flail your limbs around in a futile attempt to break his iron-like grip on you. Like a boa constrictor around a small mouse. Even with your strength you’d been honing for a few months it wasn’t up to par with his. Not even close. He stabs you with a much more potent version of SCHLAFSTERNE (Sleep Stars). His disappointed and stormy sky blue eyes fade from your vision as you slip into an eternal blackness.

When you come to you’ve had a jumbo-sized tracking device on your ankle. It was designed to administer sleep drugs, track you, and make noise whenever you tired to make your escape from the house and would not stop until you return.

🇯🇵 Japan 🇯🇵

From the crowd he loved watching you give your all on the stage. Your movements were precise and your voice was sublime. In fact to Kiku everything about you was sublime. Which is why he had to have you. He was a massive stan for you. Even though he may not have been cheering or dancing he did have hearts, stars, and fireworks in his pools of honey. While in his stomach butterflies had a Coachella-esque party.

It wasn’t the first time that you’d met him. He spent loads of money just so he could see most of your live performances and so he could have all of your merch. Kiku even went as far as to pay

394,269 Yen ($3,000 USD) for meet and greet tickets… at EVERY. SINGLE. CONCERT. He attended. Mans is dedicated to you.

When he finally summons up the courage to ask you out, you gave him a polite but firm “no.” You didn’t want to date a fan and find out they were crazy as hell. Well too bad for you Kiku had way more influence, sway, and power than you did. Way more than you ever could have imagined. One night while on tour in Japan you never make it to your Tokyo venue. And all your millions of fans were left to craft conspiracy theories on your whereabouts.

Kiku roams in humming one of your love songs you collaborated with Perfume.

“Y/N how are you today? Will I finally be able to take you on a date at that upscale restaurant called Towers.” He was itching to fulfill his fantasy of having a spellbinding evening with his perfect darling and great food. But, that was a struggle considering that the months you’d been living with him you hardly tolerated looking in his general direction.

You’ve punched him in the jaw and chipped his tooth when he let his guard down once. Another time you scratched him when he tried to hold you close. You’ve slapped him when he dared to imply that you were married to him. You were having none of his bullshit.

Currently you were strung up to the ceiling in a beautiful (kimono /yukata), (favorite color) and immobilized by the hundreds of feathery metal strings that had been attached to your appendages. You were levitating helplessly in the air all for Kiku’s viewing pleasure. Since it was highly dangerous for him to contain you in any other way.

“How the hell do you think? Awful.” You spit the statement at him with piping hot ire. You started to struggle against your web like restraints.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Let’s see if I can make you feel differently Y/N.” He pulls a controller from his pocket and enters in a code. The webs tighten around your arms and legs and headphones are placed on you. It’s playing a hypnotic melody that dulls your senses . Kiku amps up the subliminal messaging up to a 10.

Kiku Honda was going to have his darling one way or the other.

[silverskull]

Chenford + they all find out (what should have happened in 5.13)

THANK YOU ANON, for inspiring me!!! I didn't have anything to add to this ep until your ask got the brainwaves churning. I hope this is somewhat enjoyable for you! As far as I can tell, in 5x13 Lucy wasn’t wearing her ring, Nyla was drinking, and Nolan doesn’t have a record player - but this is The Rookie. If the fans can’t take the same artistic licence with the facts as the writers, then what are we even doing here? I did research Camogie teams in SW USA, and that much is accurate. Songs mentioned in this fic:

Jimmie Rodgers - Secretly

The Romantics - Talking in Your Sleep

***

Nyla had won the battle.

Both sets of parents were taking turns calming their sleeping children, exhausted but unsettled in the unfamiliar surrounds of Nolan’s guest rooms, but still the TV stayed tuned for Nyla. It wasn’t the football game, but some terrifying Celtic sport, women racing across a grass field, armed with carved sticks, almost zero body protection and a ball so small it might as well have been invisible. Lucy and Nyla had become so invested that Tim had to remove himself from the sofa before they conjured their own sticks out of thin air and used his head for practice.

He instead found himself perusing Nolan’s record collection, the soft jazz currently playing on the turntable soothing but boring, and the whiskey gently flowing through his system suggesting something more in the style of a live country recording. The selection of records was so surprisingly wide-ranging that he almost didn’t notice Angela sloping up beside him until she bumped his elbow and swiped the Jimmie Rodgers album out of his hands.

“In the mood for some ballads, huh?”

“Not particularly.” He nodded to her glass, picking out another record at random. “Not in the mood for Bailey’s wine?”

Angela scowled, flicking the album over and skimming the track list.

“I drew the short straw. Driving all the babies home if the power comes back.”

“Right.” He said nothing more, but she glared at him over her glass anyway, and he smirked into his whiskey.

At this point, he’d been around pregnant cops long enough to recognise the signs, particularly in the breakroom: consistent supplies of decaf coffee, unusual varieties of dips in the fridge, and large boxes of Tums stashed in every spare shelf and cupboard. The last clue was Angela turning down Nolan’s wine when Nyla was also not drinking, and making bad excuses to cover for it.

But it wasn’t his secret, and if she needed time, he’d give it to her.

“Work go late at the courts tonight?”

Angela started digging through the records, elbowing him out of her way as she replaced the Jimmie Rodgers and began flicking through the cardboard covers. He smothered a weary sigh.

“Not really. It’s pretty consistent.” Sip of whiskey to disguise the boredom. “Just making the most of the A/C at the station. Plus, I can leave earlier tomorrow if I cross off a few extra files today.”

Having found something that appealed to her, Angela slipped the record out of the cover, again shoving Tim out of her way as she moved to replace the jazz on the turntable.

“Well, it’s doing something for you. You’ve got a whole new pep in your step.” 

Afraid he’d say something incriminating, he turned a grimace into a smile, covering with another drink from his glass. 

“Maybe it’s all the extra sleep you’re getting,” she added. 

Awkward pause. 

“How’s Kojo dealing with the heat?” She didn’t look at him, flipping the glossy record over in her hands as she decided which side to play.

“He’s in daycare. They’ve got a generator and they’re running an overnight special until the power comes back.” At last, something innocuous to talk about.

“Poor little guy.” Angela sympathised.

“‘Poor little guy’? He’s better off than I am! Costs as much to keep him there as it does to stay at the Four Seasons.”

She snorted at him, replacing the jazz and finally dropping the needle onto the new record. Some vaguely recognisable 80s band began clamouring through the speakers with the distinctive drum reverb and slap bass of the decade, melodramatic romance lyrics accompanied by high-pitched analogue synth.

“The things we do for someone we love, huh?” She turned to him with her fists on her hips and a smirk on her lips. He swallowed.

“I…guess?” He glanced quickly out at the room, but Angela blocked him, stepping into his space and punching him softly on the arm.

“I’m not talking about the dog, dummy.”

“Well.. I…” he stuttered lamely, before shaking his head and glowering down at her. “Then what are you implying?”

“Same thing as last time, Pinky,” she answered swifty, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “You and Lucy.”

Two shivers went through him suddenly - one warm and happy, the other thrilled and jittery. He hadn’t heard anyone link her name to him like that before, and that it was one of the few people he was most eager to tell was sending little pings of excitement throughout his system.

He swallowed nervously, an uncontrolled smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows rising in unambiguous surrender to her implication.

Angela’s face changed too - her narrowed eyes widening and the knowing smirk dropping into a little gasp of surprise.

“Wait,” she whispered, grabbing his arm, “You… you’re- seriously?!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, waggling the glass in his hand precariously. “This is amazing! I knew it, I knew it! When did you- wait, what- no, tell me-”

He interrupted her with a shushing motion, jutting his jaw out at the crowded room behind her.

“We haven’t really told anyone yet, okay? Just… just give it some time.” He was grinning now, his eyes catching the sparkle of Lucy’s ring across the room as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Fine. Fine.” Angela acquiesced with a theatrical sigh. “I won’t say anything. Yet.” She took a gulp from her water glass, clinking it against Tim’s whiskey along the way. “But you and I are going out for drinks ASAP, and you’re gonna tell me everything.”

Tim rolled his eyes at her, turning back to the record collection and making room for Angela to lean in beside him, flicking contentedly through the discs together.

***

“Hurling.”

“Not hockey?”

“Not hockey. But again, this one is camogie.” “Not hurling?”

“Ugh.” Nyla dropped her head wearily onto the back of the couch. “Can’t you just watch it and appreciate the skill?”

Lucy grinned, tapping her ring against her glass of tequila, and turning her attention back to the game on the TV.

“And there’s really nowhere to see it live in LA?”

“Not that I know of. My girlfriend plays down in San Diego. I’ll link you up with her if you wanna check it out sometime.”

“Mmm. That could be nice. Weekend road trip.” Lucy’s mind wandered from the game on the screen to a sunny drive along the coast, winding roads beside the ocean, salt breeze in her hair, and her hand laced across the console with Tim’s, his smile bright and his skin warm against her own.

She had clearly daydreamed too loudly, because when she clicked back into the present, Nyla was gazing over at her, a knowing smirk pinching the dimples in her cheeks.

“Chen. I’d never have reckoned you for a sports fan.”

Lucy could feel the heat rising along her neck, and she covered it with a dip of her head and a sip from her glass.

“I’m cultured! Besides, it turns out I might have some Irish ancestry back along the way…”

“Mm-hmm,” murmured Nyla, evidently not buying it. “Don’t we all.” She sat up straighter and tipped her glass towards the other side of the room, where Tim and Angela were huddled together over Nolan’s record player. “And it’s got nothing at all to do with Bradford’s sudden change of career, or your urgent need to get him back into the thick of things, huh?”

“No!” Lucy answered quickly - far too quickly. She blinked and bit her lip, dropping her eyes cagily to the coffee table in front of them, leaving down her glass and shuffling through the magazines for something to do with her hands.

“Girl.” She could feel Nyla’s eyes boring into the back of her head, and she sighed, taking a minute to compose herself before turning to look over her shoulder. “What makes you think you could ever get away with lying to me?”

Nyla spoke with humour, but there was truth in it too. Not only was she essentially Lucy’s UC mentor, but she was one of the most perceptive detectives Lucy had ever met, and the facts that she had pointed out about them weren’t exactly the paragon of subtlety.

“...Okay.” Lucy whispered at last. Nyla leaned forward, raising her eyebrows and opening her mouth, and Lucy grabbed her wrist hurriedly to silence her. “Okay, but shhh!” 

“I’m ‘shh’, I’m sat!” Nyla argued, gesturing vigorously with her free hand. “Now spill!”

“Well-” Lucy stopped, suddenly stumped, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “We’re… together. We have been for a while. We just wanted…I guess we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit. See how things would play out.” “Right,” agreed Nyla, nodding wisely. “And given the game of Career Switcheroo we’ve been playing here tonight, I take it things are going well?”

“Oh my god!” Lucy groaned, gripping Nyla’s arm tightly. “It is amazing, Nyla! I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but…” she trailed off, running a hand through her hair as she smiled earnestly at Harper.

“You’re happy,” finished Nyla, chuckling and placing her hand on top of Lucy’s. “And clearly, so is he.” She leaned in close, knocking her forehead lightly against Lucy’s. “I’m really glad for you, you know? Both of you. You deserve this.”

Lucy didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her grin grow even wider, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ at Nyla through her smile.

“Now.” Nyla pulled back, leaving her drink down on the table and rubbing her hands together pragmatically. She glanced quickly across the room at Tim, then leaned in close to Lucy, lowering her voice to a whisper. “This Fuji retirement situation? I think I have an idea…”

***

Unexpected though it had been, it had turned into quite a pleasant evening, and Nolan happily saluted Nyla and James as they swapped out with Wesley for baby-soothing duty.

Wesley sidled up to Angela, who was still guarding the record collection and humming softly to herself. He slipped his arms around his wife’s waist, pulling her into a gentle sway along the rhythm of the music. Angela smiled up at him, pecking him quickly on the lips before tucking her head under his chin and squeezing herself tightly against him.

“Aww… they really are super cute together,” Bailey murmured at his side. “I’m glad things are finally working out for them.”

“Me too.” Nolan agreed, circling his own arm around Bailey’s waist. “Between La Fiera and Elijah - not to mention everything in between - they’ve had it pretty rough.”

Bailey frowned up at him, confused. “Wait, Elijah’s after them now too?”

“Well… yeah?” Nolan paused to think, making sure he had the details straight. “Yeah. Since Wesley cut a deal with him to save Angela - you remember that?”

They both looked over at the couple dancing at the record player, swaying slowly in time with the music, then Bailey snorted loudly.

“I’m not talking about Angela and Wesley!” she laughed, poking him in the ribs. “I’m talking about them. Cuddled up on the couch.”

She tipped her head towards the sofa, the channels on the TV scrolling quickly through a variety of sporting fixtures as Lucy jabbed the remote mercilessly at the screen and Tim tried and failed to pull it from her hands.

