#quote by my sister in conversation tonight

[notahorseindisguise]

normalise easy would you rather questions

[spider-stark]

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader

Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

Word Count - 1.3k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering. 

But not tonight. 

Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.

For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.

But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend. 

Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him. 

It’s only when you speak that he looks up. 

“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.” 

Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.” 

Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.” 

In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters. 

You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all. 

Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.” 

Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.” 

“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?” 

It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through. 

Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for. 

You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.

But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice. 

Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.” 

“Understood what?” 

“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated. 

His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight. 

If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all. 

You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering. 

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.” 

“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.” 

You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.” 

Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.” 

You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you. 

“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask. 

Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection. 

Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?” 

His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles. 

He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.” 

The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard. 

Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back. 

Strained, you ask, “For what reason?” 

Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?” 

You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close. 

Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods. 

Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them. 

You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side. 

A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin. 

Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot. 

Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.” 

As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.” 

There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin. 

“To who?” 

Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind. 

Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.” 

A stone drops in your stomach. 

“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…” 

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence. 

Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…” 

You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch. 

The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.

a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??

anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

best friend's brother. ( justin russo x reader )

gif belongs to me

Justin had spent years drowning out Alex and Harper's conversations but even he was intrigued by their excited squeals and happy jumping. The pair had earned stares from many of the customers and when it was apparent that Alex was no longer working, Justin approached the duo with an irritated sigh, moving behind Alex who was behind the cash register, handing Max the order before turning to the two girls.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're really busy right now and you're supposed to be - what's the word? Helping!"

Alex scoffed, "I am helping." She tossed straws at a table and Justin's eyebrows rose when the handful of straws hit the person in the face, falling onto the table and the floor. "See?"

"We're just excited." Harper smiled at the eldest Russo. "Your parents agreed to a sleepover. On a school night!"

"What?" Justin looked at his sister who laughed.

"I know! Y/N's parents had to go out of town so mom told her mom that she could stay here and agreed to let Harper stay as well."

"Y/N is staying here? When?"

"Tonight. And tomorrow and the day after that." Alex replied.

"I can only stay tonight." Harper pouted.

"Yeah, yeah, that's terrible -" Justin noticed more customers arriving and departed to hand them menus, rapidly telling them the specials before returning to the two teenagers. "So, when is she coming over?"

"In an hour." Harper stood up, "That reminds me I better go get ready for tonight. Ah! I can't wait!"

"An hour, huh?" Justin rested a hand on the countertop as he stood across from Alex who was growing suspicious of his interest in the sleepover. "And w-where is she sleeping?"

"My room, duh." Alex smirked, "Why do you want to know so much anyway? Are you attracted to her?"

"Guys, order up!" Max called.

Justin scoffed, "Wha- no!"

"Guys!" Max yelled louder.

Justin took the opportunity to retreat and Alex's amused gaze followed him as he went to collect the orders. "Now unlike you, I have work to do."

"Uh-huh."

A short while later Justin was in the kitchen helping Max clear up after the lunch rush when you arrived, pulling a suitcase and when he heard Alex call your name he looked through the hatch to see you heading upstairs.

"Dude!" Max called when he left the kitchen. By the time he made it upstairs you and Alex were gone, your suitcase in the hallway, and his mother informed him that you and Alex had gone to meet Harper.

Inwardly he groaned before heading back to the substation to help Max who complained about doing most of the work, leading the two to argue before their father intervened.

You entered the substation a few hours later carrying bags from clothing stores and Justin turned when you called his name desperately.

"Justin, help me!"

He abandoned the table he was taking orders from and took as many bags as he could. You sighed in relief and he raised an eyebrow at Alex and Harper who entered.

"My hero."

Alex scoffed while Justin stammered, clearing his throat before helping you take the bags upstairs. "What about my bags?"

"Did your arms fall off?" He called over his shoulder.

"Did your arms fall off?" She mocked.

You laughed at the siblings as you all made your way to Alex's bedroom, and you dropped the bags onto the floor, sighing in relief. "I remembered why I hate shopping with you."

"You didn't have to buy them," Alex argued.

"But they looked cute on me!" You pouted.

"It's true. They did." Harper agreed.

"Everything looks cute on you," Justin mumbled, but he was close enough for you and Alex to hear.

"Thank you." You smiled at the eldest Russo. "She!" You pointed at Alex accusingly, "Said I looked 'okay'." You used your fingers as quotes.

"Uh, hello? Pink ruffles?" Alex collapsed onto her back on the bed and you giggled as you mimicked her actions.

"I just didn't want Sarah to get them. Remember that dress I waited a while for? She went out and bought the last one."

"That's terrible!" Harper frowned.

"I had it reserved." You rested on your elbows to meet her gaze, your hair framing your face and Justin couldn't look away. "I paid extra and they didn't even give me a refund! Just a stupid coupon."

Theresa entered the bedroom, surprised to find Justin voluntarily listening to your latest shopping spree. "Justin, your father wants you downstairs. Now."

Justin walked out with his mother and Alex rolled her eyes, shaking her head at how easily your presence dumbed down his high IQ.

Later that night you and Harper joined the Russo family for dinner and when your parents called to check in, you went onto the balcony and Justin kept glancing over as you paced while on the phone.

Alex and Harper went to the substation to get snacks while they waited and when he saw you sit down outside, Justin decided to go out and check on you.

"Everything okay?" He closed the door behind him as you turned in surprise, sending him a small smile.

"Yeah," You looked out at the view below as he stood next to you, "It's strange...it's the first time I've ever stayed away from home and my parents are not even in the same city."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about," Justin sent you a small smile, "Between Alex's snoring and Harper talking in her sleep, you'll never fall asleep so you can't have a nightmare."

Laughter fell from your lips and Justin chuckled, his smile growing when you leaned into him. "Maybe I should sleep on the couch."

He shook his head, "You can take my room. I'll sleep on the couch."

You would argue with him but you knew from experience it was a losing battle. "You're always so nice to me."

"Don't tell Harper but you are my favorite out of Alex's friends." He said. You bumped your shoulder with his, smiling softly. "I'm serious!" He grinned.

You met his gaze with a smile, "You're my favorite Russo." You kissed his cheek and Justin stood frozen, afraid to breathe and ruin the moment. "Goodnight, Justin."

You went back inside and joined your friends in front of the television. Justin went to his room and came down when the movie ended with a pillow and a blanket. You walked out of Alex's room and headed to the living room as he was setting up the couch.

"Goodnight." You bit the inside of your cheek as your eyes met.

"Night," Justin replied.

You went upstairs to his bedroom and found it unsurprisingly cleaner than Alex's. You smiled softly as you glanced around, seeing the posters and the blue wallpaper. The books overflowing on the bookcase made your smile grow. The room screamed Justin Russo and it was comforting that night.

You climbed into the bed and lay gazing up at the ceiling. You were exhausted, and from your many glances at the alarm clock on the bedside table, it was quickly becoming morning, yet you still couldn't sleep.

Like you, Justin was replaying the moment on the terrace although his eyes were closed, his brain was running a mile a minute trying to figure out what it meant. You said favorite Russo, not Russo Brother, and kissed his cheek. What did it all mean?

"Justin?" He turned when you whispered his name and sat up, finding you in the glow coming through the doors leading to the terrace. "Are you asleep?"

"No." He paused when Harper's sleep-talking echoed down the hall, and you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle your giggles. "I did warn you."

"You did."

"What's wrong?" He asked, standing up as you approached the sofa.

You took a deep breath as you approached him. "I'm gonna say something and until I do, I don't think I can sleep ever again so here goes." You cleared your throat, "I know I'm younger than you, and you probably have a girlfriend and I made things super awkward earlier by kissing your cheek and telling you I had feelings for you, but I have to know if there is even the slightest possibility you could like me back."

Justin stood for a moment in stunned silence before shaking his head. "No." Before you could step away he grabbed your arm and lowered his hand to yours, closing the gap between you. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. And there isn't a possibility, I'm a hundred percent certain that I like you. I thought you wouldn't like me because, well, I am your best friend's brother."

"I thought you would see me as the weird younger kid with a crush." You sighed, taking his other hand.

Justin smiled, "You aren't that weird."

"Hey!" You pouted, exclaiming quietly to avoid waking anyone else.

"I'm kidding." He chuckled, wetting his lips anxiously as he lifted a hand to your cheek. "While you do have questionable financial choices, I like everything about you. You're amazing, Y/N. I wouldn't change a thing."

You smiled fondly, your breath hitching when he leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips met. You melted into the kiss, heart hammering in your chest and knees growing weak as he placed his free hand on your back, bringing you closer.

You were both too consumed in the moment that you didn't register the footsteps growing closer until the light turned on, blinding you briefly until you turned to the culprit, your eyes widening when you saw an equally surprised Alex.

"Urgh, gross!" She groaned. "Okay, first rule, no kissing around me. Urgh!" She walked to the refrigerator to get a drink before leaving and you looked at Justin seconds before she turned the light off.

You covered your mouth as you fell onto the couch, giggling as he joined you. "We are never going to hear the end of this."

You bit your lip as he turned to you, resting his arm on the back of the sofa as he moved closer. "I have to live with her." He smiled, cradling your cheek as you giggled. Not wishing to be disturbed a second time, you put your hand on his chest when he leaned in to pick up where you left off and took his hand, pulling him upstairs and Justin smiled when he realized your plan.

He closed his bedroom door as he took in the view of your features illuminated by the lamp you had left on. You smiled when he closed the distance between you with large strides, placing your hands on his cheeks as he kissed you, his hands resting on your hips as he held you closer.

You didn't know what this spelled for your friendship with Alex. She did not like sharing and Justin knew there were many arguments ahead when she would undoubtedly interrupt your dates or any time you spent together. But at that moment nothing else mattered, you would figure it all out along the way. For now, you savored the moment alone, high off the feel of his kiss and your confessions. Little did you know there was one more secret he was keeping from you.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Israel has been preparing for the possibility of a direct strike from Iran. To that end, the IDF has been initiating GPS jamming, first in the south, and now in central Israel as well. On a personal note, I had to calm my mom down today (I could do this thanks to having heard about it on the news already), because it's a scary thing for people, and they don't know what to think, when they open Waze and find themselves "appearing" in enemy territory. Iran's attack options might also include drone attacks, or anti-Jewish terrorist attacks around the world. We've heard about Esther and Mordechai's Tomb being attacked tonight in Iran itself.

Speaking of the country that's the biggest funder of terrorism globally, tomorrow it's "Al-Quds Day" (Jerusalem Day) in Iran. It was established in 1979, after the Islamist revolution, as an antisemitic political measure, meant to help radicalize people against the Jewish state. Officially, it's a protest of Israel's sovereignity in Jerusalem, the city which has been the capital of the Jewish people, the place we pray to, for over 3,000 years, longer than Islam has existed. Some people worry that Iran will use this date specifically to strike against Israel or other Jewish targets around the world.

With or without connection, the chief of Israel's army intelligence is quoted as saying in private conversations, "I have told you time and time again that it is not certain that the worst is behind us and we are ahead of complex days."

Back in February, we heard that the niece of Hamas' overall leader, Ismail Haniyeh, gave birth in an Israeli hospital, and her baby, which was born prematurely, was treated in an Israeli hospital's NICU, the same hospital that had to have millions of shekels spent on, in order to make parts of it safe during Hamas' rocket attacks. While at it, we were reminded that several of Haniyeh's sisters live in Israel after marrying Israeli Bedouins, and that a few more of his relatives were allowed from Gaza into Israel for medical treatment. Just a small reminder that Haniyeh's personal wealth is estimated to be somewhere between 4 to 5 billion dollars (Taylor Swift's is only a little over 1 billion dollars), and if he wanted to, he could have flown his entire family out of there, to join him in Qatar, with the best facilities and care, rather than get medical care at a hospital subsidized by the "genocidal Zionist enemy."

Now we get the news that one of Haniyeh's sisters, a 57 years old woman, has been arrested for helping Hamas, including support for the Oct 7 massacre.

This is 34 years old Lidor Levi.

He was critically injured in the Palestinian terrorist attack in Gan Yavne. He was in a hospital, fighting for his life for 4 days. Today we got the news that he succumbed to his wounds. He leaves a pregnant wife and a daughter behind. May his memory be a blessing.

I will never understand how the accidental killing of 7 civilians in Gaza is making more headlines, and causes more rage, than the on going and intentional killing of so many Israeli civilians targeted in terrorist attacks along this entire war. I can't remember the world even addressing it, let alone raging about how unacceptable these killings are, and how they're proof that Palestinian terrorist organizations must be stopped. For that matter, I haven't come across anywhere as many headlines and world leaders' statements about an intentional drone attack that killed several rescue workers in Kharkiv, where a residential area was targeted. The hyperfocus on the one conflict where Jews can be demonized, is also leaving a lot less attention for, practical aid, and just general caring about other conflicts, which are in many ways far worse (just look at Tigray alone on the below map). It's harmful to so many more people than we come close to realizing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[idontplaytrack]

✧ No, idiot

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George

Warnings: coarse language, fluff

Just a cute little peek into their day, home alone while Janis�� parents are on a trip. Ft. ‘Imi’ike! younger sister reader(1 year younger) & Cady Heron

Inspired by this incorrect quote by @frogs00 & @magicmumu2 <3 :)

“Jan.” She hears Regina calling her name. But she ignores her, more focused on her phone— she was currently texting you.

“Janis.” She hears again. Ignored.

“‘Imi’ike.” Regina huffs, tossing a cheese puff at her face.

Janis shrieked. “What?”

“I’ve been calling for you forever.” Regina smirks, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Texting y/n.”

“Why? She’s fine. She’s at the grocery store.”

“I know she’s fine. I just want her to get my damn gummy worms.” Janis sulked.

Regina nearly snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Janis pulled a face, tossing her phone aside after reading your text.

“Nothing, you’re just cute. Can’t I think you’re cute?” Regina shrugs, “Idiot.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Janis scoffs, grabbing a couch cushion and tossing it Regina’s way. The blonde easily caught it and set it down. “Don’t make me hit you back with this.”

“Thought you already would’ve.” Janis flashes her a cheekily smile then picked up her phone when it buzzed. “NOOOO.”

“What?” Regina cracked a smile.

“They don’t have the gummy worms I wanted.” Janis sulked.

“So, just get something else?” Regina scooted closer, wrapping an arm around the smaller girl. “I’ll get you those you like next time we’re out.”

“Dude, I’ve been craving for that specific brand of gummy worms. I finally got her to cave and get me a bag and they’re out of stock.” Janis deadpanned.

“Babe, if you say ‘gummy worms’ one more time…I will laugh.”

“Ugh, forget it. It’s such a stupid thing anyway.”

Regina tilted Janis’ face and presses a kiss to her lips, “Cheer up. We’re home alone.”

Janis chuckled mockingly, “With my sister.”

“Like she would care what we do.” Regina replies.

“It’s stressful knowing she’s like two doors down.” Janis rolled her eyes.

“You could be quiet.”

“Tsk.” Janis looks up, glaring at the blonde, “Talk about yourself.”

Regina smirks again, then laughed breathily, “She’s not here now.”

“No.” Janis says, “We’re not doing anything now.”

“Okay.” Regina agrees without a fight.

“But when she goes out to watch a movie with Carly tonight, sure.”

Regina says, eager, “Ooh, okay.” Janis giggles a little. “Who’s Carly again?” Regina asks. “Is that the girl she has a crush on?

“The girl she likes, yeah.” Janis answered.

“Right.” Regina nods, tracing random shapes and lines on Janis’ forearm, “Did y/n tell her yet?”

“No, but the tension? It’s there alright.” Janis laughs at the recollection, “Every time I see them together, they’re like— flirting. To me at least.”

“Maybe they need a little nudge.” Regina winks.

“I am not meddling. They’re doing fine.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Regina said back, “So we know your sister’s queer because she came out to us. But is Carly?”

“I dunno. She never said anything more than ‘I think I like her’.”

Regina hums, “Oh. Hey, what’s for lunch?”

“Food, usually.” Janis answered without hesitation.

“No, idiot, I mean what are we having?” Regina was biting back a laugh.

“An unwanted conversation.” Janis smiled, earning a playful shove from the blonde.

“Why is your sister at the grocery store?”

“She said she wanted to cook something, I dunno. She’s old enough to drive, I don’t have to watch her like a toddler.” Janis shrugs.

Regina scoffs, “And you couldn’t have just said she was gonna cook?”

At this moment, they hear a familiar jingle of keys. You were home. “Hi, baby.” Regina greeted. “Hey.”

Janis squints, noticing a change in your mood. Not in a good way. “y/n, what’s wrong?”

“I ran into Carly at the donut shop I stopped at on my way home.” You began, “I was planning on telling her that I liked her tonight, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Janis and Regina shifted on the couch to make space for you in between them. You sat down. “She was there with a boy. And they kissed.” You started to explain, recalling the images in your head, “She was the one who started flirting with me first so I flirted back. I don’t even know when she got a boyfriend— she didn’t tell me. If she did, I wouldn’t have been so stupid and continued. I should’ve guessed it when she canceled on me last minute for the last few times. I’m so stupid.”

“No. No one could’ve just guessed something like that.” Janis disagrees, “And don’t you dare call yourself stupid. You are not stupid.”

“What can we do to make you feel better?” Regina asks seriously.

“I don’t know, honestly. I just feel like shit. I don’t even know what I want to do.” You admit.

“How about we get our friend Cady to come hang out, and you two can chat? See where that goes?” Regina suggested. Janis was alarmed, “Really? You think this is the right time for that?”

“Actually, yeah. Please do that.” You agreed, “I don’t want to think about Carly anymore. I honestly just need a clean break from her. Now that my feelings for her are no longer platonic. It’s not gonna help if I stay friends with her.

“I don’t get it.” Janis says.

Regina chuckles, “Right. You don’t know this, but word has it that Cady likes your sister.”

“Cady?”

“Yes. And she has a crush on Cady too.”

“I never thought she’d like feel the same way, too, in my defence. She’s way out of my league. She hangs out with you.” You said, looking at Regina.

“She didn’t hang out with me.” Regina pointed to Janis, “But she’s my girlfriend now. So your point?”

“Is that I’m nervous.” You looked at the blonde dead in the eye, “Okay, it’s silly to have two crushes at once but hey, if you’re gonna offer to text her for me so we can hang out, I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Is this not too rushed?” Janis raised her concern.

“No, I’m done with Carly. Nothing has to happen between me and Cady— we’re just hanging out, getting to know each other.” You replied firmly.

“Okay, if you say so.” Janis smirks, grabbing her phone.

“What are you laughing at?” You squinted at Regina.

“Just the fact that sooner or later, the whole of our friend group’s gonna be kissing each other.”

Janis chortled, “She’s right. Karen and Gretchen. Me and her. I mean, Damian’s…Damian. Then you and Cady, maybe?”

“Okay, I take it Janis is texting Cady. I will make us a nice lunch. You don’t worry about anything at all — just look pretty for your crush.” Regina decided. “Requests?”

“Just make whatever you want.” Janis shooed her away.

“Fine. Chicken and waffles?”

“Sounds good.” You told her as she walked into the kitchen and checked out your grocery haul.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Janis. Just need a good cry in the shower later on. All a part of life, right?” You chuckled dryly, “We’ve been friends forever. Maybe that’s why it felt so easy to be catching feelings for her. It’s not her fault, I just wish she would’ve told me she was seeing someone just like she’s told me everything else. Then it wouldn’t have been so sudden and such a punch in the gut. Also, the fact that she acted as if I already knew when she introduced me to him? I knew I had to leave her. She wasn’t honest with me. I don’t want someone like that in my life anymore.”

Janis puts her arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “You’ll be alright, bubs. We got your back.”

“Thanks, Janis.” You blinked profusely, trying to avoid the crying.

“Let’s watch a movie, alright? You pick one. I’ll be back in a second. Just gonna grab us some snacks.”

“Do you guys want cookies or brownies?” Regina asks from across the room.

“Both.” Janis requested.

“No, idiot. Pick one.” Regina laughs, “I’m using the boxed mixes in the pantry. So if your parents ask, it was me.”

“The cookies, please.” You replied, “Thanks, Reg.”

“I was hoping you’d pick the brownies, but I’ll listen to you because you’re in a bad mood and I’m trying to help you feel better if not Janis’ll kill me.”

“I will not.” Janis gasps, offended.

“You’re capable of it.” Regina retorted, “You lit my backpack on fire.”

“Wrong.” You chimed in, “She lit your unicorn on fire. Your backpack was collateral damage.”

“I’m joking.” Regina tries not to grin but still did at this interaction. She’d never admit it, but she obviously had a soft spot for Janis, but also, for you. She cares, but always hid her concern behind her usual attitude whenever she speaks or does something.

————

The smell of waffles soon wafted through the air, accompanying the aroma of the fried chicken. “Stop staring at my ass.” Regina looks over her shoulder.

Janis stuck her tongue out, “No.”

“Childish.”

“I’ll bite you.”

You laughed, hugging a couch cushion close while your eyes were glued onto the TV screen. Before you knew it, Janis was hopping off the couch and jumping onto Regina’s back while the blonde was plating the food. “Hey!” Regina exclaimed. “Damn, I could’ve dropped this on the floor, baby.”

“As long as you don’t drop me on the floor.” Janis continues, resting her chin on Regina’s shoulder.

“Will you please get off me?” Regina asked, “Lunch is ready.”

“Fuck, you’re a great cook.” Janis admired the food on the table.

“Thank you~ I try.” Regina says, “Off.”

“Fine.” Janis pouted, standing back on the ground.

Regina retaliated by smacking her on the ass. “Ow! Damn you!” Janis shrieked, “You’re going to pay for that.”

“Gladly.”

Sighing, then laughing lightly as you watched them joke around with each other, you walk over to the kitchen, joining just briefly to grab your plate. You ate in front of the TV while your sister and her girlfriend ate in the dining area.

“y/n, the cookies are done if you want them.” Regina tells you. You nodded, not paying much attention to her than you were the movie. “You okay?” Janis asks.