Nolan pulled a face. “What, Tim and Lucy? No. No they’re just…”

As he watched, Tim finally got hold of the remote, pulling both it and Lucy into his chest, where she wheezed out a soft chuckle, punching him lightly in the stomach, before curling her feet up under her and nestling comfortably into his side. Tim swapped the remote into his other hand, reaching his free arm across the back of the couch and trailing his fingers down along Lucy’s back and through her loose hair. 

“...Honey?”

Bailey tapped him gently under his chin, and Nolan realised that his jaw had fallen completely open in utter astonishment, and he clamped it shut with a snap, shaking himself out of his stupor. 

“Wait, you really didn’t see that coming?” Bailey was gazing up at him, half amused, half concerned, her eyebrows all but forming a question mark on her face.

“I… I-I…” Nolan stammered, bewildered. “I honestly thought they didn’t even like each other! Tim used to be such an asshole to her, and Lucy did nothing but complain about him all the time. How has this happened?!”

“Oh, honey.” Bailey gave him a look of resigned compassion, pouting at his obvious naivety. “Even since I first met them, he’s always put her before everyone else; and she’s had him completely wrapped around her little finger.” 

“How did I miss this?” he asked, still reeling. Bailey sighed heavily.

“Let’s just say your interpersonal skills lie in empathy and communication rather than gossip, hmm?” she suggested, turning his head away from the living room and back to face her. “And focus on a relationship you do know about?”

“Okay… Okay.” Still somewhat shaken, Nolan looked down at his girlfriend - his fiancée, he corrected himself - and decided that if anyone could take his mind off his failings as an off-duty detective, it was Bailey.

“Okay. But if anyone else in this group starts dating, give me a heads up before they start making out on my couch? Please?”

Bailey chuckled in amusement, and pulled him in for a kiss.

***

“What are you doing?” Tim grumbled, shuffling distractedly in his seat.

“Getting myself comfortable!” Lucy said, digging her fingers further behind his back and into the cushions.

“It feels like you’re trying to give me spinal surgery - again. And I would know.” Tim glowered at her, the way his arm tightened around her shoulder belying his surliness. “Can’t you just settle down and watch the game?”

“I was watching the game - you changed the channel,” she argued, her fingers finally finding the edges of the post-it notes she’d been searching for behind him.

“That was a battle, not a game. And it was over.” Tim corrected her, pointing the remote at the screen for emphasis.

“Well, it was a lot more interesting than watching overly-padded men racing towards another ad break,” she countered.

“Trust Nyla to finally lure you into sports - but only something niche and obscure.”

Having finally tucked the last of the stray post-its securely into her back pocket, Lucy curled her arm around Tim’s back, tickling her fingers against the base of his neck, his hair prickling pleasantly against her fingertips.

She settled against him comfortably, the TV droning on in the background in a buzz of light and colour. The air was cool and his body was warm, and gentle strains of light Latin rumba drifting across from the record player lulled her into a cosy state of drowsiness.

“Hey.” Tim shook her gently, his lips brushing against her forehead. “You wanna get out of here? Go home?”

Lucy blinked sleepily, murmuring into his shoulder, “Power’s not back yet, I’ve set a notification. We’ll have no light.”

Tim grinned, raising his eyebrows playfully. “I happen to know someone who has about three hundred candles. We’ll have plenty of light.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucy was more alert now, sitting up straighter and running her fingers along his chest. “And what about the heat? How are we gonna stay cool?” Tim shrugged. “I was thinking of picking up a bag of ice-cubes along the way. I have a few ideas.” His mischievous grin set off a flurry of butterflies in her tummy, and before she could think twice about it, Lucy had stood, pulling him up off the couch with her and grabbing her duffel bag from beside the record player.

Angela and Wesley stopped dancing to watch them, Wesley politely bemused and Angela with a sly smirk spreading across her face.

“Where’s the fire, Chen?”

“No fire,” Lucy answered airily, “We’re just gonna call it a night.” She grabbed Angela’s hand, pulling her into a sideways hug and whispering into her ear, “Thank you for the assist.”

Angela nodded, silently sliding the crumpled post-its from Lucy’s hand into her own pocket. “No problem.” She grinned at Tim over Lucy’s shoulder. “You two have a good night.”

Tim scowled back at her, marching towards the door and yanking it open briskly as Lucy bade a hurried farewell to Nolan and Bailey.

She threw her bag into the backseat and started the engine quickly, and within three minutes they were on the open road and racing towards Elmhurst Drive and her apartment. The night was still hot, but Lucy knew the heat tingling along her skin had almost nothing to do with the temperature of the sweltering air, and everything to do with the man in the truck ahead of her.

And even as part of her schemed and plotted to clear a path for him from courts to metro, the rest of her shivered in anticipation of yet another night together with him.

Because regardless of where he ended up in the LAPD, she was fast coming to realise that the one place she knew she always wanted him to be was right. 

by. 

her. 

side.

[loominggaia]

randomhedgehog asked: I think we can all unanimously agree that Moswen, Tarajeen or Oggsa are the top three worst moms. All three of them get some credit for being the products of their environments and childhoods, but theyre still top of the list for me. I'm just not sure which of them is the worst. Sofia being a slave owner doesn't really have anything to do with her parenting imo. Like, yeah, it's awful but this isn't a Evilest Character Poll, it's for Worst Mom, which she imo isn't. Yeah, she could've and should've divorced Foster, but what would she have done then? Evangeline doesn't seem like a single mother friendly place. Renee is pretty bad, but was a product of her upbringing/location. She also loved her daughter. Karenza was literally a grieving mother desperate to bring back her unborn baby when she made Isaac. And to her credit- she didn't just leave him outside on the street for anyone to take him! She made sure that only a special group of people could get him! Now, who we should really talk about is Elskas mom! Aka, the centauress who abandoned her newborn! randomhedgehog Hold it! I just sent an ask In about my opinion on this poll, but I forgot to take into consideration that Tarajeen literally wouldn't have been able to get help with her condition even if she tried! Damijana would've locked her up anyway!

--

These are all excellent points!

>"Sofia being a slave owner doesn't really have anything to do with her parenting imo. Like, yeah, it's awful but this isn't a Evilest Character Poll, it's for Worst Mom, which she imo isn't."

I would argue that she's setting a bad example for her children by owning slaves, essentially teaching them, "it's okay to dehumanize other people, as long as they're this people or that people". Not all Evangelites own slaves. In fact, some are disgusted by the concept and refuse to engage with that cultural practice at all. If Sofia had better critical thinking skills, she could be one of them. But I think she is too narrow-minded and intellectually lazy to get more perspective on this. She's open minded about some things (like lycanthropy), and set in her ways on others (like slavery).

>"Yeah, she could've and should've divorced Foster, but what would she have done then? Evangeline doesn't seem like a single mother friendly place."

Very true! Evangelite women are encouraged to stay at home and take care of their kids while their husbands work. There are few business that will hire women, and when they do get hired, they only earn a fraction of a man's wage. It's almost impossible for single women to support themselves in this kingdom, but some manage by living with groups of other women and sharing expenses. It's difficult, but not impossible. In "Lost and Found", Sofia also expresses fear that the courts would grant custody of her kids to Foster. In Evangeline Kingdom, this is a totally reasonable fear to have because it's most likely what would happen. Divorce would have been a huge risk in her case, and may have just made the situation worse.

"Now, who we should really talk about is Elskas mom! Aka, the centauress who abandoned her newborn!"

Now that's an interesting point! Her actions seem pretty rotten on the surface, and I can confidently say it wasn't the smartest decision Jorun could have made...Though in her mind, she chased those wolves into the fog for the "greater good".

Apparently the local ecosystem was becoming destabilized (which we would later find out was due to Evangeline Kingdom's interference) and this was causing wolves to encroach into Loreham, emerging from the fog and snatching centaurs away--especially children. Jorun was afraid that Elska would get snatched one day if she didn't take action, so she began to hunt them.

But like Elska, Jorun's rage often got the best of her, which is exactly what happened when she saw one of her hunting buddies get dragged into the fog. Jorun leapt into action to save her fellow tribesman, but met an unknown fate in the mist.

I think Jorun's biggest flaws were her arrogance and lack of self-awareness. Not the sharpest knife in the block, that one...and unfortunately, her daughter suffered the consequences of her foolishness the most.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[rcgcnt]

{Mads Mikkelsen, 58, he/him} We are so glad to see you safe, REGENT RULER EIRIK SIGURDSSON of NORWAY! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are PERCEPTIVE and RESOURCEFUL enough to handle it. Just don’t let your REMORSE bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU WERE BLINDLY INFATUATED WITH THE KING, AND KILLED A MAN FOR HIM TO PRESERVE HIS REIGN. {rawr, 28, GMT+1, she/her, no triggers}

NAME: Eirik Sigurdsson AGE: 58 GENDER / PRONOUNS: Male, he/him ORIENTATION: Bisexual, polyamorous

INSPIRATIONS: Albus Dumbl*dore (fuck jkr but it's true), Duke Leto Atreides (Dune), Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars), Jadzia Dax, Chakotay (Star Trek)

• • •

FAMILY: Ulrich, Edvard, Ingrid. Some older siblings who still live but doesn't have contact with. MARITAL STATUS: Married to Lady Silje Cheung-Sigurdsson LANGUAGES: Norwegian (native, fluent), Swedish (fluent), Danish (fluent), English (fluent), Finnish (spoken), Icelandic (spoken), German (notions)

BACKSTORY

cw emotional manipulation, toxic relationships

The parts in brackets are an extract from Eirik's original backstory on how he met the King when he was still an NPC — but different origins on their friendship and relationship can be discussed.

Eirik has never opposed the monarchy, but he has always been a man of the people, critical and outspoken. These qualities were the reason he and the King became friends in the first place.

[The baron in charge of Eirik's hometown was sentenced for disloyalty, and stripped off his land and title. The village of Storbukt was returned to the Crown, in theory, but left abandoned in practice. Eirik's father, a fisherman and successful trader, had taken it upon himself to run the town in the absence of a ruler, when one day the King and his heir happened to visit.

From the crowd that gathered to receive the monarch emerged the youngest son of the fisherman, with words harsher than a man in his early twenties has any right to say to the highest authority of his nation.

Retribution came, but so did, in time, the changes he claimed for. Then, the letters followed. The Prince had taken an interest in him, and they kept in close contact for years.

When the prince took his father's place, an offer reached Eirik. He would make his father a baron, able to provide for the rest of his family and his community, if Eirik joined him in court.]

He met his would-be spouse shortly after becoming valet to the King. It was love at first sight, and they formed a loving family. Eirik remembers fondly those years, as well as the man he used to be.

In retrospective, he can't say when exactly the king began to poison him — or how. The years blend in his memory, but as time passed, he started to spend more time with the king, and less with his family. He went from valet to advisor, to confidant, to best friend, to accomplice. Around the king, he was a different person, and not for the better. He stopped challenging his ideas, and would not find it in himself to refuse to anything that was asked of him. Looking back now, he realizes he had always known his feelings were never requited, and he was played for a fool — but was their friendship ever genuine? Or had he been used from the start?

He is terrified to admit how relieved he was when he disappeared, but his shadow looms over him still. With a responsibility that he never asked for, Eirik now strives to mend everything he spent years ruining: his family, his marriage... and the whole kingdom of Norway.

[after the reckoning]

With eight long years of regency seeming to finally come to an end, Eirik started to have doubts about the succession. He had been witness and guardian of the King's secrets, and decided to keep them to preserve Norway's stability through the blind belief that their missing ruler was the person they thought him to be.

His hesitation to disclose them to his heir, along with his own eldest son's interest in the throne had him reconsidering his options — at least, until the news of the King's whereabouts shook the entire country once again.

[haikyuu-and-more-haikyuu]

Volleyball progress update- last year.

Okay, so I planned to post this "update" in the start of the summer; but I got busy and never got the time to write it properly. Since the season is starting once again, I really wanted to get this out there before that. So here we go :D

Long post ahead!

So in the autumn, it was a completely new team...mostly. There was only a couple of us who stayed while most of the others quit. It was kind of sad, since a lot of them had been in the club for a few years; but what can you do? The new team was nice and some of them more experienced that others. Which is pretty common regarding hobby-sports clubs at universities.

I did struggle to get to know them all. I'm really shy and not that good at taking the first step. A few of them already knew each other from before- and for me that just made it harder. It's like the feeling of always saying the wrong thing even when just talking about mundane stuff. I still cheered on them and they cheered on me, but in the start it wasn't anything beyond that. The few of whom I knew from before; barely showed up and of those I had become better friend with- switched groups. Still I enjoyed myself very much. Of course, I wished I could be the one to just be able to talk with all of them with ease. I'm not like that; I need time to figure out the dynamic. What I did enjoy and what I consider myself better at (at least); is the dynamic and the team building on the court.

We clap and cheer for each other when we block, does a great dive and a powerful smash. It's funny and great to see the whole team growing in abilities that makes the whole team stronger. We are a 100% women team and our coach sometimes jokes that he wished the guys could be a little more like the women. Since guys just often teases each other and they never get applauses.