“Mhm.” You confirmed, then Janis realised you were watching your favourite movie. Which explained why your eyes were practically glued to the screen. She shrugs, “Cady’s arriving soon.”

“Okay.”

Regina laughs, “Damn, what the kind of movie is she watching for her to be so focused on it?”

“Tangled.”

“What?” Regina chortled, “Tangled?”

“Well, she likes it. Let her enjoy it.” Janis retorted.

“I didn’t say anything about not letting her enjoy her movie.” Regina squinted, “You have syrup on your chin, idiot.”

“Whatever.” Janis shrugs, “I’m still eating, anyway.” Regina grabs a napkin and leaned forward to help Janis clean it off. Janis gives her a childlike grin, mouth full of the chewed up waffle and chicken, “I’m your idiot, though.”

“What is this? Are you like, about to get a sugar rush?” Regina was more amused by her little antic than she expected.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, boy.” Regina sighs, watching the brunette happily munching on the food. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Janis rolled her eyes playfully, “Aw, thank you so much.”

The doorbell rings, interrupting their silly banter. “Cady’s here.” Janis declared. “I’ll get the door. She’s um…doing that.” You put down your plate and went to answer the door.

“y/n! Hi!” The redhead gives you a bright smile, you stepped aside to let her enter.

“Hi.” You flashed her a small smile in return.

“I made chicken and waffles. Help yourself.” Regina began, “y/n’s watching Tangled, and Janis is currently giggling to herself because she’s had too much sugar.”

Cady couldn’t help but laugh, especially with how she said it, “Oh, I love Tangled. It’s my favourite movie.“ Your head whipped around so fast to look at her, “It is?”

“Oh, yeah. I haven’t watched many movies, but yes. That’s my favourite one.” She confirms, glancing at you on her way to the kitchen. After getting her share of food, Cady joins you in the living room to watch the movie together with you.

“She likes you, Caddy.” Janis giggles, “Oh, god. I need to stop doing this.”

“Janis!” Your eyes widened, horrified.

“She does this a lot, I’m sure she’s just—” Cady tells you.

“Yeah, she does.” You laughed awkwardly, “But um, Regina said you liked me…?”

Her cheeks flushed a light pink, “Um…” Your heart starts slamming in your chest, waiting for her to respond.

“Yeah, I— I do.” Cady spat out after putting her half-eaten plate of food down, “Do you…”

“Y—” You stuttered, “Yes, I do. I like you, too.”

Janis’ giggling snapped you out of it, “Regina, please don’t tell me you put stuff in her food.”

“Why would I do that? She’s a handful as it is.”Regina laughs, “Okay, that’s it, you’re not eating anymore of this. You are acting like a child.”

You were trying not to laugh, but seeing Janis being babied like this by Regina was far too entertaining to you and Cady.

“Fineee.” Janis huffs. “Take a shower with me.”

Regina’s brows were raised, bewildered. Then her signature smirk was plastered on her face again, “Okay.”

Janis stopped fidgeting, looking at Regina solemnly, “Really?”

“Fuck it, yeah. We’ll let these two babies have their alone time, while we have our fun.” Regina looked at you and Cady then back at Janis. “Will you two be okay alone? Of course, who am I kidding, you guys aren’t kids.”

“We’ll be fine, Regina. Just gonna hang out here.” Cady assured, “You two just…lock your door.”

“Don’t even worry about that.” Regina takes Janis by the wrist and pulled her up. Janis lays her head on Regina’s chest, “Carry me.”

“God, babe. The syrup on your chin is on my shirt.” Regina seethed, but she didn’t stay annoyed for long and just complied, “Fine, clingy. Cady, not a word. To anyone.”

————

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

[hotreadingwitch]

MADE TO LIE - the gallery

BUCKY

“Yes, we went,” Bucky heard Y/n’s voice echoing in the bathroom as she attempted to talk to Natasha and Wanda on the phone quietly, the one-sided conversation slowly getting louder and louder, “No we didn’t. Do I what? Wanda calm down—Maybe…but I’d never admit it to him…” 

“Y/n, you know I can hear every word you’re saying right?” Bucky called out from where he sat on their bed, trying, but failing really, to relax before they had to leave. 

“I’ve got to go” he heard her whisper hastily into the phone, “Yes, yes I’ll talk to you later” 

The door to the bathroom slid open revealing Y/n in a fluffy white robe with the golden emblem of the hotel on it. Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You really heard everything?” she said sheepishly, bowing her head.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you no?” 

“Probably not” 

“Then yes” 

Y/n ran a hand through her hair. The silence grew. 

“You’re close with them huh? Natasha and Wanda?” 

“Yeah, I am” Y/n seemed to relax at this, “I love them, they’re like sisters to me” 

“Well, I’m glad you have them. I’m learning it’s important to have people you love around you” 

“You’ve got Steve and Beatka” she smiled before a short giggle slipped out, “And Sam of course” 

“Steve and Beatka, yes. Sam, no.” 

“C’mon, you love him really” 

He shook his head, suppressing a laugh, “I tolerate him, that’s more what it is” 

“Sure, that’s it” Y/n chuckled lightly, “Whatever helps you sleep at night” 

“By the way” he started, “We should probably get going soon” 

“Okay let me just slip my dress on” She went back into the bathroom, closing the door a crack as she changed. 

In a flash Y/n was back out in the bedroom, looking even more stunning than before, if that was even possible, a waft of sensual perfume overwhelming Bucky’s senses. His thoughts raced as he took in her sparkling black mini dress that was embroidered with intricate designs of silver and gold and the matching dangling earrings she wore that were so long they just barely touched her shoulders. The memory of her warm neck beneath his lips practically made him shudder. 

“Bucky?” her voice brought him back to Earth, “Are you alright…?”

He hadn’t realized how heavily he was breathing, “Yeah. Fine.” This woman is going to be the death of me. 

He stood up from the bed, already dressed in his suit and tie, trying as subtly as possible to re-adjust himself. Thankfully, if she noticed she didn’t say anything. 

“Let’s go” 

Y/N

The Guggenheim towered over them as they walked through the glass doors and into the gallery. Following the slow trickle of other black-tie-dressed guests, they made it to the private event space that was being rented for the night’s social event. Holding out his hand for her to take, which she quickly did, Y/n gazed around the room, immediately searching for the Cranes. She could sense Bucky doing the same. 

“Something’s wrong…” Y/n said quietly as she took a flute of champagne from a suited server passing by, blending in with the other high-society attendees. 

“I know” he affirmed, then playfully taking the lone glass from her and taking a sip, before getting serious, “They aren’t here…yet” 

Y/n opened her mouth to speak into the headpiece before remembering she wasn’t connected to the other Avengers via earpiece or cameras tonight. Tony had thought it was casual enough, safe enough, that they wouldn’t need the team’s help, especially since they had quote-unquote “mostly proved their romance already.”

“Let’s mingle then, we should blend in at least” Y/n suggested, tugging on the crook of Bucky’s arm. 

From that moment, they spent the next hour at least chatting with philanthropists and socialites, many of whom it seemed rivalled Bucky in their old age, though none looked quite like him, of course. 

“Mrs.Henderson,” Y/n greeted with a genuine smile. Betty was one of the few in this crowd that Y/n actually knew from her own, more subtle work with certain charities. After escaping her father, escaping her past life, she was committed to providing as much aid as she could to those who were living in difficult situations, like she had, who needed help, resources, anything. She even donated to other causes as well, finding that the more she helped others, the more her own guilt eased. The truth was Y/n had been a criminal, whether she had liked it or not was another story, trained as a child to be a weapon for her father to exploit. Elena likely would’ve been the same if…Well, Y/n wouldn’t follow that thought, not tonight. 

“You must be Y/n’s new partner, James is it?” 

“That’s right ma’am” 

Betty beamed, tilting her head conspiratorially toward Y/n, “And polite too, do tell Y/n, where did you find a gentleman like him?”

“Oh you know Betty, Stark’s more of a matchmaker than people give him credit for…it might even be his greatest talent,” this time she leaned in with humour dancing in her eyes, “But don’t tell him I said that”

She chuckled politely into her dainty hand, the diamond bracelet on her wrist likely more money than some of the priceless art in the gallery. With a huff she clutched at her chest, concern instantly taking over her features. 

“Mrs.Henderson? Are you alright?” Bucky asked, with a small cough. 

Y/n’s gaze flitted to him, noticing unnatural beads of sweat covering his forehead before looking back to Betty and noticing her paling face. Her eyes flicked back to Bucky just as they both said out loud, 

“The champagne” 

Shit.

People around them started to go down, scarily fast. One minute they were all standing, making polite chit-chat, the next they were all bodies covering the marble floor. Bucky stumbled beside her, uncharacteristically weak. Y/n kept him upright, using practically all her strength to do so, the super soldier serum being the only reason he wasn’t passed out like the rest of the guests. 

“James” a sinister voice greeted, echoing across the piles of unconscious bodies, “Y/n” 

Her gaze snapped to the podium at the front of the grand room where two figures had suddenly appeared. A red-headed man and woman, twins, assessed the situation with practically evil smiles. They were eerily calm. 

“All this to get me back?” Bucky huffed, his tone dangerous and sarcastic yet loud in the quiet room. 

“You are our strongest soldier, Barnes” the woman called out, her voice crisp, “you know we are who you belong with not these…Avengers”

“Was” Y/n corrected, a fierce look in her eyes.

Their gazes flicked to her as if they were just now noticing her presence, “Excuse me?” 

“He was your strongest soldier, but he sure as hell isn’t now—you’re never getting him back again” she spat out. 

The Cranes laughed cruelly. The woman then stepped forward, walking toward Y/n and Bucky from where she was in the large space. 

“Y/n Y/l/n…James’ new ‘lover,’ tell me, what are you going to do about it?” she sneered, taunting her, “You’re no one, you don’t even deserve to be an Avenger. Why? Because you’re a fucking traitor. You betrayed your own family when family is everything we have. I hate to think what you’ll do to your team or when you’ll eventually abandon poor Buckyhere” 

Bucky growled next to her, standing to his full height, despite the temporary poison seeping through his veins. 

“Don’t you fucking dare” he emphasized the word, “Talk to her like that again if you value your life”

“And what are you going to do about it?” the man called out with a laugh. 

“I don’t know Angelo…maybe shoot you again” Bucky taunted, “How’d that gunshot to the chest heal?”

Angelo growled in response. 

“Very funny…” a cold voice boomed through the space, immediately sending a chill down Y/n’s spine. 

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice only to find a gun pointed right at her. 

requested account tags: cjand10 identity2212 bucky-jbb-sunshine unaxv hnnhbananananana @differenttyphoonwerewolf

[ccbb2222]

A Woman in Charge- Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: The wifi cuts out during your workday so you go to the next best place to finish up your work calls: the Hard Deck. Rooster shamelessly eavesdrops on your work call...and he likes what he hears.

Pairings: Rooster x Reader

Warnings: Some swears, mostly flirting

You sigh, locking your car in the parking lot and slinging your work bag over your shoulder. The wifi going out before your final few meetings of the day was not on your bingo card this afternoon. Knowing the local coffee shops would be overridden with afternoon patrons, you headed to your local dive, the Hard Deck, where you figured you could post up unbothered before the 5 o'clock rush.