I have always liked the setter position. I have always like a challenge and when everybody else wanted to smash- I have always wanted to set. I'm also in the mindset that if I'm not giving my 100%, then whats the point of doing so. And since setter is one of the harder positions in volley- this is just be progressing in my way. I used to swim until I was 17-18, and i was a fly-swimmer (butterfly was the style I was best in) and I chose to practice and exercise in that style only because it is the hardest style to compete in. It clearly gives me a few ego points lol. As long as I'm improving and are able to set the ball for my team mates, I don't think my motivation for playing that position matter. I'm enjoying myself and so are my teammates.

Further into the year, I signed up for a tournament for different business- like teachers from different schools, different offices and for workers like that. It was a low bar and the teams were mixed. Some of them were really god, like first division...others not so much. I singed up partly because it meant more volley for me, but also because I thought it would be a great opportunity to get to know more players. It was very fun. Most of the teams were nice too and we helped each other out. I have talked about few of the matches in past updates. It was a great experience too and even my family came to watch one time and they enjoyed it. We lost that match haha! I was the team "captain" or "leader". It wasn't serious, I just had the responsibility for my teammates, the coin toss and a few others things. Like on the court I can talk and cheer and be expressive- but off; I just never know what to do with myself.

It was also very tiring in a few ways. I had a full day at university. From 8 to 16.The matches would start around 17 or 19 and warm-ups before that. The teams from my club, was also the referees, so even when my team started late; I still needed to show up or stay late. I was home around 10 or something each match day and well, it was tiring in that sense. Still worth it, but it was so weird when the tournament was over and I suddenly had the whole afternoon for myself. I will do it again tho.

The thing of being shy, is that while I want to speak to everybody in the room and I want them to see that I want to talk to them- people react by the action and impression you give them. Being closed off, also means that other view me like that and that makes it harder for them to reach out too. Its a double edge sword in a way.

After the new year, the tournament continued. A girl on my team had a big birthday party with another friend and invited us all. She had even rented a place for the whole party. I was nervous about going, since I had declined parties and outings with the team before- due to my social anxiety. It was now biting me in the butt tho haha. The vorspiel when great. We drank, played a few games and an hour or so before we needed to leave I shared with the captain and one from my team that I felt like it was hard to get to know them and get a word in. That it wasn't their fault and I didn't want to think that it was them that was the problem. But that I wished that we could get to know each other better;I was just struggling to start. They were very understanding and worried about if I felt excluded. Which I wasn't. But the leader said that she would keep that in mind and was very glad that I shared it, because she of course had noticed the distance between me and the others. The other friend that played on the tournament team with me shared the same thing, but also said that I was a great source of team spirit and that i spread positivity. A friend of her that had watched more than a few games had even pointed out to her that It looked like i always tried to cheer people up when they "messed up" or we missed a point. That I was never angry (because I'm never angry when I play). And that was nice to hear. Hear that even though I felt like i could be more to the team, that my words and my intention to be a part of a strong team; wasn't in vain.

After that it got easier. The captain started to sent me direct messages when planning smaller parties or movie nights with the team. It was easer at practice too, since I was included more in the conversations about what not. That also just did it possible for me to join in on myself since i knew where I had them.

We didn't have a lot of matches, just practice matches with the other teams in the club. I quite like playing against the mens team or mixed ones. Their faster, stronger and jump higher and its a steep learning curve for us girls.

In volleyball there a big difference between men and women. Men are stronger, taller and faster. They rely more on their bodies than technique. You see that in play. They can hit a strong smash and score a point. That isn't to say that they are bad at techniques or anything like that- but they do rely in their strength more. With women, you'll often see that their better with techniques and system (playing with set positions), because they need to use those "tools" to be able to score more points. One of the coaches pointed that out during a mixed training and even one of the guys on the A and B teams pointed that out that they also need to think more when they played again women. So both men and women learn when playing against each other.

There was one practice in particular that could have gone pretty bad. There had been a volleyball match between some of the better teams. After that there was mixed training for those who wanted to participate. I did with a few from my team and a few from the team I played with in the tournaments. One of the guys had forgotten his shoes, but it didn't stop him from playing. He was just a little bit unsteady on his feet. The guys on my team started to joke around and tried a few positions and fast tempo sets that excused us girls. we got impatient because 1) they messed it up each time and we lost points, 2) we also wanted to play.

One rally, the ball when up on our side. I was in the setter positioning and of course ran for the ball. It was in front of him, so he could hit it from the back line. He jumped and collided into me. It hurt, very much. I got his feets in my upper ribs and then his whole body on top of mine. Everybody stopped and asked if we were okay. It was very stressful and painful. I almost started to cry, but brushed dit off and stood up. My ribs hurt and so did a few other places on my body. I brushed away a few tears that had escaped and laughed and just said I wash okay. A few of the girls on my team looked like they wanted to slapp the guys for messing it up so much. It was very stressful for me because everyone was staring and asking if I was okay. I hate attention like that on me. He of course apologised against and again. It wasn't funny for him either and he hurt himself too. It was his fault, since the second ball is the setters no matter what. He just got too excited and well, mistakes happened. I'm not the one that hold anger for long. I was okay and could play...although a little more limited than before.

After the practice, a lot of the other players came over to check on me. It was heartwarming that we have such community in the club. The guy that jumped on me also came and apologised again and again. We're friends and he is a funny guy. I love setting to him because he really gets happy when he smashes it. I said that he needed to relax and that things like this happened. He fired back that things like this shouldn't happen. But what was done was done and we both were okay.

When I came home I had bruises on my upper back, on my elbows and some on my knees too. I got another apology message from him and I asked if he was fine too. Since I heard that he hurt is foot in the collision. I also worried about it and apologized for not seeing him jump so I could backtrack.

When we met up from joint practice on Sunday (as it always is) he apologised AGAIN. I then said he needed to stop and that it was in the past. I said that I didn't want him to go around and be scared that I was upset with him. I wasn't. i Wolden have been if he had really hurt me. He said that it was a good thing that he had forgotten his shoes. If had had them, then he would have ben able to jump higher and with more force. Then he would have broken my ribs and kicked me in the face. So that Wednesday he collided into me - I had a few angles watching over me to make sure I didn't get too hurt (a Norwegian saying).

After that, whenever we played on the same team, he made sure to not stand opposite of me, so we wouldn't be in that position. I said he needed to stop being scared, but happy that he took care of it. It's not like I want to get hurt. Now we play fine together and its the same where we stand in relation to each other. I just enjoy playing.

There was another intern tournament with mixed teams. it was fun and the after party was also very fun. We partied with people we never met and I had come out of my shell some.

When my birthday in may came and it was coincidentally on the same day we have practice, I brought brownies with me to end the Friday and ring the weekend in. Of course my team and the others teams that played where happy for it. I got a birthday song and we ate cake and talked until the gym closed at ten. I got a lot of great wishes and hugs from the others. The suckiest thing about being shy and anxious in social setting, is that it keeps me away from kind people like this.

The year was nearing its end. A backside of having practice in the gym that belongs to the university is that some of the sections is used for exams room when the time comes. We needed to take our volleyball to the other gym, where they play handball. The floor is sticky and its hurt to dive. But practice is important. During the exam period, we have mixed raing. It's still very fun, even though less and less people come because they have started their vacation.

I also finally started to get over hand serves right and while their kind of weak- they still manage to score a few points when I get them over. They're short, so they usually fall in between the net and the three meter mark so they can be hard to pick up when it's not expected. I hope to get better at it and more powerful too.

Looking back ot were I was a year ago, I have evolved. Although there's a lot of different things that needs improvement; i have gotten better at both smashing and setting. I'm not so good of a blocker, but I can be used in the back. I have also gotten a lot of balls in my face, some have caused nose bleeds. I got s smash from the A-team in the tournament in my face and the hitters mothers instinct kicked in and she felt very sorry for hurting me. But I always go for the ball since that means more play on all of us. Its a fun group and I'm looking forward to see who will join us this year too. I brough new knee pads, those very sort volleyball shorts and last year I laos bought new volleyball shoes. I'm all fit for fight😗

I hope to increase my vertical jump, so I can be better in blocking and all around technique. I'm gonna focus on running and light weight training the next year, just so I can improve all around health. I hope the next season will be as great as or better than this one.

It's also pretty weird, since the season is about to start; I have dreamt a lot about playing volley and my teammates. I'm so ready to start up again!!!

[oolathurman]

Howlite: 👃🦴🚲

Athenyia: 👀😍👙

Eko: 💞🔥💐

Piping Hot OC asks which I'll be continuing to answer all night!

(^ howlite, athenyia, and eko, from left to right. eko is mixed sith pureblood/twi'lek. note to self, get another screenshot with athenyia's updated hair.)

Howlite

👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

I imagine he smells like warm spices, mushrooms, and this very specific smell I associate with oil in a hot wok. (I'm not sure if it's the smell of the breath of the wok, or the hot oil, or both...)

He has a homey smell, if you've lived in a chinese kitchen half your life. It's the smell of a family waiting for you to join them at the table. It's comforting, inviting.

🚲 : Does your OC enjoy playing the field? Or are they more monogamy-minded?

While he certainly doesn't mind polygamy, he simply chooses to be devoted to whoever his partner(s) are at the time. When he dates, he will want to date a person(s) with the intent that he's looking for long term relationships and long term relationships only. If his partner(s) want to open up a relationship, he doesn't mind, though it's likely he will not pursue anyone else at that time.

🦴 : Does your OC have much sexual experience? What are they like?

Sorta as a result of the above, while he has experience he doesn't... have a diverse portfolio, shall we say. lol. But what he does know, he's good at. And while he may start of pretty vanilla, he's more than happy to try other things -- just take it slowly.

Athenyia

👀 : Does your OC believe they are attractive? Do they use that to their advantage?

HAH no. If you told her she was pretty she'd look at you like you asked what the spanish word for quesadilla was: Like you're a fucking idiot. She's got scars for days and cybernetics covering half her face, what the hell is attractive about that???

That said, she still does like colorful makeup, but mostly cuz she just likes the colors rather than anything else.

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

Cheekbones and well defined muscles. She likes watching how muscles flex and move under the skin, she likes studying them. How the light bounces off the skin, how tendons stretch and muscles relax… (Kind of like how she'll watch prey animals and find them fun to watch when she's on a hunting trip...)

👙 : What kind of underwear do they use? Is it pretty or functional?

It is unbearably practical. Part of it is that it's hard to find pretty underwear for fat bodies and part of it is that she doesn't know how to care for pretty lacy things. While she can be careful, she's not a gentle person, and would hate to rip something beautiful.

That said, I think that if she'd ever admit it, she'd like a nice set of basic lacy lingerie... but only if she didn't have to be the one to worry about making sure it stays lingerie and not turn into a pile of shredded fabric.

Eko

💞 : Do they treat sex casually or do they view it as something with a lot of emotional weight?

Oh he's so fucking casual about it. That said, it's hard to get in his pants (or skirt or dress) in the first place so good luck :']

🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

Being better than him at something he likes. Like dancing. It's how Junba wooed him in the first place lol. That said, he can be pretty competitive so Eko would learn how to become a better dancer out of spite... There's a lot of 'anything you can do, I can do better' in Junba and Eko's relationship and the amount of competition between them has honestly just become part of their courtship rituals lmao.

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

I mean frankly, Eko just has to show interest in someone to woo them. Assuming that person is into short pretty boy twinks that is. He can be as picky as he wants when dating someone, pretty much.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for October 21

Morning

“Help Thou me.”

Psalms 119:81-104

We have upon former occasions read portions of the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm. It is so precious that we will continue to study it, and now read from verse eighty-one to verse one hundred and four.

Psalms 119:82

We have the word in the Bible, but we want it to be applied by the Holy Spirit to our hearts, and we eagerly long to have it so. O Lord, grant our desire.

Psalms 119:83

Like an old wine-skin blackened and shrivelled by smoke, he was worn with pain and anxiety, yet. he did not leave the way of holiness, nor should we think of doing so, come what may.

Psalms 119:84-86

A prayer as sweet as it is short; let us use it: “Help thou me.”

Psalms 119:87 , Psalms 119:88

We are always in need of the Spirit’s quickening influences. Our hearts cannot keep fast hold upon the truth if they become paralysed by worldliness.

Psalms 119:89

Other things are fleeting and changeable, thy promise is fixed and sure; and this is our soul’s stay in time of trouble. What should we do if the promise could fail?

Psalms 119:90 , Psalms 119:91

Nature fulfils thy purposes, thou givest fixity to its laws, and even so shall the plans and promises of grace abide for ever.

Psalms 119:92-95

This was far better than considering his danger and devising plans for escape. Faith continues her meditations undisturbed by the rage of her adversaries.

Psalms 119:96

Perfect happiness in this world, or perfection in the flesh, are dreams, but the law is perfect, and so also is the glorious plan of salvation, therefore do we turn away from all else to rest in the Lord.

Psalms 119:98-100

He became wiser than “his enemies” in subtlety, than “his teachers” in doctrine, than “the ancients” in experience. What a fruitful harvest did David reap in the field of Scripture. The same wisdom may be found by each of us if we learn from the same testimonies.

Psalms 119:102

No other teaching is so practically effectual. He teacheth us to profit.

Psalms 119:103 , Psalms 119:104

May such a holy abhorrence of sin be found in each of us evermore.

The men that keep thy law with care,

And meditate thy word,

Grow wiser than their teachers are,

And better know the Lord.

Thy precepts make me truly wise;

I hate the sinners’ road;

I hate my own vain thoughts that rise;

But love thy law, O God.

Evening

“I am Thy servant, give me understanding.”

Psalms 119:105-128

Psalms 119:105

It is a practical guide, not a book for my study only, but for my daily walk.

Psalms 119:107

Our greatest need in times of trouble is more spiritual life. Afflictions will be a gain to us if they are sanctified to our more thorough arousing and enlivening. We have a promise that it shall be so, for the psalmist says, “according unto thy word.”

Psalms 119:109

Fear often drives away holy thought, and urges men to sin; faith enables the believer to remain in quiet communion with God, even when life itself is in danger.

Psalms 119:110-115

Bad companions must be chased away, for they are great enemies to holy living. We must be plain with the ungodly, and tell them that their company will never please us till they learn to please God.

Psalms 119:116-119

God’s justice in treading down and destroying the wicked is not distasteful to a holy mind; on the contrary, we love him for being angry with evil, and relieving the world of those who are given over to it. A God without justice would be no God to just men.

Psalms 119:120

Seeing others punished, we feel a holy awe in our own souls, and fear lest we also should be deceived by sin.

Psalms 119:124

We dare not court justice, yet we do not ask for a mercy which would allow us to sin; we crave the grace which teaches us to follow after holiness.

Psalms 119:125

A good master will teach his young servant his business and bear with his ignorance; he cannot, however, give him understanding; but this our heavenly Master can perform.

Psalms 119:126

When bad living and bad doctrine cast a slur upon religion, we may importunately beg the Lord to interfere to protect the interests of his own word. Are we not living in precisely such times?

Psalms 119:127 , Psalms 119:128

David was a decided man, he took strong ground and did not compromise, he loved right and hated wrong. That is the only safe position: there let us be found.

Great is their peace who love thy law,

How firm their souls abide!

Nor can a bold temptation draw

Their steady feet aside.

Thou hast inclined this heart of mine,

Thy statutes to fulfil;

And thus, till mortal life shall end,

Would I perform thy will.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[qnewsau]

Civil unions begin for same-sex couples in Latvia

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/civil-unions-begin-for-same-sex-couples-in-latvia/

Civil unions begin for same-sex couples in Latvia

With civil unions becoming available for gay and lesbian couples in Latvia on July 1, only five EU member states still do not formally recognise same-sex relationships under the law.

Latvia’s civil unions law was passed by the parliament in November last year but it only came into effect on Monday.

Maksims Ringo and Janis Locs became the first Latvian couple to register their relationship as a civil union, staying up past midnight on June 30 in the capital Riga until the law came into effect.

They exchanged silver rings which they plan to exchange for gold rings if Latvia ever overturns its 2006 constitutional ban on same-sex marriage.

“We are together for five and a half years … so for us, it’s mostly practical,” Ringo told the Reuters news agency on Monday.

Better rights but still not equal

Latvian couples who register their relationships as civil unions will have guaranteed hospital visitation rights and improved tax and social security arrangements.

However they will still not be able to adopt children as a couple or adopt their partner’s children and are still not guaranteed inheritance rights if their partner dies.

“The introduction of partnership in Latvia is an important step towards a more equal, inclusive and empathetic society, in which each person feels valued and can realise his or her potential both in personal and professional life,” Latvia’s Life Partners movement leader Kaspars Zālītis said in a statement.

“The introduction of the Institute of Partnership Law is an important signal that all families in Latvia are protected, valued, and recognised.

“This is extremely important for people who have remained invisible to the state, not only in practical matters of everyday life but also emotionally. This long-awaited moment will positively change the lives of many people,”

Latvia’s parliament elected its first openly gay head of state in May, President Edgars Rinkevics.

The five EU holdouts

With this reform coming into effect, Bulgaria, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, and Slovakia are left as the only remaining EU states that do not recognise same-sex relationships – though the European Court of Justice has ruled that all EU states must grant married same-sex couples, where at least one partner is an EU citizen, full residency rights and freedom of movement.

Neighbouring Estonia legalised same-sex marriage in June last year, becoming the first Baltic state to do so.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[kessielrg]

[MMX] Future Me Hates Me: Part 2

Summary: After stumbling upon a Light Capsule, and having it erroneously refer to her as Kalinka, Aero seeks to figure out just what her family connection is to Doctor Light. Meanwhile, after the death of Iris, Zero vows to absolve himself of his past. However, as Aero becomes the target of a Maverick, Zero is forced into finding that not all bridges can easily be burned…

Rating: K+

word Count: 1,644 words

Part: 1, [2], 3, 4, 5

. . . .

Doctor Cain had given Aero a lot of his research journals. Many were from before she was born, documenting his archaeological digs and what he’d find (or not find) there. There was just one small caveat to them though: Doctor’s Cain handwriting was notoriously hard to decipher. It was why there were so few copies or recreations of the journal that documented the day he found X- no one was able to read them. Aero had only the faintest idea of what each chicken scratch meant, and that was only because she practically grew up with it.

It’s not like anyone asked her to transcribe them. But she probably would have refused anyway; for both her privacy and Cain’s. These journals were still holders to some of Cain’s more frustrated thoughts when it came to his life’s ambition.

‘Still nothing. For the last month, I have been sifting through the dirt trying to find a fossil record which would verify my findings on Mesozoic plant life, but so far I have come up empty. Tomorrow I'll move my archaeological dig to a new site. Maybe I'll have better luck.’

The start of Cain’s discovery to X. Aero had been looking for this journal since she got home. And, just as she feared, the place where Cain found X was nowhere near where she found the odd capsule. Still, she continued to read on. Aero hadn’t got to see X right after he came out of his hibernation station. The two had their first meeting almost a month after, and they tried to stay in touch up until X formally joined the Maverick Hunters. It was so weird to think it’s been that long…

‘How did Doctor Light have the time to make armors for a project he didn’t even know would see the light of day after he passed?’ Aero thought to herself as she went over Doctor Cain’s journals more. Surely there would have been other sightings of capsules beforehand too? Some mention of them at Doctor Light’s ruined and abandoned lab? ‘Wasn’t he ill for a really long time before he died?’

Aero absently bit the tip of her thumb in thought. A few moments more and she was digging around for her phone. By (rather embarrassing) instinct, she almost called X instead of her grandmother. X didn’t know any more about his creator than Doctor Cain did.

“Well, hello my darling.” Aero’s grandmother said once she picked up the line. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Gran.” Aero replied, a small grin teasing her lips. “I’ve just been wondering about something recently and wanted to know if you could help.”

“Of course, dear. What do you need?”

Aero hesitated for a moment, biting her lip.

“I wanted to know if you knew anything about your mom’s dad. I want to know how close Doctor Cossack was to Doctor Light.”

. . .

After yesterday’s assignment -a mission that did lead to any good answers- Zero had wanted to take on something more relaxed. He refused to take a day off, despite the suggestion of the Navigator, and so he shouldn’t have been surprised that he was given something he considered child’s play.

“We suspect that a Maverick has hacked into a human residence as of 500 hours and ongoing.” the Navigator told Zero. “Most of the data can be traced to a single street; Poplar Court. We know this to be from a Maverick instead of a human due to the manipulation of the cyber data directly. Further investigations show that it is a single residence that is being targeted, due to the abnormal levels of ping time between clients. The residence in question has the number 101-25 and is currently occupied by a single woman in her mid 20s.”

“1010-25…?” Zero started to wonder, knowing that the street name was familiar. When he realized how, he then hissed with disgust, “Aero.”

“Indeed.” the Navigator agreed. “While odd that a potential Maverick could be gathering intel from a human, it is still a cause for concern and needs to be investigated immediately.”

“Understood,” Zero nodded. “I’ll connect through our servers and navigate to those on Poplar Court from there. Also, has X been informed of this?”

“No. Maverick Hunter X has been placed on a multi day assignment that bars most communication from being accessible. Any and all calls are to be made in an emergency or otherwise dire situation.”

“Good.”

The Navigator gave a nod of confirmation of her own before going to type something at her computer.

“We have Data Room 5 ready for your transfer. Remember that any and all injuries you sustain in Cyberspace could prove fatal. Should you die in Cyberspace, your body will fail outside of it and R-DNA data retrieval will not be possible. Do you understand and respect these terms, Zero?”

When the Navigator looked up, Zero was already gone.

Entering Cyberspace was nothing new for Zero. He knew the risks and had seen many of the repercussions first hand- even the permanent ones. All he really needed to hear was which room was open. Dealing with an in-mainframe hacker was exactly the light work he needed today anyway. If he was clever, he might even convince them to disconnect peacefully. Zero snorted at the thought. X was the better peace negotiator between them- it was the Mavericks that decided they didn’t want to listen and, in doing so, signed their own death warrants. Hopefully, if this one was smart enough to get into a human’s communication system, then they'd have the common sense to back down too.

Navigating Cyberspace was not dissimilar to simply walking down the street. Especially when most traffic lights or billboards were connected to the interconnecting data transfer of Cyberspace to begin with. And, much to his wish to forget it, Zero knew the general path to Aero’s street like the back of his hand. Before X became a Hunter, Aero’s place was where Zero could usually find him. The two used to be quite close before then- Zero could remember Doctor Cain once telling Sigma that he hoped Aero and X would be the first Reploid and human union. The thought of it still made Zero sick to his stomach. X was destined to become a Maverick Hunter. It gave him purpose. Far more purpose than pretending to be human with another-

Zero had been so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t see the bug. In Cyberspace, what would have easily been a webcam or computer set became a small pocket of red data. It would collect information from anywhere its range could reach. Right now, its only reach seemed to be right above Aero’s home. A less experienced Maverick Hunter would have said it was inactive. Zero knew far better.

After some careful manipulating, Zero could get a feedback loop of what Aero had said, to what the hacker would also be mumbling. Aero took up the left screen from the loop, the hacker (whose appearance was obscured due to purposely cutting off any potential video feed) occupied the right screen. He hadn’t been an easy fix. Whoever this hacker was knew what they were doing.

“I believe my grandfather left behind some of his research work with Doctor Light in Russia.” the voice of Aero’s grandmother said. A recent phone call must have triggered the bug’s recording abilities. “A family vault with a code that you would be able to figure out, my dear.”

“Lemme guess, a very important date?” Aero snarked. The grin on her face was knowing, and almost mischievous.

“There was no doubting my grandfather’s love of Kalinka.” Aero’s grandmother laughed. Even Aero joined in. Zero had only a vague idea of the joke, but kept that thought pushed away for now.

“I might catch the next plane over, then.” Aero decided. “It’s a weird in-between with work now, you know? And I’ve got the zenny stored up that’s not going anywhere.”

“Would you like my card, darling? Exchange rates are so high these days…”

“No, I think I can handle it, Gran. I’ll send you a message when I get there though.”

“That would be wonderful. Be safe darling, I love you.”

“I love you too, Gran.”

The feed of Aero’s call ended, leaving only the audio from the hacker.

“Russia, huh?” the hacker mused. Their voice was also synthesized to all hell and back, making the vocal pattern unrecognizable. “I should have known. Finally, all the secrets to the ultimate Reploid will be mine.”

After that, the feed disappeared as well, leaving behind the hibernating bug. The vagueness of it all immediately hit the alarm bells in Zero’s mind.

‘Why is Aero suddenly interested in Doctor Light? She can’t even handle being related to Doctor Cain. And Russia? Who in her family could have had ties with Russia? It must have been someone important if this was the information the hacker was waiting for. Why would the hacker be listening in anyway? Aero wouldn’t know anything about the ultimate Reploid. Only Doctor Cain would, or even Doctor Light who made X- who in and of himself could be called the ultimate Reploid. Someone in Russia, family of Aero’s, who could potentially have the knowledge to make…’

“Shit.” Zero cursed. He immediately withdrew his data and woke up at Maverick Hunter HQ.

“Zero,” the Navigator said from over his headset, “Is everything alright? The threat hasn’t been-”

“The hacker wasn’t there. It was a bug.” Zero told her, rather harshly. “They already have the information they need. A Maverick is planning on harming a human for information. Our next course of action is to track down that Maverick because they are on the move. We also need to contact Aero -over a secure connection- now. She is in danger.”

[bowiebond]

Lucas doesn’t really know what to make of Billy Hargrove.