Waving to Penny as you walk in, you motion to your work bag, "All good if I bum your wifi off of you if I order a beer?"

Penny laughs, writing down the wifi passcode and sliding it across the bar top, "No purchase necessary, hun. You're here plenty to earn your right to wifi.'' Laughing gratefully, you find a seat at the corner of the bar and open your laptop, carefully pulling your prep notes from your bag. You see your direct report's name pop up on your screen with an incoming call and you quickly grab your headphones.

"Chloe, hi," You greet, shifting your laptop to get the camera to the best possible angle.

"Hey," She greets, then squints looking at you, "Are you...at a bar?"

You laugh, explaining your wifi dilemma and she nods, "Wait, isn't that the navy bar?"

You shrug, "Yeah, I guess it is."

Chloe smiles gleefully. Although she was based out of the East Coast, her sister lived in San Diego. "Oh girl, I hope you score a hot man tonight." "Hey now, I'm still your boss," You joke, before stirring the conversation back on course. "So what's up?"

Chloe sighs, then divulges the latest messages between her and the creative director that you were due to meet with in 15 minutes. "So he's saying the project won't be prioritized. And then proceeded to lecture me on how to best submit requests 'on time.' And that once I'm with the company longer, I'll understand how it works." You roll your eyes. As a boss, you weren't afraid to show your mutual frustrations. "You did submit the request on time though," You say, "In fact, I remember you submitting it early."

Chloe nods, "I did! And that's what I was going to say. But he just kept turning the conversation back to prioritization and made me feel like my work wasn't important."

You see her shoulders deflate and you feel frustration wash over you. You were still, by all accounts, "young." As a 27 year old, you were by no means a "well seasoned" adult. But you had been in the corporate world longer than fresh-faced, recent grad, Chloe. You remembered what it felt like to be in her shoes.

"Are you okay if I run point on this meeting, Chloe?" You check, "I don't want to overstep, but I'd love to be able to weigh in on how your work is being...'prioritized.'" You finger quote the last word, which gets a cackle out of Chloe. She nods, "Oh by all means." You wrap up with Chloe and end the call. Sifting through your notes, you listen to your work playlist as you gear up for your next meeting. You knew it was never easy working with Dan, the creative director. He was condescending and quite frankly, sexist. The way he treated Chloe made your blood boil. You knew exactly how it felt, you had been on the receiving end of it. But enough was enough.

You were so caught up in your notes and (fucking amazing) playlist, that you don't notice the group of naval aviators enter the Hard Deck.

Penny greets them with a smile, "Cutting out early today?" She asks looking at her watch, "It's only 3:45." Hangman laughs, leaning against the bar top, "Grueling day with the new class. Mav wasn't easy on them." "A round for everyone, then?" She asks and receives a chorus of yeses. "Up for some pool, Rooster?" Phoenix asks, only to be promptly ignored.

Rooster was locked in on you, seated at the far end of the bar, laptop opened and mouth pulled down in a frown. He was struck by how beautiful you were, but even more so, how adorable you looked with your brow furrowed. "Helloooo?" Phoenix shakes his shoulders with a laugh. "Oh, sorry, what?" Rooster runs a hand through his hair and returns his gaze to his best friend.

"She's pretty," Phoenix says with a knowing smirk.

"She really is," Rooster agrees, leaning on the bar and returning a shameless stare.

"Bradley!" Penny scolds, and he jumps, "Let the woman work." Phoenix and Hangman, having witnessed the encounter, both bark out loud laughs at Rooster's blushing face.

"I — I," He stutters, and Penny just grins at him like a cheshire cat.

"You can talk to her after she's done working. Now shoo," She waves her dishrag at him and he shuffles away with his tail between his legs.

You wait for the clock to hit 4, and then you promptly enter the work call, leaving your camera off.

You wait for the greetings, and then unmute yourself, "Thanks for hopping on everyone." You start, "Sorry for the background noise and lack of camera. My wifi went out so I had to relocate and it seems to have gotten a bit busy here.” You pause to adjust your headphones, “Just wanted to meet to discuss our upcoming projects and see where we can land on prioritization. Would love to hear from Dan's side what's top of mind, then we can share what's top of mind for us, and hopefully reach a game plan. Sound good?" Unbeknownst to you, Rooster was listening to your every word. Standing just a few feet to the left of you, he sipped his beer and "watched" Hangman and Phoenix square off in pool.

He smirked at how confident you sounded leading the meeting, and didn't miss the way you clearly rolled your eyes at something that was being said on the call. He figured your camera must be off given the eye roll and the constant tapping of your fingers against the bar top, seemingly out of frustration. He wanted to see you get worked up over him.

"Can I jump in for a second, Dan?" You say, a slight edge to your voice. Dan had been on a tangent about team priorities, but had dropped in a not-so-subtle slight towards Chloe and her short tenure at the company. Waiting for him to stop talking, you continue, "I understand how your team can only work on so much at once. What I'm getting confused about though is how Chloe's tenure here has any weight on where her project stands. We have presented this plan to many teams, including the CEO, and they have all expressed interest and are bought-in. In fact, given the cross-functional buy in this project has, the predicted impact, and the deadline we're facing, I would argue this should be the team's top priority."

Bradley's jaw is practically dropped at this point, listening to how assertive but eloquently you argued for your direct report. If he had to be honest, it was probably one of the hottest things he'd ever seen. He definitely wouldn't mind being bossed around by you. Hell, he had to stop himself from crawling on his hands and knees over to your barstool just to be ordered around by you. Ending your call you smile, knowing the case was strong and getting additional support from the others on the call. Dan had no choice but to cave, although he didn't seem happy about it. Your laptop lights up with one more incoming call from Chloe and you promptly answer.

"OH MY GOD." She says, and you laugh. "That was AMAZING." You shrug, and let out a breath, "Hey, I need to stand up for my directs. Plus, your project has way more buy-in than half of the things they have on their to-do list. Just gotta stand your ground sometimes. I won't stand for people talking to my teammates like that. It's not okay." Chloe smiles gratefully, "Well, thank you again. I'm going to finish up that deck we talked about earlier and I'll see you Monday?"

"Sure thing," You smile and wave goodbye, checking the time to see it was 5:15. Shutting your laptop, you wave Penny over, "I think I'll go for that beer now." Penny laughs, but dodges your credit card as you hand it over to start a tab, "That man over there has you covered," She says with a smirk.

Confused, you turn around to see a tall, gorgeous man heading your way. His lips are quirked up in a crooked smile, his top lip covered by a perfectly groomed mustache.

"Beer's on me," He greets, hovering over the stool next to you, and you look up at him with a small smile, "I've gotta say, I may or may not have been listening to your work call.” You pretend to be scandalized by throwing a hand over your heart and a mock offended expression crosses your face. “That is an invasion of privacy,” you scold teasingly.

The man laughs and continues, "All I'm saying is, you run a tight ship." You smirk, turning to face him, "And you are?" He smiles looking to the seat next to you and points to it. You nod your head, and he sits down next you, "Bradley Bradshaw, at your service ma'am."

God, he was charming. You offer up your name and hand and he shakes it firmly.

“So tell me,” he says leaning towards you, “Have you always been able to finesse what you want, or did that take practice?”

You decide to give into his playful banter, “Oh, I get what I want most of the time,” You answer, “I’ve found most people tend to fall in line with a little persuasion.”

Bradley nods at that, “I can certainly see why,” he all but whispers.

You hold his gaze until you feel your cheeks start to warm and a blush stains your face.

“Tell you what,” You say, standing up, and trying to maintain your cool, “I’ve got plans with my friend tonight, but I’m free tomorrow. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow night, same time?”

Bradley nods instantly, “Sounds like a plan.”

You smile and start to pack up your work bag, “Good. Thanks for the beer, Bradley.”

He watches you walk out, and then it hits him: you’ve got him in the palm of your hand, and there’s truly no other place he’d rather be.

[the-new-ribbon]

Baby, We're Fireproof

synopsis: After Gwyn's toaster catches fire, she never expected to fall for the hot firefighter who saves her. 

word count: 2118

read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54961258/chapters/139663018

or below the cut!

Azriel

Azriel: I can’t wait to see you tonight.

Gwyn: I can’t wait to see you.

Gwyn: I’m so excited ☺️

Azriel hasn’t been this excited for something in a long time. A week ago he saved the copper-haired, teal-eyed beauty from a small toaster fire. He hasn’t stopped thinking about it all week. Cassian has noticed too. The way Azriel reacts to the way his phone vibrates on the table. The smile on Azriel’s face whenever Gwyn texts him. Sometimes it’s a meme or a funny video that makes Azriel laugh so hard his cheeks hurt, sometimes it’s her reactions to the book he pointed out that day, or it’s a picture of her. Those are his favorite texts from Gwyn. The romance she’s reading lies on her chest or covering her smile, though he can tell she’s smiling from the way her skin wrinkles at her eyes and the pink blush creeping out from beneath the book. 

The day passes slowly as he rereads the book in case it comes up in conversation, he wants to be prepared to talk about it with Gwyn. 

Soon enough, it’s time to get ready.

Azriel changes into his classic black button-up, rolling the sleeves up to reveal the swirls of black ink on his forearms, matching the black slacks on his legs. The silver bands on his fingers shine under the fluorescent lights of his bathroom. Night-chilled mist and cedar fills the bathroom as he sprays his cologne.

He’s able to get through starting dinner – seasoning the chicken and leaving it in the hot pan to begin cooking, fresh cut green beans and the cut and washed potatoes are placed in the water-filled pots to begin cooking – before there’s a knock on his front door.

Azriel’s ringed fingers brush through his hair and he wipes his palms on his pants before pulling the door open to reveal Gwyn.  

“Hi!”

“Hey, Gwyn.” Azriel says, nerves wracking through his body. “You look really nice.” Nice? That’s the worst word he could have used to describe her. “I mean beautiful, you look beautiful.” ethereal would be an even better word, just like the books. But beautiful will suffice. 

Gwyn is dressed in an emerald dress that fell right below her knees. The sleeves cover most of her arms but leave some of her forearms and wrists exposed. The green contrasts perfectly against her copper hair, which is tied half up with a write ribbon. It was styled that way too, the day they met for the first time.

“Thank you. May I come in?” Gwyn points to the foyer of his house.

“Oh yes, of course, obviously.” he quotes what she said the day they met with a ridiculously cheesy, flirty smile.

“Quoting me I see. I must have had a good impression on you.” she teases. 

In his head, Azriel knows that this girl is his dream girl. Now he has to prove it.

“Setting a toaster on fire is a good way of doing that.” he teases back.

This banter is what Azriel has always looked for. He’s never found it with anyone, but now with Gwyn, he doesn’t think anyone could ever come close.  

“You have a piano? Do you play?” Gwyn immediately runs out of the kitchen and across the living room to where the piano rests in the corner, the last rays of the sunset flood through the windows onto the piano.

“Sometimes. My mother plays more often when she’s over. Do you?” Azriel reaches her as she takes a seat in front of the piano. He leans on his elbows as he watches her. There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she presses her delicate fingers so softly on the keys that no notes play. 

“I do. My sister and I used to play when we were little. She grew out of it – she was more wild and adventurous than I was – but I love to sing and play the piano. Now I play to remember and honor her memory.”

Azriel notices something shift within Gwyn. The use of was made him assume something happened to her sister, but he doesn’t push her to answer. After all, they’ve only been texting and known each other for a week.

“Do you mind if I play?” Gwyn asks. Then clarifies, “just for a few moments?”

“Not at all, I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.” Azriel leans off the piano and smiles at Gwyn before he’s off to the kitchen. If only it was appropriate to kiss her cheek. 

The soft melodies of Moonlight Sonata fill his house and suddenly it feels like more of a home than ever before. 

He may have stayed in the kitchen far longer than he thought because the fifteen minutes of Moonlight Sonata have passed and his house is quiet once again, only the soft scuffs of Gwyn’s shoes and the scraping of the pots and pans as he begins to plate dinner.

 “That was beautiful, Gwyn.” Az confesses, leaning against the counter and Gwyn slides onto one of his barstools at the counter, though she doesn’t stay there longer than a few seconds. 

“Thank you, it’s one of my favorite pieces to play. Especially at night. Maybe you should play for me.” she suggests, stepping so close to Azriel that she can reach out and hold onto the collar of his shirt.

His heart beats against his chest as she begins to slide her other hand up and over his chest. This boldness she’s portraying, it’s Azriel’s favorite thing. Sure, they have flirted over text, but this is completely different. 

He wants more of it.

“Maybe I will. Now,” His hand slides across her waist to hold her. There’s a slight tense up but then she relaxes into his hold. He changes the conversation, “Are you okay?”

“Yes; I just haven’t been on a date in years, I’m not very used to this. But I like it.” There’s a confirming smile on her face as her hands connect behind Azriel’s neck.

“Good, but please let me know if you aren’t comfortable or if there’s something I can do.”

“I will. Now please tell me what you were going to say before.”

“Why’d you call me Shadowsinger?”

“You were humming under your breath when you were at my house and there’s something mysterious about you that I want to get to know.” Gwyn says sweetly, playing with his hair on the back of his head. There’s a smile on her face that Azriel wants to paint into his mind forever.

“Well, I hope you liked it.” Az laughs.

“I did, it was beautiful. Do you sing?”

“Sometimes, though I don’t believe it is as beautiful as yours.”

There’s a blush on her cheeks again, highlighting the constellations of freckles on her cheeks. 

“We should sing together sometime, then I can see if you’re telling the truth or not.”

He clears his throat, “Will you help me set the table? Dinner’s ready.”

“Yes, yes.”

Hesitantly, Azriel lets go of Gywn and she steps away. Azriel lays the bowl of freshly made mashed potatoes on the table. Gwyn asks, “Is there anything I can do to help? You made such a nice dinner and I haven’t helped yet.”

“I didn’t mind at all, Gwyn. But you could find something to drink if you’d like. The alcohol is in that cabinet and any other drinks I have – water, lemonade, stuff like that – are in the fridge.” 

She sticks to something non-alcoholic and somehow he has the ingredients to make a Shirley Temple. He really listened to what she said on the 

They stick to simple, first date conversation for a while until something hits Gwyn and she asks, “Is it appropriate to ask what happened to your hands?” Gwyn asks softly, looking up at him quickly before looking back down at her plate. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It isn’t any of my business and we don’t know each other that well.”

Azriel reaches out and places his scarred hand on top of Gwyn’s. “Gwyn, this is a date, a chance to get to know each other.”

It’s almost like a movie or one of her books. Whatever is going on between them, it’s something Gwyn thought was possible in the worlds that lived inside her head. Ruby red flushes on her cheeks at the touch of Azriel’s hand and at his words. She rotates her hand and laces her fingers with Azriel.

“When I was young, my mother and I were in an accident. Our house caught on fire and while my mother ran outside, I ran back in to grab something. The fire picked up and I almost got trapped. Luckily the fire department was already there and saved me. I was bullied for most of school because of my hands, so I isolated myself but I always wanted to help people, to save people. When I graduated high school, I never really wanted to go to college so I went to the fire academy. I have my paramedic certification as well.” Azriel nods and reaches for his glass of whiskey, a way to protect himself from potentially doing something stupid.

Gwyn drops her fork and holds his hand with both her hands. “Azriel,” she whispers, lifting his hand to her lips. Her lips softly brush against the healed scars. 

To outsiders, it might not seem like a big deal. But to Azriel, it means everything.

After many feelings about leaving dishes in the sink long after dinner, the dirty dishes rest in the sink until after their date is over, Gwyneth and Az sit outside on his patio. For a house in the suburbs, his back patio is large. It’s decorated with minimal patio furniture, mostly a darker gray, and there’s a firepit in the center of the patio.

“Have a seat, I’m going to start a fire.”

The fire crackles, crickets chirp in the distance, and the two of them cuddle in silence. Both of Gwyn’s hands are holding one of Az’s and his other arm is wrapped around her shoulders.

“It’s beautiful here.”

With her eyes on the stars, Azriel takes the time to admire how beautiful she is; how right her hand feels in his; how perfectly her meshes into the Azriel’s side. The constellations of stars in the sky can’t compare to the freckles on her face, dotted across her neck, and even her chest and shoulders. If he were to open a dictionary to the word beautiful, Gwyn’s picture would be there, front and center.

“It is,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving Gwyn. 

“I think I take how beautiful Velaris is for granted. After tonight, I won’t anymore.” There’s something in her voice that makes it seem like there’s a story to that, but as she leans closer into Azriel and rests her head on his shoulder, he drops his head onto hers.

It’s almost midnight when they stand up and head towards the front door, hand-in-hand of course.

“I had a wonderful time, Azriel.” Gwyn leans against the door frame as she holds his hand in both of hers. Az’s other hand is against the hinge, above her head.

“So did I; would you like to do it again sometime?” 

With a smile on her face, Gwyn pushes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to Azriel’s cheek. “I’d love to.”

As Gwyn lowers from her tiptoes, Azriel never breaks eye contact and there’s something beautiful that sparks in his chest. 

Letting go of her hands, Azriel moves to hold her cheeks. “Would it be okay if I kissed you, Gwyn.”

Gwyn nods softly, but the look in her eyes tells Azriel that it’s something she wants more than anything. 

This kiss picks up and Gwyn’s arms are back around his neck. It’s wonderful, magical, and neither of them don’t want it to stop. 

But it does moments later.

His thumb runs across his now swollen bottom lip, and Gwyn is breathless as she begins to step outside. But she stops, wrapping her hand around the door hinge and turns over her shoulder, “Call me, Shadowsinger. You owe me a song, and I’d love to do that again.” her finger runs across her smirked mouth.

“Good night, Gwyn.”

As he watches Gwyn walk towards her car, all he can think about is how lucky he is that Gwyneth Berdara wants to see him again.

A line I couldn’t fit in because of how the story proceeded, but would love to include: “I want to kiss each and every one of your scars and tell you how beautiful they are.”

[valsedelesruines]

No matter what I do, I'll never be able to be quick to socialize with new people, I'll always be quiet in large groups, I'll take far too long to feel comfortable around a friend, and I'll fumble my words so that I misrepresent what I'm ultimately trying to say. I feel as though I portray a cool, relaxed demeanour, but deep down, I'm that same awkward, annoying kid who couldn't quite keep up with what everyone else was doing. For the most part, I accept it. I enjoy being on my own, I prefer quality over quantity of friends, and I am perfectly fine with the fact that not everyone will like me. But I do wish I were better at asking the right questions and listening at the right times.

My driver tonight had blue dreadlocks, was anxious about driving in the rain, and was engaged two days ago. She was a recovering addict and something about her reminded me of my sister (who has been on my mind a lot lately because I'm starting to realize how much I love her). Something about how she would constantly say "you know what I mean" and the smell of her car brought me back to the conversations I used to have. Something about the resemblance made me ask, "Do you mind if I ask? At what point did you know you needed help?" She told me when her three kids were taken away. Rock bottom. In the span of one car ride, I watched this woman overfilled with joy and on the verge of tears. The taxi is one of the better platforms for forming a connection through conversation and often under 30 minutes.

Tonight, my doctor was on the flight with me. He's a man I see every week, probably around my father's age, and has a slight limp. His wife passed away suddenly two weeks ago, and before then, he would often hang up the phone with her during visits, saying, "Goodbye, my love." It's hard for me to talk to someone who's lost someone because it's so sad. It makes me think of losing Will, which makes me think that no amount of time in life will ever be enough to spend with him. Then I kick myself for not appreciating the time I have with him now, with everyone I love now, including myself at 25 and the life I'm living. I watched a video on loss recently that quoted Einstein: "people like us who believe in physics know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion." I want to tell my doctor that. I want to share with him that because maybe it will reassure him that as long as he's here that his love with her still exists. But, I know I won't say any of that because it will come out all wrong.

Esther Perel writes, "We no longer plow the land together; today we talk. We have come to glorify verbal communication. I speak; therefore I am. We naively believe that the essence of who we are is most accurately conveyed through words." I am not ashamed of my attributes, but I should not excuse them as obstacles. Maybe through practice, I can learn the tools for more effective conversation. We all could learn to listen more and ask better questions.

[reincarnatedonthefirst]

My sister called me to tell me what a disturbing conversation she had with my father. She was shocked because he said some things that showed he hates black women. I knew my dad thought women were inferior but he was quoting racist and classist rhetoric from Fox News while on the phone with her. He also implied that Michelle Obama was a man…?

Oh, okay…

I’m not sure if I told you guys but I had a discussion with him last week in which he said something offensive to me. After that, I blocked his number. Today, my sister has confirmed for me that I made the right decision.

On and on it goes and from every direction, black women have to constantly deal with disrespect from black men, even in their own families.

Derrick’s been texting me the last two weeks, mostly posts from Instagram. I got another text from him tonight, asking for a call. I ignored that too. I’m trying to heal my body and I can’t be stressed by him either. Maybe I’ll catch up with him on the phone one of these days. Maybe not. I definitely can’t deal with him right now, though.

[morethanmalcontent]

TW: This discusses death and eating disorders. It's a conversation that happened with my family, but it's kind of funny. The death is not what's funny, but it is brought up in the story, so I thought I should put some kind of warning.

Since I have to immortalize what happened at dinner tonight, I might as well immortalize I here on our beloved hellsite.

So, imagine this you (19 f), your younger siblings (17 f & 12 m respectively), and your dad are chilling in the kitchen after supper one night and your dad comments on some weird shit he and his friends used to do as teenagers in the 80s.

So inspired by his regaling of events from his childhood (new dad lore just dropped) you start telling him and your younger siblings about a phenomenon that occurred at your middle school called, and I quote, 'Slap Ass Friday.'

I tell the story like this, "You think that's weird? We had a thing people did in gym in middle school called 'slap ass Friday."

Dad: "Language."

Me: "Let me finish."