When he first saw him, he thought he was Max’s playboy brother. Some hotshot with an attitude. After the night at the Byers, he thought he was terrifying. A ball of red hot rage with his eyes set on him. Billy Hargrove seemed like a bull, and Lucas was wearing all red.

Now, he’s not sure.

Now, Billy seemed less like a bull and more like a big, wounded dog. Barking and snapping his teeth when aggravated but walking with a heaviness in his shoulders. Dark circles under his eyes and wobbly with his new cane. Max spent most of her time out with Billy walking leisurely, casually, like she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he couldn’t keep up like he used to.

Lucas joins them sometimes, only because if he doesn’t, he rarely gets to see Max at all. She’s taken to being his caretaker, even if Billy growls at her to knock it off some days, gritting his teeth around aches and pains.

Lucas gets to hang out with Max alone more when Steve takes up the mantle of keeping Billy company. He seems pretty huffy about it at first, but there’s a strange air around them as time goes by. Like they’re slowly melding into one person, one entity. Much like how Robin and Steve were RobinandSteve these days, joined at the hip, Billy and Steve were becoming BillyandSteve. One was rarely seen without the other.

Lucas was pretty sure Steve was the only one allowed to physically touch Billy when he was off in his own head or out of breath, whether from panic or physical exertion. Max would get her hand chewed off if she tried.

There’s a softer, heavier side to Billy Hargrove these days, and Lucas isn’t sure how to feel about it. There’s a big difference between the scary, looming shadow of Billy from that night at the Byers, or his time possessed, and this wounded, tired version. A Billy that wears cashmere sweaters to cover his scars and stay warm (I hate the fuckin’ winter, he spits once to Max, ignoring Lucas’ presence as per usual, I can’t stand the cold anymore.) and lives alone in an apartment paid for by the government to keep his mouth shut.

Lucas�� lungs burn as he steps off the court. It’s just practice, he’s still sitting on the bench, but he’s working towards getting off it. He’s praying for it.

The click of the cane is what alerts him of his presence. It’s a strangely familiar sound now, one that gets slotted into the Billy Sounds part of his brain, next to the grunt the guy makes that’s almost a laugh but not.

“You’re not half bad, Sinclair. Almost as good at Steve was.” It’s still weird, hearing Billy call Steve by his first name. Harrington had sounded like a taunt, a challenge, now…Steve sounded like a good natured tease. Fond, like he was talking about his favourite song.

Lucas really doesn’t get Billy Hargrove.

“I don’t know if Steve played dirty, but he told us you did, so I don’t think you can judge how good he was.” It’s not a jab so much as a defence on Steve’s behalf. Max loves her brother, a complicated kind of love that hurts some days and feels great others, but Lucas loves Steve.

He loves Max too. It’s the only reason he’s trying to see Billy the way she does.

Billy laughs at his words. In the past, he thinks the man may have scowled or sneered or laughed at him instead of what he said.

“He’s just mad I was better. It’s fine, he can beat me now.” He leaned heavily on his cane with a weary sigh and stares at Lucas a long moment. “Can we talk, Sinclair?”

His expression gives little away and it makes Lucas’ hackles rise subconsciously. He looked down at the basketball in his hands, fidgeting with it as he tossed it back and forth between his palms.

“Can this wait until after I’ve showered or…?” He placed the basketball in the trolley of other balls, wanting to put off the inevitable.

Billy sighed, reaching up to scratch at his brow.

“It’s a bad pain day, honestly, I just wanna sit and get this sorted so I can go back home and kick my feet up before someone hounds me about pushing my limits.” He rolled his eyes and Lucas had a good idea who that someone was.

He wiped his sweaty palms against his shorts and shrugged.

“Yeah, okay.” Billy manages a small smile, but it feels disingenuous with the way he tilts his chin down and turns around with it, hobbling his way over to the benches. Most of everyone had scattered to shower and head home.

Billy made to sit and gave a grunt, seeming to struggle for a moment. Lucas offered his hand out of habit and Billy scowled at it. With his lips tightly pursed and a tinge of sweat on his brow, he glared up at Lucas. Lucas thinned his own lips self consciously, prepared to drop his hand before Billy’s eyes softened and he huffed, clasping Lucas’ hand hard — his palm is clammy, a weird mix of cold sweat and hot skin — and lowering himself against the low bench with a grunt. He rested his cane across his lap and sighed heavily.

He looked worn thin already and it made Lucas feel guilty despite doing nothing wrong. Billy had made the decision to come all the way out here to talk. That wasn’t on Lucas. Billy could make his own decisions, could decide how much his body could take and how far he could go alone before needing a hand. Billy was as tough as nails as far as Max was concerned, even if Steve sometimes spoke of Billy as if he was fragile. Lucas didn’t know who was closer to the truth of it. Maybe they both were.

“Come on, sit, I’m starting to feel self conscious here.” Billy joked with a low chuckle, patting the spot beside him. Lucas took the offer, keeping his limbs closer to his centre. Not wanting to touch Billy. Not wanting to appear bigger than him even if he had been given a significant growth spurt in the past few months.

He didn’t want to appear smaller either thought, so he let himself sit up straight, even with his hands tucked between his bouncing knees.

“So…let’s talk?” Lucas prompted and Billy chuckled once more.

“Shit, where to begin?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his (pinched) brow, the movement subtle.

There was a long silence as Billy thought, and Lucas let him. He felt sticky and gross with sweat, mildly self conscious about how he might smell, but he wasn’t going to push Billy. Not just because he was volatile in the past, but because he looked like he really wanted to say this right. That he wanted Lucas to really hear him.

“…I’m sorry about last year.” Billy said finally and Lucas turned his head so quickly that he heard something in his neck crack.

“What?” Lucas furrowed his brows. “Last year?”

“A few months over a year, but close enough.” Billy shrugged, shifting in his seat to cross his arms over his chest and lay back against the benches above them. It doesn’t look comfortable, but Billy never looks comfortable. “That night. At the Byers place. I’m sorry.”

Lucas stared at him, unable to form a word. He never expected an apology, if he was honest. People rarely apologised to him in general. Especially about bullying or threats.

“Wow. This must be really for you to say. I’ve never heard you say sorry unless you were dying.” It’s snarkier than he wanted it to be and he immediately wants to hurl himself off a bridge for the comment. Billy’s gonna beat his ass with his cane for that.

Billy just laughs.

“You’re such a snarky shit, you’re just like Max.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I mean it though, Sinclair. And I know…I should have should have said something sooner.”

“Why didn’t you then?” Lucas challenged and Billy huffed, looking frustrated.

“Because I didn’t realise back then what I did was wrong.” Billy’s scowl is only deepening and Lucas is prepared to be the one he punches to let out steam. “I don’t know how much Max told you…about my dad.”

Lucas’ stomach churned.

“Not a lot. Just that he…that he wasn’t a good dad.” He can’t look at him when he says it. It just makes him think of Patrick who rocked up to practice with a black eye last week. He hadn’t been able to say anything, voice stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his chest. He wasn’t sure if anything he said would even help. If Hopper were alive…

But he wasn’t. Billy’s revival had been a miracle in itself.

“Understatement of the year.” Billy huffed a soft, bitter laugh. He licked his dry lips and continued. “That night…He smacked me around because Max disappeared. And I knew, I knew you and your friends had something to do with it. I was angry, I was looking for a fight, kid. And you…you were an easy target.” Billy admitted, a thousand yard stare in his blue eyes.

“Cause I was black, right?” Billy huffed out though his nose and half nodded his head to the side, as if he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“It was a lotta things, Sinclair. Partially, yeah, cause you were black. My dads never favoured your ‘kind’. Nothing visceral, just underhanded comments. Casual, normal.” He rolled his eyes and Lucas’ stomach squirmed. “I had friends of all different races, Sinclair, growing up. It was California. But I knew not to bring them home unlike Max. By the time I was your age, I avoided them all together to save my ass trouble.” He sucked on his teeth, like he was annoyed at his younger selves cowardice.

“I had a friend, anxious guy who really mellowed out after a little weed. So smart but so strange in how he applied it. He knew all kinds of tips and tricks…” His expression softened into something almost sad. “He was the closest thing to an actual friend I ever had. But he was Hispanic. I never let him near my house, and at fifteen…I dropped him. Because my dad found out, and threatened to blow his head off his shoulders because he thought I was in love with him. A dirty Mexican who was stealing peoples jobs.” Billy scoffed and shook his head. Lucas tried not to visibly wince.

“So yeah. I did target you for being black. For being different. Because my dad doesn’t like different, and I grew to accept the same.” Billy shrugged. “I didn’t know any better back then, but I still did it. And it was shitty of me. You didn’t deserve that, you were a kid.” Lucas’s heart clenched, constricting tightly in his chest. He wasn’t going to cry, but he could feel the burn in the back of his eyes.

“Thanks.” Was all he could say, picking at his nails.

“And I…I was scared for Max when you kept getting so close to her, if I’m honest.”

“Scared? For Max?” Lucas furrowed his brows in confusion before huffing with a small scowl, looking away. “Let me guess, you assumed because I’m black, I’m aggressive, right? A hoodlum?”

“Surprisingly, that wasn’t why.” Billy chuckled, sardonic and rumbling low in his throat. “You know how my dads a dick?”

“Yeah…?”

Billy grinned but there was no humour in it.

“Whenever Max came back to me after talking to you, she was either upset or being secretive.” Billy reached for his pocket like he wanted a cigarette but he had been forced to quit and he looked annoyed by coming up empty handed, clicking his tongue.

“I learned pretty young, Sinclair, that boys who make girls upset, one day turn into men who will hurt those girls who have become women.” Billy turned his gaze to Lucas, his expression like steel. “You were my target that night because Max cared about you. I wanted you to stay away from her not just because you were black, but because Max, no matter how angry, can’t hurt someone she loves. And I thought, she might not fight back if you hurt her one day.” He was staring into Lucas’ very soul, the rims of his eyes growing pink as tears threatened to dampen his fierce gaze.

“I let her keep seeing you because she proved she could handle herself. But if I ever see her with a single bruise, ‘you’re dead’ won’t just be a phrase. It’ll be a promise.”

“I would never hurt Max.” Lucas can say it with intention, with purpose, because it’s true. There wasn’t a cruel bone in his body. He’d rather die than put a hand on Max. He loved her, and he wanted to make her happy, like how his father made his mother happy. He wanted Max to never want for anything. That much he knew.

“…I know.” Billy finally looked away, looking like he regretted even threatening the possibility. After a long moment of staring into nothing, Billy spoke once more.

“Max likes you. And…so does Steve. I didn’t wanna keep tip toeing around everything that happened between us. So I’m sorry. I…hope we can start fresh. Or keep doing whatever we’re doing to appease the people we care about.”

He offered Lucas his hand, an extension of — what? Friendship? Appeasement? New beginnings?

Lucas glanced at Billy, and all he saw on his face was exhaustion. He looked so much older than he was. But beneath the weariness was a sparkle of something. Like Billy truly meant this gesture, this fresh beginning, instead of feeling obliged.

Billy had to mean it, right? He wouldn’t have driven here just to talk to him, to apologise, on a bad pain day if it hadn’t been on his mind, guilt likely eating away at his inside every time he thought about their strained relationship.

Lucas hesitantly took his hand and shook it. It was still clammy and gross but Lucas smiled and Billy responded with his own lopsided one that was almost a smirk.

“Lucas Sinclair. And you are?” He offered and Billy laughed.

“Billy Hargrove. Does this mean I have to gatekeep my sister from you like a real brother now, or…?” His eyes crinkled at his own tease and Lucas laughed nervously.

“Please don’t?”

Billy only laughed again, slightly strained around the edges with his weak lungs, but it made Lucas’ muscles slowly relax. Tension seeping out of him.

For the first time, in a room with Billy Hargrove, he didn’t feel anxious.

He still didn’t understand him. Not really. He can’t put the words Steve and Max have used to describe him onto the blond, but he’s sure with time, Lucas will find his own descriptors.

Billy accepts his hand when he goes to stand, cane handling most of his weight, and Lucas feels weirdly younger than he is when he waves him goodbye.

Guys are piling out of the showers and Lucas turns to look at them, his eyes finding Patrick with ease. His bruise has mostly faded but it still twists Lucas’ gut to see.

“Hey, Patrick!” The older boy turns to look at him with surprise. Lucas wiped his sweaty palms of his shorts discreetly.

“If you’re not busy, I thought maybe we could go hang out at the arcade…mind waiting five for me to shower?” Patrick still looks vaguely surprised but then a smile curls on his lips and there’s a flash of teeth that makes Lucas’ heart leap with hope.

“Sure, little man. Sounds good.” Lucas beams and is quick to get going.

He’s not sure how he can help Patrick. But maybe just being there as an open ear might be enough for now.

[fanatics4l]

the way billy would've fit in with any of the groups in s4. yes i am going to speak about this. (this got long)

cali group: billy in his natural habitat would've been absolutely amazing. the trio smoking weed together?? billy being extra dramatic and sassy when he's high. if they're high enough, those boys will commit minor felonies together! argyle always supports his boys when they're screaming about their broken love lives (jonathan crying about nancy and billy being a sad little gay). billy would be screaming so dramatically while hauling that dead dude into the van and then complaining about how his clothes got all bloody the next second. he'd be cheering argyle on as he drives while the others all scream in terror in the back, trying to stop the bleeding. billy would adore the shit out of will, another gay. they'd bond over how shitty boys are and how they have no options but at least in cali, there are more willing boys. billy would always tell will to forget about mike and jonathan would agree very loudly. billy definitely would've absolutely non stop GLARED at mike after will confessed and mike didn't catch the hint. him and el would've been amazing together because they can bond over their abusive dads and pretty moms. el and will go to billy (the cooler big brother, sorry jon) to rant about mike. billy would terrorize the shit out of angela and her stupid friends for even thinking of messing with el.

hawkins gang: no offence but the hawkins older teens gang are all the same people in different fonts. sure nancy and robin were badasses that one episode but they're good girls at heart. steve is also a good guy at heart. so is eddie but in a drug dealing dork way. billy would've been a great addition with his loud personality and being a takes-no-bullshit kind of guy. he would insult each of them (him and robin roast each other) but be a lot of help. physically, he's probably the strongest and he'd be great at thinking up quick escape plans.

robin and billy would've been an unstoppable queer duo who are also potty mouths and anxious kids with obvious tells (shaking and stuttering). nancy and billy would've constantly been at each other's throats and it would've been great comedy. billy definitely got in the way of steve and nancy flirting because gross. eddie and billy would've easily bonded about their similar taste in music. if he saw eddie perform metallica on the roof, that boy's clothes would've flew off so fast and he'd start twirling his hair all giggly. we could've finally seen more of steve and billy's homosexual flirting and fighting. they would be reluctant friends and billy would have so much trouble trying not to flirt with steve. robin would cough really loud when billy stares at steve all lovey dovey. harringrove would've been amazing in s4

hawkins gang (younger teens): billy and lucas would've become besties on the court. we could've seen him apologize to lucas and then offer to teach him basketball so he isn't always on the bench every game. billy always hypes lucas up when he is in a game. he takes him and max out for shakes after practice, and max starts to hate the fact that her boyfriend and her brother are friends. lucas definitely grows taller than billy and he has the absolute best time of his life making fun of billy, who threatens to stop giving lucas rides everywhere.

let's say vecna still targets max: billy would 100% stay with max and lucas at creel's house because no way in hell is he leaving his sister behind with a literal demon that could kill her. when jason arrives, he fights him instead of lucas so max survives. plus we know that max and billy's relationship was getting a lot better between end of s2 and start of s3 so if billy survived, those two would literally be evil chaotic siblings who torment everyone around them with a smile. lucas is very scared. erica would love billy because they're both sassy and take no bullshit from the people around them. billy would tease lucas whenever erica yells at him. dustin would probably reluctantly accept billy as part of the gang because everyone else accepts him.

russia gang: hopper, joyce, and murray (billy's a weird kid and murray likes weird) would immediately adopt billy. in this au, billy is probably with hopper in russia and then joyce and murray find them. hopper is the absolute sweetest with billy and he's very gentle with him because he sees how terrified billy is. he also misses his kid so he takes another one in. he explains to billy what the upside down is and what happened to him. they share a cell so when billy has nightmares about the mind flayer, hopper is always there for him. when he has nightmares about his dad, hopper hugs billy close and lets the poor boy cry. he sees red when billy tells him how his dad treats him all the time and swears to never let him go back to that man ever again. billy starts seeing hopper as his dad.

billy helps out in all of hopper's escape plans. when the russians make them line up in front of the demogorgan, billy starts hyperventilating but hopper and enzo reassure him that they'll be okay. they're like his overprotective dads because wtf why is a literal child here in this high tech russian prison. when joyce and murray show up, joyce is all motherly with him and she immediately starts bundling him up in layers. she doesn't let him do any fighting. she makes him stick with her and when he argues that he can help, the other adults also agree that he needs to rest. if billy was in this gang in s4, he could've also healed as a person and become better because now he knows what love is. like hopper and joyce tell him all the time, love doesn't hurt his body or his feelings. billy ends up getting adopted by hopper and joyce and murray is like his crazy uncle.

the duffers were too much of cowards to do this!!!! billy would've been unstoppable

[separatist-apologist]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

Summary: In Feyre's nightmares, she sees him. Rhysand and his violet eyes, his inky hair.

She doesn't realize that's by design.

Or what lengths he's willing to go in order to have her.

This is for @the-lonelybarricade who has become one of my best fandom pals and is genuinely one of the nicest people I know. They deserve only good things and, occasionally, dark, moody, dubiously consenting things.

Chapter 2: This Night Is Sparkling

Chapter 1 | Read more: AO3

TW: dub-con via daemati magic. Sort of an ACOMAF re-write? 3/4ths smut, 1/4th plot.

-

You will stay with me.

Those words rattled through Feyre’s mind long after Rhys deposited her back in Spring. It was more of the same, some game she couldn’t piece together. She’d come back with tears in her eyes, on her knees some mile or two from the estate sobbing though she didn’t know why. It had been Lucien, as always, who’d found her and scooped her up, who took her back. 

What happened? His face screamed the question his lips did not dare to say. What happened to you?

Feyre’s anxiety was at a fever pitch, her nightmares pulling her from bed as they always did, though no longer did she imagine the bloodied red hair and piercing ash daggers. She imagined a shredding cord, gold turned to ash and a gaping hole nothing could fill.

“Come with me,” Lucien told her at the end of her first week, grabbing her hand and all but running her out the door. Dusk had just broken over the world, bathing the estate in nauseating pink. Feyre blinked against the light, lacing her fingers with Lucien’s. 

“Where are we going?”

“Away,” he said, the corners of his eyes pulled tightly. Feyre didn’t have to ask why. Lucien’s bruised eye, his cut cheek, his deflated shoulders told her that he had lost his favored position at court. Lucien wanted to train Feyre—had spoken his fears into existence only two nights before.

I can smell him on her. 

Tamlin had destroyed the drawing room for Lucien’s insinuation and Feyre, trembling and tired, had assured Tamlin she would remember if Rhysand had touched her. 

He barely talks to me.

He doesn’t trust me. 

But Feyre was missing too much—too many memories, too much of herself. There was a yawning cavern in her chest that seemed to stretch with each passing day. She didn’t know how to fill it, had begun to suspect whatever Rhys had taken could only be returned by his cruel hands. 

Ianthe and Tamlin had voted—no training for Feyre. It was too risky and Feyre was too delicate. 

She’s practically wasting away before our very eyes.

Lucien, his body a shield in front of her, had snarled so viciously only a bright pulse of Tamlin’s magic had kept him from shredding Ianthe to bloodied ribbons.

She cannot withstand him without help!

Feyre understood Tamlin’s pride. He could not abide by anything happening to his female, something he could not protect her from. If Ianthe said Feyre was fine and Feyre said she was fine, then Lucien must be warmongering.

He’s no better than his father.

Ferye had sworn she’d heard Tamlin say it, had gasped out loud when she heard it. But Tamlin’s mouth remained pressed in that thin, severe line and Lucien had not reacted at all. Perhaps she’d just imagined it. Perhaps she was the terrible one, thinking Lucien had too much in common with Beron.

They walked until the estate was out of sight and they were ensconced in waving trees. Feyre could still scent her metallic blood in the air, could still see the Surial hanging from the tree.

Stay with the High Lord. 

“Which High Lord,” Feyre murmured, drawing Lucien’s attention as they trudged through the woodland.

“Hm?”

Fingers squeezed around her throat.

You belong to me.

“The Surial,” she breathed, looking at her friend to steady herself against the rising dark. Shadows ribboned around the rough bark, slithering through the treetops to war with the banding gold sunlight. Lucien steadied her, was the only thing in the world Feyre was certain of. “It told me to stay with the High Lord.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped sharply to her face. “Is that–”

“Yes,” she breathed before he could ask. She could hear the question in her head.

Is that why you went beneath the mountain? 

Lucien sighed softly, squeezing her fingers in his grip. “Just a little further.”

Feyre could feel eyes on them, the ever watchful gaze of the Gods. Curious as to what rebellion might bring them, how Lucien would be punished when Tamlin inevitably learned he meant to test Feyre’s power. It was a terrible day—Feyre had thought perhaps she was no more magical than any other creature. Just strong, just steady.

Ice and wind poured from her fingertips. Fire licked against her skin, cooled only by salted water. Tendrils of night and shadow warred with the loveliest rays of dawn and day. Clawes beneath her knuckles pricked her skin, healed by that same metallic liquid. 

Lucien, with a hand over his mouth, guessed what Rhysand and Tamlin must have known. Born of all seven courts, Feyre had somehow inherited a piece of their magic. Turning to her, eyes wild, Lucien made a rare demand.

“Ask Rhys to train you.”

Feyre would have preferred Tamlin’s rage to Lucien’s careful words. “No.”

“Ask him–”

“He won’t–”

“He might,” Lucien disagreed quickly, silencing her with a look. “He might if he thought it would spite Tamlin. At least learn his magic.”

“And what of the rest?” she whispered. Lucien swallowed, looking over his shoulder. “I will teach you Autumn. The rest…the rest we will guard carefully and work on when no one is watching.”

“Tamlin will think…”

Lucien swallowed his feelings, looking again into the distance behind him. “I will do what I have to in order to reassure him nothing is happening…just as I always have.” Feyre didn’t let herself think about what that meant. Didn’t let herself the parting shot Rhys had offered before he’d left last month or how Tamlin had chased Lucien off when they’d first met.

“Don’t,” Ferye said, certain what Lucien would be forced to do involved Ianthe. Tamlin didn’t understand Lucien’s dislike, was well aware that every other male in the world seemed to be fascinated by the young priestess. “Don’t do anything. I…how can I be his wife if he won’t let me make my own decisions?”

That pactified something hot in Lucien’s gaze. He merely nodded.

“C’mon. Our secret, just for today.”

It was a secret only until Rhysand showed up. Feyre and Lucien, who had spent every day for a week together, were caught just on their way out the door. Lucien had woven careful spun lies, ones Tamlin only believed because he wanted to. Feyre dropped Lucien’s hand the moment she saw Rhys stroll up the steps, hands jammed in his pockets.

He tsked his disapproval and Feyre wondered if Rhys didn’t want to see Lucien die. “Off for a little more training, little fox?”

Tamlin and Ianthe both turned to look, just in time for Rhys to reach for Feyre and pull her closer. They were so busy staring down Lucien that Tamlin missed how Rhys’s hand curved over Feyre’s hip possessively or the way memories began to flood back in her mind. Lucien’s head snapped to look, nostrils flared. Feyre opened her mouth to scream the word—mate—but they were gone in a choking cloud of star kissed night. 

“Did you miss me?”

Feyre lunged at him, toppling him to the ground inelegantly before Rhys could gather his bearings. Feyre got one good hit against his lovely face, claws cutting against his cheek. Rhys’s eyes went wide as he rolled her off him, too careful not to hurt even when his fingers curled over her wrists. His knee pressed against her chest, pushing until Feyre felt the bones crack.

“That’s a cute little trick,” Rhys murmured, droplets of blood splattering over her face. “Is that what Lucien is teaching you? To become a little beastie—”

She spat in his face. Rhys only smiled, his face healing even as he hovered over her. “Are you angry I’ve brought you back…or angry I made you leave.”

And Ferye, who had come to Spring sobbing, could remember why now. 

“Don’t make me go back, Rhys, please—”

He knew she was remembering. Feyre’s bottom lip trembled. “Don’t take my memories again–”

But they were gone and so was Feyre’s fight. Rhys lowered his face and moved his knee so it was firmly between her legs. Nuzzling his bloodied nose against her own, he asked, “Did you miss me?”

“Why did you make me leave?” Feyre asked again, a tear sliding down her face. He’d interrupted their frenzy abruptly one morning and told her she’d have to go back. Feyre had begged and pleaded for him to stay but in the end, Rhys had left her all the same.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Never again. I had to leave–”

“Take me with you,” Feyre whispered. “Don’t leave me behind, not like him.”

She wasn’t sure who him was, only that he never included her. He left her, too. Made her feel alone unless he needed to touch, to taste, to feel. Even her own body was up for debate. Rhys shifted over her, smoothing his fingers against her face.

“If you come with me…you can never go back,” Rhys warned. “Not even for Lucien—”

His name was enough to shatter the softly glowing spell around them. Feyre began to writhe, trying to stitch her two realities together. Lucien was her friend, the only person she could trust, Lucien—

“Shhh,” Rhys murmured, stroking her face. “What magic has your clever little fox woven around you, sweet Feyre? Hm? Tell me.”

A masculine voice shimmered like gold in her mind. Something belonged to her, something that could not be taken. “Train me,” she whispered. “My magic. Train me.”