Dad: *sighs resigned and motions for me to continue*

Me: "Thank you, anyways. So, my friend Janie is at one end of the gym. (Remember this name) And I'm at the other walking laps cause the physical therapists had only just cleared me to walk again after the surgery. So, she takes off at a dead sprint and slaps my booty so hard I swear I had a hand print on my butt for two weeks."

My Little Brother: "Dead people can't sprint though."

Me:

My Little Sister:

My Little Sister: "(Little Brothers Name) you can't say that."

Little Brother: "Dead sprint? Dead people can't sprint."

Sister: "Oh."

Me: *has color return to my face.*

Dad: "Wait, is your friend dead?"

Sister: "Yes, she killed herself."

Me (casually): "Actually, is was Jamie who killed herself. Janie had terrible anorexia and had a heart attack or something and died."

My Dad: "I don't know why I fought you for so long about going to therapy." (As close to an apology as my dad gets tbh).

Me: "Yep."

Then we went to my mom's room and laughed about it.

Names have been changed, but both friend's names were very similar.

[blackbirdblackbird]

The first time Kara notices is during sister night.

She forgets exactly what they were talking about. She remembers being on her couch, cuddled up beside Alex. She remembers the dumb Christmas movie they were watching – and rewriting it in her head because the lead obviously had more chemistry with the best friend character. She remembers the topic somehow turning to Lena.

“She’s your… friend.”

And she remembers the lengthy, blatantly obvious pause preceeding the word friend. She wanted to ask about it, but Alex carried on with whatever she was saying, and it slipped out of Kara’s mind.

/

The next time is at work.

There are a few things Kara is almost always passively listening for. People in distress, calls for Supergirl, the heartbeats of her family and friends, and any mention of Lena’s name.

(Just so she can get ahead of the latest gossip people are spreading about Lena. To hopefully nip it in the bud, or to be ready to be there for Lena when it does blow up. What are friends for, right?)

When she hears Lena’s name and her own, she focuses in on the conversation. Nia is speaking, answering a coworker who apparently just asked her something about Kara and Lena.

“They’re ‘best friends,’” she says, with finger quotes. “Y’know, gal pals.”

The other woman responds with an exaggerated ohhhh. Kara resists the urge to zap her (and Nia too) a little bit with her heat vision. But then a source calls her back, and she gets a new lead for a story she’s working on, and this is forgotten.

Until game night.

/

They’re gathered at Kara’s, as usual. They haven’t quite started yet, and Kelly realizes they left some of the snacks in the kitchen. She’s about to untangle herself from Alex to get them, when Lena stands.

She’s still laughing at a joke Nia just told, her laughter and brilliant smile bleeding into her words. “Stay! You’re a guest. I’ll get it.”

As Lena leaves, Kelly relaxes back into Alex’s side. The two share a brief look, then Kelly’s eyes linger on Lena and strange little smile grows on her face.

It’s after this that Kara pays attention to everyone, and their interactions with Lena. Throughout the night, she catches all of their friends watching Lena like that at least once or twice. And sometimes, they’ll glance over at Kara only to find her looking back and quickly avert their eyes. One time, when she’s talking to Lena, she catches J’onn in the corner of her eye, staring at Lena intently as if trying to pick up an impression of her surface thoughts.

/

Five days later, they’re all at Kara’s again.

All except Lena.

“I’ve gathered you here tonight to talk about Lena.” She pauses, and corrects herself. “To talk about how you’re treating Lena.” A collective groan ripples through her audience, but she silences them with a glare. “I know some of her past actions were… not ideal, but she’s part of this team now. Part of this family.”

“Kara – ”

“She helped get me back! She fought Nyxly with us! What more does she need to do to earn your trust?”

“Kara!” Alex tries again, louder, interrupting her impassioned defense of her best friend. “We do trust Lena. We,” she nods towards Kelly, “asked her to be Esme’s godmother, remember?”

“Lena is as much a part of this family as you are, Kara,” J’onn chimes in.

“Then why are you all always watching her and suspicious with her and calling her my ‘friend?’” She punctuates the last one by glaring daggers at Nia, who seems to be trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oh my god, Kara! Do – ” Nia is silenced by a look from Kelly, then Alex speaks up again.

“Okay guys, I think this is something I need to talk to Kara about alone.”

The rest of them murmur in agreement, and start collecting their coats and heading for the door. Kara’s weak protests of “But… Lena!” don’t do much.

Finally, after a lingering hug with Kelly, Alex closes the door, and they’re alone.

“What – ”

Alex holds up her hand. “Can I just ask you a couple questions first?”

Kara nods. They sit at opposite ends of the couch, turned to face each other.

“Why did you do this now?”

“Because I want to know why everyone’s being weird with Lena.”

“No, I mean tonight specifically.”

“Oh, well, Lena is out meeting with some potential big donors for the foundation.”

“Uh huh. And where would she be on a normal night?”

“Here, usually. Unless there’s Superfriends stuff, or she’s visiting Andrea or something. I’ve got her to mostly keep work to actual work hours now.”

“Okay, okay. She’d be here. And what about after she’s done tonight?”

Suddenly, Kara feels put on the spot. Like she’s in a courtroom drama and the opposing lawyer just asked a question they definitely know the answer to and Kara definitely should’ve seen coming.

“She’s coming home?” It comes out like a question not because she’s unsure of Lena’s plans, but she’s suddenly unsure of where these questions are going.

(Or, she does see where they’re going and it’s a place she hasn’t let herself actively think about.)

“Home,” Alex repeats softly, and Kara can just from the look on her face that she’s thinking of her wife and daughter. She’s thinking of her home, with her wife and daughter, but she talking about Kara’s home, with Lena.

And suddenly, just like that, it all comes rushing out. Every stray thought and feel she’s bottled up. All the strange looks and calling them ‘friends.’ Basically everything from the last few months – hell, the last five years. It all comes together and fits into the proper context and she’s feeling approximately every emotion, all at once.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Alex scoots closer, and wraps an arm around Kara. “I know it can be hard taking that step when she already means so much to you. But Kara, I don’t think there’s anything for you to be afraid of.”

/

Alex leaves just when Lena is coming home. They chat briefly, then Alex is gone and Lena is hanging her coat in its place next to Kara’s. Kara absentmindedly returns her greeting, but remains deep in thought, staring blankly at the window.

She’s almost startled when Lena drops onto the couch beside her. “Hey,” she says, her voice low and a little smile on her lips. “What’s on your mind?”

Kara comes very close to answering you. It’s almost a surprise when she realizes that the way the thought makes her heart pound is less fear and more anticipation. She’s been analyzing and overthinking it all while Alex tried to reassure her. But now, all of that suddenly seems distant and strange and nearly incomprehensible. Another wave of realization, a sense of everything finally fitting into its proper place, comes over her. Now, with Lena in front of her, all she feels is happiness, contentment, and that she is exactly where she belongs.

She also realizes that Lena is looking at her with that little concerned scrunch in her brow. As adorable as it is, Kara just wants to ease her worries. She meets Lena’s gaze, and sees Lena make the subtlest of movements. A flick of her eyes slightly upwards, a little inclination of her head towards Kara. It registers to her then that she still has her glasses on, and returns Lena’s silent communication with the tiniest of nods.

Lena reaches out slowly, letting Kara see clearly what she’s doing. With the lightest touch of her fingertips, she gently lifts the glasses from Kara’s face. Briefly, she pulls back to set them on the coffee table, then settles back even deeper into Kara’s space.

“You okay?” Her voice is quieter still, barely a murmur in her throat. That rush of emotion, the contentment, the belonging, overcomes Kara again. The way Lena, even knowing her power, is so careful, so gentle with her when she thinks Kara needs it almost overwhelms her. This, she finally really, deeply understands is the true connection she’s been looking for. This is Lena seeing, knowing, understanding – and loving – all of Kara.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Her breath hitches as she says it. She knows Lena can see the tears sparkling in her eyes, but knows she can also hear the truth in Kara’s words. Kara takes Lena’s hand, and Lena squeezes back, just enough for Kara to feel. “Alex was just helping me figure something out. Y’know how I said I wanted to connect with someone?”

Lena nods, not daring to speak, as if she too senses what Kara is heading towards.

“I think that connection, that person, has been right in front of me for a long time, and I wasn’t letting myself see them.”

“Who,” Lena asks, “who is it?”

“I think you already know,” Kara whispers in reply.

There’s a sharp, but quiet intake of breath. The look on Lena’s face is the most open, vulnerable Kara has seen her. At once so hopeful and so fragile. “Yeah?” she asks.

Kara nods.

Lena lets out a quite little laugh, so sweet and joyful, as the tears spill out of her eyes. She shifts her hold on Kara’s hand, clasping it in both of hers. She lifts their joined hands and, never looking away from Kara’s eyes, plants a feather-light kiss on Kara’s knuckle.

“Yeah.”

[jackoshadows]

There are many people in the fandom who claim Sansa is the one who resembles Ned the most out of her siblings. Do you think that’s true?

I have always disagreed with this fandom viewpoint. I would think that logically the characters who resemble Ned the most would be the characters who value Ned’s wisdom and advice, and that would be Arya Stark and Jon Snow.

Sansa and Ned are very different in terms of personality and characterization. Ned loves his family above all else. He sacrifices his honor for his sister and takes in her baby despite it being a stain on his honor. His love for his sister outweighs his friendships with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn.  Sansa, on the other hand, keeps supporting Joffrey over her sister every single time and puts her little sister in danger by telling Cersei that it's Arya who is the traitor.

Ned confesses to treason to save his daughter’s life. The only reason he warns Cersei of the danger to her and her children was because he didn’t want Myrcella and Tommen to suffer the same fate as Elia’s babies. The only reason Sansa tattles all of Ned's plans to Cersei ending up with the girls - Arya, Jeyne and Sansa herself - trapped in KL is because she wanted to remain in KL, marry Joffrey and become queen.

Ned’s act was selfless, putting himself and his family in grave danger to save his enemy’s children. Sansa’s act is selfish, putting her father and her family in grave danger because she wanted to become queen.

In the post I made about  Ned’s friendship with Robert Baratheon, I have seen comparisons made between Ned’s blindspot for Robert and Sansa’s blindspot towards Joffrey. I disagree!

Ned’s friendship with Robert was despite him knowing that Robert is not a good person. Ned condemns Robert for supporting the deaths of Elia and her children. He resigns as Hand when Robert continues to press for Dany’s assassination. It’s in Ned’s own POV chapter that he critiques Robert as a person. Ned’s opinion was pretty much that Robert sucks big time but he’s my friend so I love him.

Sansa on the other hand does not acknowledge Joffrey’s sadistic villainy even when it’s right in front of her, because she wants to marry him and become queen. She’s willfully blind to everything he does. Instead she blames Arya and Mycah - the innocents in this - for all of Joffrey’s wrong doing.

At first she thought she hated [Joffrey] for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya.

She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate - Sansa, AGoT

In fact, rather than being similar to Ned, Sansa is more similar to her mother Catelyn here. Just like Catelyn blames and hates an innocent child Jon Snow for something Ned did because she wants to love her husband and be happy with him, similarly Sansa hates Arya for something Joffrey did because she loves Joffrey, wants to marry him and become a queen who can do things like order Arya around.