Rhys continued his stroking. “Is that what your little fox was doing? Training you?”

“I’m not allowed,” she breathed. It was all fragmented, these threads. She had a sense he was plucking memories from her mind, pouring through their time apart. His face was a dark, roiling nightmare at what he found, the stars in his gaze winking out entirely. They were laying against wood floors in a place she’d never been. This wasn’t his moontop palace draped in jade and amethyst. This was some place else—a home, she thought. Rhys scooped her up, holding her in his arms as his nose began to set itself. 

“The High Lord of Spring thinks to tell my lady what she can and cannot do?” he murmured, taking her through an elegantly decorated living room towards a flight of stairs. She felt pacified–calm. She had loved that male once.

Maybe not anymore. 

“He’s worried the other High Lords will learn…”

“Oh, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, setting her atop a black blanketed bed big enough to accommodate the shadowy wings unfurling at his back. “He is afraid of you. You might outshine him, might be more powerful, more lovely, more stunning than anything his simple mind could ever dream of. He wants to keep you small.”

Something clawed at her chest, demanding to be freed from the cage she knew he’d set for her. Rhys stroked at her breasts as if he, too, felt it. 

“I’m going to let you out one day,” he whispered against her jaw. “And show everyone what a nightmare you truly are.”

Feyre whimpered. She didn’t want to go back. “You’ll do as he asked? You’ll train me?”

Rhys’s chuckle was dark and sultry. “Yes, darling. Soon. Tonight is for us but tomorrow is for you. I’ll need your help.”

“With what?”

“The Summer Court has something I require…something only you can retrieve for me. I mean to take you with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. It was honest, just as honest as the kiss she pressed to his mouth. Feyre moaned at that first taste. She’d been missing this, though she hadn’t realized it. He moaned too, holding her face to take more. 

“This month without you has been a misery,” he told her, grinding his clothed hips against her body. “I have been consumed by my thoughts of you.”

She was sure she’d missed him too, though Feyre simply could not remember. Sliding her fingers through his soft, raven hair, Feyre merely kissed again and again, gliding her hips against him while he gripped her hard. Punishing. He kissed her like she was the air he breathed, like he’d fall apart without her. 

More, more, more. 

She wasn’t something fragile here but something powerful, something mighty. A rock against a weathering storm, unbreakable—unyielding. Feyre reached for his jacket, shucking it off his glorious body with little effort. She had a sense that her whole life had been a series of moments that forced her to be weak, to stay small. She was used to it and yet she loathed it. 

“Yes,” Rhys groaned when her nails dragged down his chest. Flipping them over, he lined her against him. “Take what you want from me.”

Feyre leaned to kiss him, biting his lip so hard she could taste blood. She moaned when the warm, salty copper flooded against her tongue, lowering her mouth to drag a line of it against his throat. Rhys’s hips jerked outside of his own accord as Feyre moved further down his body.

Something tugged against her mind, ordering her to push. Hands against the buttons of his pants, she looked up at him through star tipped lashes. She was there, freeing his cock…and then she wasn’t. She was watching herself pull out that heavy, thick cock. Watching as she yanked off his pants viciously, as she licked the length of his cock, feeling his writhing, hungry need.

Feyre gasped, and then it was all gone. Rhys watched, heavy lidded. “Did you like that?” he asked her.

“How…”

“You have my magic too,” he murmured with a rough sigh. “I intend to teach you to use it.”

“I was in your mind,” she said. “Feeling…”

“Feeling my desire? Seeing how beautiful you look about to suck my cock? You can come in my mind to look at yourself anytime you like. Maybe you’ll finally see what everyone else is missing.”

Feyre sucked the tip of him into her mouth, though she didn’t intend to stay long. His words had started a buzzing in her chest, a seeping awareness she didn’t know what to make of. This magical male had done something to her, though what, exactly, Feyre could not say. Perhaps she did not want to. It occurred to, just before she swallowed his heavy, swollen tip, that Feyre was content to know nothing beyond this. 

The world was big—messy. And she was tired of navigating it. 

“No one takes care of you, do they?” he murmured softly, gathering up her hair. “No one sees how delicate my sweet mate is.”

His words ended abruptly when she swallowed a good third of him, drawing him into her throat. Rhys made a series of garbled noises that shot straight between her legs. She needed more of this, more of those whimpering, pleading noises coming from his mouth. Legs spread wide, wings flared on either side, she thought he looked like some terrible, dark prince splayed out.

Rhys reached for her before she finished, forgetting she’d always meant to straddle his waist. A phantom talon sliced through her pretty dress. “No more pastels,” he whispered, shoving the remnants of the fabric off her body. 

Rhys lifted her, seating her just over his pulsating cock. Feyre jerked from his grip and slid down him quickly, her moan of pleasure mingling with his own. “Ride me, darling,” he begged. “I need this—need you.”

She rolled her hips, sinking back into a familiar, frenzied place. “Mate,” she whispered. That was real. She could cling to that and rebuild her messy world from the ground up on that word alone. The male beneath her, with his thrusting hips and his parted lips. He was real, too. Rhysand. “Rhys,” she whispered, pressing her chest against his body until their lips had crashed together, tongues stroking in time with their frantic bodies.

“Come for me,” he begged. “Feyre, please.”

And she did, shattering around him until the world was nothing but him. Only the beautiful male beneath her, holding her hips while he pumped frantically. Rhys had her on her back, knees in the air, in a moment. 

“I want to see you,” he whispered, spreading out her legs to look at their combined bodies. “All of you.”

“You have me,” she told him, reaching for the edge of his wing enveloping them. “I’m yours.”

He shattered into a thousands roaring pieces, pouring come into her body. Feyre remembered how he’d hoped something might stick.

She hoped that too, clinging desperately to him. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I won’t,” she swore.

But some small part of her hesitated. 

A beast waited.

~*~

Feyre sent her note to Tamlin. I’m not coming back. It must have said other things, though she hardly remembered. It was becoming a problem. Tugged by strings that didn’t belong, Feyre moved when she was supposed to. Said what she was supposed to say.

Smiled when she was supposed to smile.

She was clawing at those little cords constantly, ripping them apart only for new ones to appear. One day she’d break free and pull it all together. She remembered Lucien, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to. Remembered his name, his face. Remembered his final words. She tucked that glowing memory deep, deep inside herself where no one could access it and forced Rhys to live up to that promise. She had a sense someone else had not.

And Rhys did. He trained her as best he could, forcing her to build a shield in her mind until even he could not access it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. 

“Very good,” he’d purr before pulling her into his lap for a kiss that made her breathless with need. The bond between them had not released them and Feyre was all too happy for the distraction. Happier still to be cared for in this way. No longer shut out—though of what, she couldn’t say—Rhys included her in his scheming. He wanted the Book of Breathings and he needed her to help him get it. 

Some small part of her knew it was wrong but a darker, much larger part just did not care. The place that governed her mating bond and her missing memories crooned a lullaby. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about that. Sweet, pretty Feyre.

She didn’t want to. Not then, not when every time she pushed the memories of red came peeking back. Memories of death and rot and ruin washed through her until she was gasping desperately for air and vomiting on the floor. Those days saw Rhys sweep her up in his arms and whisper words she just vaguely heard. Sometimes he’d hold her hair while she heaved up everything she ate before he took her someplace quiet and cool.

This is wrong. You are a princess of daylight and life, the shimmering air seemed to murmur. But the twinkling stars up above always had reply just as soon as the sun went down.

Princess of carrion, of rot and death and bone. Join us in the darkness. Welcome home. 

She was excited to go to Summer. Dressed in the softest gown of lavender, her hair pulled off her face with a headband, Rhys brought her and his second, Amren. Amren, who was the shortest woman Feyre had ever seen, with eyes that felt all-too familiar. Like she, too, knew of the horrors lurking.

Amren had mastered them. Feyre had not. Amren’s silvery eyes lingered on Feyre until Rhys put his body between the two women and Feyre wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Rhys had been invited to mend relations between their two courts but Feyre knew she was the distraction. Tarquin couldn’t take his eyes off her, curious about the runaway bride from Spring. 

Feyre didn’t know whose voice spoke for when all of Summer Court turned their eyes on her. “He let me go,” she said, almost breathless with wonder. 

I wish, her traitorous thoughts agreed. 

“It’s over between us.”

“What a relief, then, know we are not harboring a stolen bride,” Cressida said softly, a princess of sea and sand. Feyre was too mesmerized by the blue of her eyes, swimming like the water just behind them. “And that we do not need to bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.”

“I left of my own free will. And no one is my master.”

Feyre blinked and then blinked again. War. It made her head burn with that blood red and for a moment everything came flooding back, stitched like a poorly sewn tapestry. Tamlin and Rhys, Amarantha and Spring and Night. The magic in her body, the same tasked with protecting her, reared its head to slam Rhysand out just long enough for Feyre to take an actual breath. 

He was teaching her to use her magic…but not this. Not to control him, to control others. And Feyre reached out tentatively before he could stop her, and pushed into Cressida’s mind. 

Everything is fine. Tamlin isn’t looking for me. Summer is safe. I am safe. 

And then those walls she’d so carefully built slammed apart and Rhys was there, shoving her down, down, down. 

She did have a master, at least for now. Turning her head before anyone could realize something was wrong, Ferye looked to her mate. He was speaking, his words smooth and easy, his body relaxed. Master.

He heard her think it, his mouth twitching with a smile. 

That’s enough, Ferye, his voice crooned softly in her mind. Where is my good girl? My sweet mate? 

And it was all gone, then. Feyre blinked again, offering Tarquin a saccharine smile. It was her own and yet felt so foreign on her face that her cheeks seemed to ache from it. Tarquin stared for a moment, head cocked. Did he recognize his humming magic fluttering through her veins? 

He smiled back and Feyre was almost breathless. He was so beautiful. Her fingers twitched to touch, to connect with this tiny little piece of herself and make it whole. 

She didn’t, not until he offered to show her his palace. Only then did Ferye slide her hand into his and revel in the warmth of his skin. He smiled again, telling her of his jewels, his treasure, his trove. It was far lovelier than anything she’d ever seen. He offered her a necklace with so much earnestness and the sweetest smile that for one moment, she wished she’d met him first.

Darkness rumbled through her chest. 

Back in her bedroom, Rhysand was unimpressed with the gift, with the way she so easily drew seawater from her eyes and hands. He was fixated. “You wished you’d met the High Lord of Summer first?”

Feyre didn’t move. 

“Answer me,” he whispered, his voice seductive like the night pouring through the windows around them. Salty air and crashing waves punctuated the silence .

“He is kind,” she said, unable to explain why, exactly, that mattered so much to her. Rhys arched one of those dark, sculpted brows. 

“Why don’t you tell him you think so?”

She leveled a step towards the male before him but a knock on the door gave Feyre pause. Rhys was watching, those starlit eyes glittering with some emotion she didn’t immediately recognize. 

“Open it,” he demanded. Feyre felt pulled, like she couldn’t say no even if she’d wanted to. That was familiar, she thought, reaching for the silver handle.

Tarquin was on the other side, shirtless and draped in a pair of breezy linen pants. 

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, staring into his clear, blue eyes. Tarquin only smiled, brushing icy white hair off his broad, muscular shoulders.

“Isn’t it, though?” came his purring voice. That was Rhysand—she knew it, and yet when he pushed forward, Feyre jumped out of his way. Rhysand ought to have been just behind her but the room was empty now, save for Tarquin and Feyre, locked behind that now closed door. 

Tarquin’s eyes swept through the room, a smirk stealing across his handsome features.

“You wanted to express your gratitude?” he murmured, coming close enough she could touch him. Feyre was desperate to lay her hand against the flat of his stomach, just to see if her magic would react. It was shadow and now water that roiled in her veins even as Tarquin reached for her face, tilting it towards him.

“Tell me the truth, Feyre,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her face. “Do you truly think I’m kind? Or are you just desperate for any attention that you’ll take what you can get?”

“That’s not…I’m not…” his other hand was wrapped around her waist, his thumb rubbing little circles. He smiled.

“Of course not. Tell me, darling. Will you smile for me again?”

“Is that what this is about?” she asked, sliding her hand up his chest.

“Get on your knees,” came Tarquin’s voice, his once kind features shifting into near cruel amusement. “Thank your High Lord for treating you with kindness.”

Feyre looked up in his eyes, hesitating for only a moment. 

This is your game, she whispered in her mind as she sank to her knees.

You want it, Rhys’s voice purred in reply.

Tarquins warm hands came over her own, helping her remove the pants slung low against his hips. The considerable length of him sprang free, hard and thick and already pooling moisture against the tip. For the first time since Tarquin had walked in, Feyre considered that perhaps this wasn’t a game. Maybe Rhys had merely spoken to the High Lord of Summer mind to mind and offered her up.

“I hear you swallow like a dream,” Tarquin murmured, taking a fistful of her hair. “Open that pretty mouth.”

The head of his cock pressed against her lips, wiping come against them. Feyre was in to deep—she opened her mouth, allowing him to push his swollen cock into her mouth with a satisfied breath of air.