Notice also in the quote above, how at this point of time, Sansa also blames the queen - Cersei - for Lady’s death and thinks on how Cersei and Arya were the ones to hate. Later, when she wants to prevent Ned from taking her away from KL, she secretly goes to Cersei and tattles all of his plans that he tells her in confidence. She no longer hates or blames Cersei anymore because Cersei is necessary for her to stay in KL and marry Joffrey. Sansa therefore keeps changing and crafting the narrative according to whatever suits her personal self interests instead of having a honest conversation with the truth.

A repeat of this is happening at the Vale where her little cousin is being slowly poisoned by dangerously high doses of SweetSleep and the Maester has outright told Sansa that this is harmful to SweetRobin and she ignores this because Littlefinger’s plans are more important and crafts a narrative that SweetRobin will be perfectly okay.

There can be no one more honest than Ned Stark (The only two instances where he lies is to save his nephew and his daughter) and that is in stark contrast to Sansa herself.

Then there are other aspects like Ned Stark’s relationship with the workers of Winterfell. Again, it’s Ned younger daughter who mirrors him here.

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, aGoT

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. - Arya, AGoT

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa does not like to interact with the workers of the Winterfell and looks down on Arya’s interaction with them while Arya follows in Ned’s footsteps and spends time listening and learning from them.

So, yeah, I can’t think of any one similarity between Ned and Sansa and am always baffled that this is a popular opinion in fandom. Of all the siblings Sansa is the least like Ned, highlighted by the fact that Sansa never thinks of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell the way Arya, Jon and Bran do.

[st-juliet]

Love-Performing Night: Part II

Summary: The Reader, an actress at Covent Garden Theatre and neighbor to a certain eccentric detective, is equal parts flustered and delighted when he arrives at the stage door after a performance.

Content: 18+ for suggestive language, specifically references to oral sex (male receiving) and mild discipline kink; and smut, specifically, enthusiastically consensual foreplay in anticipation of sex, which shall follow in a third chapter!

Notes: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination! Also, I’m so, so nervous about posting this because I’ve never in my life written anything remotely sexy, so hopefully this is suitable! I’d adore any feedback offered, and give thanks especially to everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, and especially @foxyjwls007, @donutloverxo​, and @kebabgirl67​ who encouraged a sequel!

Previous Chapter: Part I

The way home to Baker Street is thirty minutes’ walk and fifteen minutes’ ride. Never had a mere quarter of an hour seemed so completely critical…could so many months of such tremendous longing be answered so swiftly, if your wild, impassioned inkling were true?

After helping you into the carriage, a courtesy you did not require but found yourself relishing…the heat and strength of his large hands, one spread against small of your back, the other squeezing your fingers lightly…he settles himself across from you. The light breeze that stirs the air as he raps on the window with his cane and the carriage pulls away into the throng of the streets does little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks, nor does your newfound privacy, the driver outside on his perch notwithstanding.

“Your Juliet is most singular,” Mr. Holmes compliments, leaning comfortably back in his seat with a casual air, as if he hadn’t touched you more in the last half hour than he had in the entirety of your acquaintance, nor blatantly insinuated that had he entered your private room, some scandalous urge might have overtaken him. “I think I have dismissed this play as a warning against frivolity, told most frivolously…but here you are, to prove at every turn that I must apply to softer subjects the same thoroughness and attention I give to any more scientific subjects.”

“The meter is mathematics, Mr. Holmes,” you aver. “With an infinite number of factors in the formula…something you could come to learn, I hope, if you are truly made a convert!”

“Yes, ‘dear saint’,” he quotes with a smile. “You have won my soul for Shakespeare.”

“Then I am all the more glad you came tonight,” you reply, your heart pounding as you watch him strip his gloves from his hands and tuck them away. Something so simple and daily has never seemed more stirring, and though your mind rebels insistently with how those hands would feel on your bare skin, you manage to preserver, inquiring of him, “May I ask what inspired your ‘impulse of the moment’? For you are not given to entertain any such whims, let alone act upon them.”

“Ah, yes. This afternoon, my sister did me the courtesy of pointing out to me that I am in love with you.”

His voice is still maddeningly modulated in conversational nonchalance; he might have been commenting on the weather even as his eyes gleam with that thrilling fire that has haunted you since the moment he stepped backstage. But you cannot mistake his words nor their meaning, and though a million poetic professions race through your mind, all you can manage is a breathless: “Sherlock!”

Your employment of his given name finally breaks his resolve and stirs him to action, and in an instant, he is at your side, his long limbs and broad chest pressed up beside you on the narrow carriage bench. The heady scent of tobacco envelops you, mingled beautifully with the fragrance of the roses in your lap, and he, too, is breathing you in, his crystalline eyes seeming to study every detail of your astonished, joyful expression.

He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, light but lingering. His touch is pure reverence, with an undercurrent of desire that sets you ablaze, body and soul alike, and when he finally withdraws, he seems equally moved, reluctant even to break apart for a breath.

“Now,” he continues, still caressing your face with deft, appreciative fingertips. “I told Enola she was completely mistaken not to mention too presumptuous by half, and then immediately perjured myself by storming out into the street and walking directly to your place of employment to stare at your portrait on the broadside like a madman. I would insist it were mere coincidence that my tantrum brought me there…but—and if you ever repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny it and chastise you most rigorously—“

What on earth could he mean by that, and why did the notion of his chastisement make you…?

“You are blushing again, Miss Cane; it is most becoming.”

He kisses you again, and this time you are bolder, clutching him closer by his lapels and spreading your fingers out on his chest. Beneath sinewy, solid muscle, you can feel his heart pounding in a matched rhythm to yours, and you are gratified by the low sound of pleasure he makes as you obligingly part your lips for him, allowing his shameless tongue to delve into your mouth.

“And most distracting,” he chides, after a few ardent minutes spent entwined, and your fantasy of running your fingers through his curls most exceptionally fulfilled. “To be brief—for we are minutes from home, I think—after seeing you tonight, so perfectly vibrant and courageous and clever…I can only deduce that it was my heart which lead me to your side, and that Enola is correct. And so I made a fool of myself racing from the stalls to buy your flowers at the interval as if I were some besotted schoolboy, and now I can do nothing but throw myself upon your mercy and ask you if I have any hope that you may return my love.”

“You do! Of course you do…I love you, with all my heart! I have since the moment I met you, and more every day the more I come to know you. But I never dreamed you could…you who are so brilliant and so handsome and…” The words pour forth from you like music, every sentiment you have held back, every word of praise and devotion finally free. “You have far more than hope—how may I make you certain?”

The question may have been innocent, but his answer is anything but:

“Oh, darling girl, I will have certainty of you tonight, again and again…”

Further declarations are lost in further kisses, and by the time the carriage halts before your home, you are flushed and gasping from his attentions, from his hands lightly teasing your breasts through your gown, from the heat and hardness you feel pressed against you. He practically carries you to the door, tossing an ungodly sum to the driver, who calls thanks after.

Just inside the door, you are met with yet one more obstacle: your dear, bespectacled landlady, dressed for bed in nightcap and robe with her teacup in hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes—oh, and here is Miss Cane! What a gentleman, to escort our little celebrity home, safe and sound,” she beams.

Your so-called gentleman has carefully concealed his arousal by positioning himself behind you, subtly but firmly pressing against your back, lest you forget his designs upon the evening. 

“Why, what lovely roses, Miss Cane!” Mrs. Hudson continues, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Does my young lady have a suitor?”

“Yes…I rather think I may,” you manage, and she laughs delightedly and ambles away, leaving Sherlock free to pull you into his parlor, through the chaotic labyrinth of books and scientific instruments, and into his bedroom. No sooner is the door to closed but you are pressed up against it, swept up in a bruising kiss.

“It is principally out of care for Mrs. Hudson’s sense of propriety,” Sherlock informs you in a gruff whisper, gently tugging on your hair to expose the line of your throat to his lips. “That you have remained so maddeningly pure and untouched—it may have taken me these many months to know I loved you, but one glance was all I needed to know you would be mine. How many hundred times have I been at your door in the dark of night, scarce able to stop myself? Thank me for my restraint, Clara,” he instructs.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” you reply at once, and then you raise a startled hand to your lips, surprised at your immediate obedience to his commanding tone. Both your answer and your shock seem to please him greatly, and his gaze softens for a moment.

“You will, I hope, forgive a man his particular vice, darling girl. Know that I would never require such subservience of you in any other way. You need not submit to me, or even humor me, simply because I am a man or, soon enough, your husband…unless it is for our mutual pleasure, you understand?”

“I begin to,” you answer. “But you must instruct me further how I might please you.”

Your assent confirmed, he lets the devil step forward again, raising his hands to the fastenings of your gown.

“I will take the greatest satisfaction in your education. Permit me?”

“Please!”

He is methodical in undressing you, seeming to savor every button or lace that comes undone, until every inch of your revealed skin burns for him, and you return his ardor with curious excitement, fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings of a man’s garments to reveal his almost superhuman frame. Seated on the edge of his bed in nothing but your chemise, you tremble under his gaze, both appraising and worshipful.

“I am making up my mind as to what I might do with you first. Shall I show you your place at once, and take your sweet mouth?” He takes your chin in his hand and runs his thumb across your lips, appraising your reaction with the composed delight of a successful scientist overseeing his favorite experiment. “The lips they say spin Shakespeare into gold, wrapped obediently around my cock…what would your adoring public say, hmm? London’s immaculate ingénue on her knees, the most brilliant woman in the world completely surrendered to desire…”

You can do nothing but choke out a desperate sound of acquiescence as he gently, but unyieldingly, presses his thumb into your mouth.

“Good girl!” he praises you, raising his other hand to tenderly stroke your hair, and you respond on instinct, taking him deeper and relishing the way his eyes close in satisfaction. He allows you only a moment to dutifully suckle, before gently pulling away and leaning down to kiss your lips.

“How I will enjoy turning my innocent angel into a perfect wanton. But tonight must be all for you.”

He kneels before you, and runs his hand up your leg, stroking the soft flesh of your thighs through the fabric with evident approval.

“Now, my darling girl,” he says, adopting the tone of a lecturer upon his favorite subject. “There is a sweet, tender bud between your legs, just here.” His fingers brush gently over the silk that yet conceals your most intimate place from him, and you shudder, which brings an adoring and triumphant smile to his face. “When touched, it will bring you pleasure. Give me your hand.”

He takes your hand and brings it to rest atop your mound, and holds his fingers over yours, pressing lightly. Even the tiniest bit of friction against the little bud of flesh sets off sparks throughout your whole body, and you blush at the wetness that has pooled between your soft petals. Sherlock is entirely delighted, the pressure of your connected hands making the fabric translucent with your essence. 

“All this from a few kisses and the sound of my voice? Tell me, Clara, have you been walking around so wet and ripe for me this whole time? Poor girl, to ache like this for months and not know how to ask for relief…” he murmurs, almost to himself, continuing to rub tiny circles across the sensitive spot, using your hand as his instrument. You are at once very gratified that he was such a gentleman, in spite of his own evident need, and completely desperate to have his hand alone touch you, without any intermediary. When he pauses his ministrations to kiss you, you tug his hands to the neckline of the chemise and with a fluid grace, he gladly pulls the chemise over your arms and head and tosses it carelessly aside, then sits back to admire you unabashedly, equal parts tenderness and ferocity in his gaze.