“We should pass you around to all the High Lords,” Tarquin grunted, using that hand in her hair to work him over him. “Let them see how good Prythian’s Cursebreaker sucks and swallows.”

Feyre pressed her knees together as he worked her, well aware Tarquin—or whoever he was—could scent the pooling arousal just between. Just like Rhys, her jaw ached the longer she sucked, widened unnaturally in order to accommodate the girth.  Tarquin was unconcerned, his eyes rolling upwards. The muscles of his gleaming thighs were taut, his whole body trembling ever so slightly.

“Do I get to come down that milking throat?” he rasped. “Or should I let you wear it like a necklace?” 

Feyre could only whine in response. She was at his disposal, could not tell him what would please her, if it even mattered. 

“Swallow it,” he demanded, dragging her closer and closer to the flat plain of his stomach. “Tell me if the salt reminds you of the sea.”

He pulled roughly, forcing more of his bruising cock into her throat. Feyre pushed at this thighs for all the good it did. Tarquin might have been made of granite, holding her still as his cock pulsated and twitched, his cock sliding down her throat while she gagged and choked. 

He pulled her off him, mouth popping wetly. “Well?” he whispered, hauling her up to her feet. Feyre was mistaken in thinking it was all over—that he’d come and she could go back to her evening. 

“Did you like the taste?” he asked her, pressing his mouth against her own before she could ever respond. Tarquin backed her up, leading her away from the door towards the turquoise and gold bed centered in the middle of the room. By virtue of his bigger body, his stronger frame, Feyre was swept up in the dominance of the moment, of the messy, exploratory kiss that all but robbed her of breath.

He tasted like citrus, his tongue sliding between her lips to find his own arousal. Tarquin groaned and the sound of his heady desire shot straight to her belly.

“Are your holes mine to use?” he asked, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders?

“I…” Feyre was fogged with lust, unsure what to even say. 

Her dress pooled like moonlight at her feet, shimmering like the stars twinkling just outside her window. She reached for him but Tarquin was quick, spinning her so her naked torso was pressed against the unmade bed. One hand rang a slap against her ass before he pushed her lower. She let Tarquin manipulate her body, tucking her legs on either side just beneath her until just her pussy and her ass were hanging off the edge. Tarquin smacked again, harder this time. The bite of pain made her yelp, her skin suddenly burning. 

“I’ll bet you have males begging to eat that pretty pussy. Don’t you, Feyre?”

Another slap.

“Is that what you thought? Sweet, nice Tarquin would get on his knees for you like Tamlin does?”

She sucked in a breath. “Wha–”

He smacked again, the hardest yet. Tears sprang to her eyes though she didn’t move save to look over her shoulder. Tarquin was watching, eyes wholly focused on her gleaming cunt as he stroked his still hard cock. 

“You don’t get to come on my cock, Feyre. You are just a hole for me to fuck.”

Feyre screamed when he thrust into her, so hard she could feel it reverberating in her bones. Another slap against her aching ass was all she got for her trouble. One hand against her spine, the other holding her hips with bruising force, Tarquin pushed Feyre’s face into the blanket.

“Too loud,” he warned, his words just barely louder than the slap of his body. “Don’t want the whole palace to know how greedy you are, do you?”

She moaned into the fabric, her body responding with a flood of slick. Tarquin chuckled darkly behind her.

“What did I say, darling? You don’t come on my cock.”

She didn’t know if she could stop herself. Something was between her thighs—besides Tarquin, of course—teasing and tugging at her aching, swollen clit. Feyre wanted friction so badly, wanted to feel that ecstasy of release that she didn’t question what might actually be responsible for the feather-soft kissing.

Tarquin’s soft grunting drew her back to reality. Her body spasmed around him automatically, wanting to draw him in, liking the force with which he was pounding into her. He kept her pressed to the bed as he pushed, angling her hips up higher until her knees threatened to come off the bed entirely.

“Your pussy grips my cock so well,” he praised. “It seems the Cursebreaker can do more than just suck.”

She whimpered. 

“Wait until I tell the others. We’ll keep you at our feet on a leash, pass you around until that pussy drips nothing but come. Would you like that, Feyre? Birth seven heirs for all seven courts with that pretty, breeding pussy of yours?”

Each word was punctuated with a well-time thrust. She moaned again. “If you finish, I’ll punish you, darling,” his voice purred. “Any moment, now. Be a good girl and keep that ass arched for me.”

His voice wasn’t quite right. Feyre couldn’t move, pinned beneath his broad hand though something shadowy had blocked out the little light from the window. Wings. Massive, membranous wings were folded around her as that lingering scent of citrus and the sea now cascaded over her.

It had never been Tarquin. She’d known that, hadn’t she? And yet it was jarring when she felt Rhysand push himself one last time into her body and spill himself within her, how real the whole thing felt. How she’d been so certain it had been him.

Rhys went still, his hand palming her ass. “You didn’t come.” 

It was his dark, deep voice who spoke, and his broad, muscular body now blanketed against her back. His shadows that had teased but not enough to make her finish.

“You told me not to,” she whispered, turning her head to meet his violet gaze. Rhys dragged a finger through her body, sliding it back into her body along with the release that was dripping out of her.

“You smiled at him,” Rhys whispered, sinking to his knees beneath her.

“That didn’t mean I wanted to have sex with him,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” he said, his breath fanning against her cunt. “You were fucking me. You merely saw what you wanted to see.”

“Liar,” she replied, daring to say it. “You’re the only person I ever want to see.”

His tongue slid along the seam of her, tasting their mingled arousal. He groaned when he heard her say that, dragging her hips to hover directly above his face. “My pretty mate is so sweet when she wants to be.”

Rhys sucked her clit between soft lips before he began licking wildly, spreading her open and holding her tight against him. How he could breathe, Feyre didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t care.

Maybe Feyre wanted Rhys to feel a little discomfort. 

Grinding against him, Feyre pressed even closer, until she could feel his nose rubbing against her with each new licking pass. Rhys didn’t move at all and if he needed air to breathe he certainly didn’t act like it. He merely continued to lick until he could tell climax was building. Only then did Rhys add his fingers into the dripping wet, fucking her with an obscenely wet sound that made Feyre moan.

“The whole palace has heard how well I fuck you,” he gasped before he returned his taunting, teasing lips to her body. Feyre didn’t care, rolling her hips against him, fucking his hand desperately. This was what she needed. Something that was for her, something that was dependent on his raging erection or need to finish. .

She broke over his face, coating him in her release. Rhys road her through it with a loud, trembling groan that made her stomach clench. “That’s it, Feyre,” he panted wildly, taking one last ragged taste. 

Pulling her off the bed, Rhys held her against him, his face buried in her hair.

“What would it take for you to truly love me?” he whispered between the strands, his wings cocooning around them.

“What?” she asked, his words already fading. She swallowed. “What did you say?”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I said you come so pretty against my face, darling.”

But she was certain that was a lie.

~*~

In the morning, Tarquin smiled just as nicely at Feyre as he had the day before. He didn’t know he’d been the subject of her nightly fantasy though she would certainly never forget it. He was far too polite to say if he’d heard what went on between her and Rhys. Sunlight was peeking through the dark haze that was Feyre’s mind and memories though she didn’t think Rhys was aware of it.

Feyre could feel his purring presence, a cat curled in her lap while that clawed talon waited to pull her around. She didn’t know when she’d first realized but some small shred of herself was hiding in the darkest recesses.

Watching. 

She couldn’t remember what came before, though she was sure there must have been something. All that was gone, tucked away in a locked chest, with a key hanging about the cat’s collar. To get to it, Feyre would have to somehow shove Rhys out entirely. He was over five centuries old and his practice and control far exceeded her own. 

And still, she had managed to go undetected all morning. Rhys didn’t notice when Feyre decided to practice on the High Lord of Summer, burrowing into his own mind to look for the book. Down, down, down, until she saw it, hidden offshore in a place only Tarquin could reach.

And Rhys didn’t realize, when Tarquin placidly offered to take Feyre on a tour of Adriata, that he was taking her to that half hidden structure. 

“For you,” he murmured, unaware of what he truly offered. Feyre leaned up on her tiptoes and gave Tarquin a kiss on the cheek. To him, it was merely another piece of jewelry. A small token of his affection, standing ankle deep in water and sand. 

“You’re so kind,” Feyre told him, smiling wide. “I can never repay you for all this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, hand on her back. Rhys’s presence was watching, seeing exactly what Tarquin saw. A bustling market place surrounded by people surreptitiously eyeing the High Lord. The pretty necklace in her hand. 

Feyre.

Smiling.

It was thrilling to meet Rhys and Amren just outside the palace. She presented not a pretty diamond trinket, but one half of the Book of Breathings. Amren’s silver eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that, girl?”

But Feyre was looking at Rhys and his slack jawed expression. When did you get that? His voice whispered through her mind. He was invading again, that claw looking for what he’d missed. She scurried back, waiting for him to dig her out but Rhys swept right over her…missing what was beneath his nose. 

Still, his fogging magic smothered most of her resistance until Feyre was looking up at him, lips parted. 

“He gave it to me,” she said breathlessly. Rhys’s brow furrowed and Amren, clearly satisfied, was the one who answered.

“Must have been all those pretty smiles. We should leave before he realizes the gravity of his mistake.”

Rhys offered her his hand, gleaming like shimmering dusk beneath the beating, overhead sun. Feyre didn’t hesitate to take it, pleased when he pulled her into his chest before winnowing away without so much as a goodbye. Rhys deposited them both mid-air, laughing when Feyre screamed as they plummeted back to Earth. He still held her, his massive wings slowing them until they were airborne again, headed towards his mountainside palace. Clutching at his neck, Feyre didn’t release Rhys until he very gently pried her fingers off him.

“You…you’re a—”

He raised his brows as something familiar rose through her. Some old anger she’d forgotten, buried like a life she’d long since stopped living. It was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced with that softness she so often felt for him. 

“I’m a what, darling?” he murmured, caressing her cheek in his hand.

“You scared me,” she whispered. Rhys had the decency, at least, too seem apologetic.

“So did you,” he admitted, drawing her in for a kiss. “Why don’t you smile at me?”

Feyre blinked. “I…” 

It’s not real, some soft voice in her head whispered. When had she truly last smiled, besides? Years. Her whole life was a blur of suffering, of desperately trying to survive an onslaught of misery she couldn’t hold back. 

Could he sense those thoughts? His thumb rubbed against her cheek, eyes impossibly soft. “No one takes care of you.”

Was that what he was doing? She supposed it was. Rhys bent his knees, pulling her into his arms like she was his new bride. “My soft, sweet mate takes care of everyone. And how do they repay her?”

She pressed her head to his chest.

“They take from her. They lock her away. They refuse her information, training…power.”

“And you?” she asked when they reached the bedroom they shared. 

Rhys halted for a moment, still holding her like she was everything to him. Infinitely precious. Feyre felt it when his grip tightened and his eyes darkened. She expected him to lay her out, to peel her from her clothes and make love to her like he so often liked to do. Feyre wanted that, too. 

“You are my equal, Feyre,” he murmured. Caught by surprise, Feyre let him set her back to her feet. 

“You are my mate,” he added, with surprisingly ferocity. As if she didn’t understand what that truly meant to him. She realized she didn’t when he added, “I’ve been waiting five centuries for you.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever known what it meant to breathe before that moment. Feyre’s heart thundered in her chest as Rhys ran a hand through his inky black hair, his eyes wild and panicked.

“The whole world has a better claim to you than me, but Feyre I would lay the world at your feet if I thought you wanted that.”

The world rumbled for a moment, as if he meant to make the entire universe bow to his every whim. Rhys’s eyes glazed for a moment and then he was reaching for her. 

“Come with me,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist. Feyre trotted obediently after him, that tiny piece of herself watching with curiosity just out of his awareness. What did he mean to do? 

He swept her up, taking her back into Velaris. Like she’d imagined of Tarquin, the bustling crowds all paused to stare at their High Lord, head held high as he walked. Did he notice their eyes?

Or was it so normal he didn’t recognize their awe.

Cobbled streets and brightly colored homes were tucked against the same snow capped mountains as the palace. At the very top, overlooking the city at large, was the iridescent tower that belonged to the priestesses.

“Rhys–”

“It’s not what you think,” he all but panted, long legs moving just a little quicker. She had no say in the matter, not that Feyre would have told him no. They were mated, after all. What was marriage by comparison? Still, marriage, she thought, meant something. That little bit of her couldn’t figure out what. Too much was lost and too little could be risked by digging.

A wide eyed priestess draped in silvery blue met them at the door. She swept into a bow.

“High Lord,” she demurred, bent at the knees. “How can we serve you?”

Rhys’s eyes slid from the priestess to Feyre.

“I mean to make my mate my equal,” he said, his voice raw and dark like the onyx granite of the mountain behind them.

“Swear her in as High Lady of the Night Court.”