“You are so beautiful. The face of an angel with a form that incites one to sacrilege. My god, every inch of you was designed perfectly to my taste.”

Sherlock traces his hand from the swell of your cheek, down your neck, stopping to palm your breast and feel your heart race beneath his fingertips, and before finally coming to rest a breath away from that singular spot where all the tension in your body has settled itself, and an desire you can only begin to understand—not only physical, but of the heart and mind, too—has taken root.

“Please…please, Sherlock, don’t stop…”

“My angel begs beautifully. I will deny you nothing.”

He is a picture of devotion as he sets about bringing you off, whispering fervent praise and a steady string of romantic nonsense as he coaxes sighs of joy from you. At last, after lavishing attention on your swollen bud for what seems like an endless, glorious eternity, his long, lissome fingers slip past your petals and begin to thrust within you, first slow and gentle, then with an increasing, relentless pace. 

“Come for me, Clara…come for me, my love…”

A slight curl of his fingers touches a particularly sensitive spot, and you come undone completely, crying out his name and melting into his arms… 

 Here is Part III…thank you for reading! <3

[oboevallis]

transplant

“So you switch out peoples organs?” Zola asked her mothers new partner.

“I do, when someone can’t use theirs anymore we do a transplant for someone who can utilize those organs.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“You know, transplant surgery is the best speciality.”

“Nope.” Zola popped the ‘p’ “Neurosurgery is.”

“Whatever you say Zola.” Nick raised his hands in defense and smirked at the young girl.

“As much as I love to talk about surgery, I want to hear about everyone’s day.” Meredith conjectured at the end of the pairs conversation.

“I scored two goals at soccer!” Bailey excitedly said, leading the other children to add in about their day. The night continued with the children’s banter until it was time for Meredith to start the children’s bedtime routines. Nick situated himself of the couch and pulled out his iPad. He had been in an ethical debacle, did he procure organs from an anacephalic baby? A pregnant woman had come into Grey Sloans ER, and Jo had read a case where they procured organs from an anacephalic baby, so she reached out to Nick to see if he’d lead it.

“Whatcha up to?” Meredith jumped onto the couch beside him.

“Ethical debacle.”

“What is it?”

“Anacephalic baby. Do I procure the organs? It’s been up for debate in the medical community for years. You can’t declare them brain dead because they have a working brain stem, but they have no brain so they’re basically just a body.”

“In my experience you sometimes have to do the quote on quote ‘wrong thing’ to get to the right thing.”

“I’ll bring it up to your Chief tomorrow hopefully she’ll approve.”

“With a move like this, your probably gonna need board approval as well.” Nick rolled his eyes to this.

“It can never just be simple at your hospital.”

“Nope!” Meredith giggled.

__________________________________

“38 week mother pregnant with an anacephalic baby.” Nick presented as he talked to the board and attendings who would later vote on the final decision. “She has decided to donate the baby’s organs. So this meeting is to get the approval of the board. It’s not officially passed by UNOS but is authorized when a panel votes on it.”

“How do you declare the baby brain dead when they have a working brain stem?” Maggie asked as she leaned into her chair.

“They have no other functionality, all their brain stem does is keep their body functioning for a couple of hours.”

“How many times has this been done?” Teddy asked as she fidgeted with a pen cap.

“A handful of times in the US.” Nick confirmed.

“Is it ethical?.” Winston asked.

“It’s been up for debate for years, but with a panels approval the medical board will sign off.” Nick then directed his attention to the OB in the room. “Dr Deluca are you certified for organ procurement on a baby?”

“I’m sorry I’m not, I can refer you to people who are though.” Carina responded.

“Dr Addison Montgomery. She’ll do it.” Amelia spoke up, looking at the place where she was picking at her nail.

“Okay perfect,I’ll contact her.” Nick jotted down the name on a sticky note so he’d remember for later. “Chief Bailey do I have your approval?”

“You do, and you have access to a transplant team here.” The meeting adjourned and Amelia left as quickly as possible.

___________________________________

“You doing okay?” Addison carefully walked in the chapel, expecting to find her little sister there. She had gotten a call from Dr Marsh and was on the first plane out to Seattle.

“Yeah.” Amelia whispered, making room on the bench for the latter. Instinctively, Addison wrapped her arm around the now grown up woman.

“A lot of other babies are gonna be saved.” Amelia whispered, it was the mantra that got her through the day of her own son’s organ procurement.

“Your right.”

___________________________________

“Full house tonight.” Addison whispered to Amelia as they stood in the corner of the Grey home. “You okay? I know it’s not been an easy day.”

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Im surprised no one has asked your opinion in this topic.” Amelia simply just shrugged. “No one knows, do they?”

“No, no one here knows other than Link and Owen.”

“Amelia.” Addison lightly scolded, she knew it was a difficult topic, but Amelia processed her emotions out loud with other people. For her to not tell her sisters about her first son was unhealthy for her.

“I can’t be here.” Amelia set down her glass of water on a small coffee table in the corner. “Will you come upstairs with me?”

“Of course.” Addison followed Amelia up the old stairs, the pair going unnoticed by the mini dinner party downstairs. Safely upstairs, Amelia dug through her closet looking for a box.

“I haven’t opened this since I left L.A” Amelia sighed as she joined the redhead on her bed. The pair leaned against the headboard, and Amelia put her head on her sisters shoulder. It felt safe, familiar, almost like she was back in high school crying on Addison’s shoulder. Except these tears weren’t over a boy who didn’t like her back or a bad test grade. It was over her firstborn, the one who saved a whole lot of other babies.

“Do you want to open it?” The younger sister nodded her head in approval. Addison carefully lifted the lid to reveal a light blue hat, a baby blanket, sonograms, and a watch.

“He was so tiny.” Amelia smiled as she stroked the blue cap. “A lot tinier then Scout.”

“He did a lot of good Amelia, his life meant something.”

“I know I just feel guilty, I get to love Scout and teach him how to be a good human and just experience him. I didn’t get that with Christopher, he deserved that.” The younger one’s voice broke.

“I’m so sorry.” Addison wrapped her arms around her sister, not minding the tears that were falling on her blouse. What had happened was unimaginable, she never had words of comfort for the neurosurgeon.

___________________________________

Amelia settled into the gallery situating her son in her lap. She broke him out of daycare, maybe it was twisted to show her almost two year old an organ procurement of a baby with no brain. But some part felt right, she wanted to show him what his big brother did.

“So Aunt Addie is taking her organs.” Amelia whispered to her little boy. “And they’re gonna give her organs to babies who need them.” Obviously the boy was oblivious to what was going on, but he seemed to understand this was something that was important. He was being well behaved and solemn, not his usual rambunctious self (which he gets from his mother).

“She’s gonna save a whole lot of other babies. She’s magical like a unicorn.” Scout absentmindedly played with his mothers fingers as she spoke to him. “Your big brother did this.”

“He didn’t have a brain, so he couldn’t live.”

“But he donated his organs, and saved a lot of babies. Just like this little girl is going to do.”

“I called him my unicorn baby, he did magical things.” Amelia listened as they listed off where the organs were going to and for whom. “I wish you could’ve met him. I just know he would’ve been the best big brother.” She kissed the side of his head, and left as they were procuring the heart for Huston, she couldn’t bear to listen to the flatline.

[missameliep]

I posted 3,172 times in 2022

171 posts created (5%)

3,001 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@missameliep

@storyofmychoices

@lilyoffandoms

@lorirwritesfanfic

@princess-geek

I tagged 3,017 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#not choices - 416 posts

#choices fanfic - 206 posts

#lol - 203 posts

#writing - 195 posts

#desire and decorum - 129 posts

#self reblog - 114 posts

#quotes - 113 posts

#writing inspiration - 108 posts

#choices fanart - 102 posts

#ask box! - 95 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#besides it's not inclusive if it disregards people who needs to use accessibility aids and this word is unreadable to the softwares 🤦‍♀️

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Miniseries: Safe

Book: Wake the Dead

Summary: After two decades living in the New World and with major threats looming on the horizon, Troy Hassan reminisces about his childhood, life and what being safe means after the end of the world came, and about his relationship with the Jones' sisters, Malia and Brynn.

Chapters: 6

Series status: Completed

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36 notes - Posted July 14, 2022

#4

In Your Arms - Tyril Starfury x Arwen (F!Elf!MC)

Book: Blades of Light Shadow Pairing: Tyril x Arwen (f!Elf!MC) Summary: A late night at Undermount, after Adrina's engagement, a delicate subject is posed and Tyril and Arwen will have to make a decision about their futures. Word count: ~3.3k Rating: Teen and up Notes: No warnings. Based on this ask by my dear @princess-geek and the prompt from day 14 : gold | pi | shapeshifter of the March @choicesmonthlychallenge

Flames dance, casting a golden light over the elves’ features who seek warmth by the hearth during a particular cold night at Undermount. The only other sound besides the crackling of the fire is their conversation about Adrina’s impending marriage.

Being alone like this, next to the fire and having one another so close, remind them of many late nights at camp.

Though, no camp could match the comfort and luxury found at the Starfury’s home, and very few things in this life might be as soft as the thick rug where they are sitting. Making herself more comfortable, Arwen's back presses against Tyril's chest. Revelling on the closeness he pushes her hair aside, giving him full access to her bare neck.

“Tonight was merely the first step..." Tyril explained, whilst peppering kisses on her neck as soft as his voice, "From this moment on, Adrina and Vaeril must undergo different trials until their betrothal is confirmed...”

“But why?”

His raven black eyebrows raise in unconcealed astonishment.

However, considering who was asking, it wasn’t an impertinent question at all. After the wars, Arwen might have decided to settle with him at Undermount, but, in spite of her thirsty for knowledge, growing up amongst humans made her ignorant of most of the Elven civilization’s practices.

“To prove they share great Kilvali.”

“Isn’t Kilvali like love?”

“Not quite the same...” He paused and pondered on how to explain something that is obvious to their kind, but not to her. “It is a strong bond. A sort of compatibility when shared by two elves is greatly desired, specially when it comes to joining Great Houses and forming stronger alliances.”

Twirling a lock of his long hair around her fingers, she mulled in deep consideration.

“And how does one even prove that?”

Leaning closer, his chin reposed on Arwen’s shoulder; her hair tickled his face when she tilted her head to steal a glimpse of him and listen to the words coming out of his mouth about the Elven wedding traditions.

As an outcome of their movements, the blanket slipped from her shoulder.

Without pausing his detailed explanation about the month of isolation, his hand deftly pulled the edge of the blanket upwards. Aiding him in the process, her fingers lightly brushed his whilst covering her shoulder.

Her touch makes the corners of his lips curl up and his mind loses the train of thought for almost as much time as the big hand in the ancient clock takes to complete its rotation.

“What was I saying?”

Amused, she guided his hand to rest on her thigh.

“You were about to tell me all the delightful activities the couple engage during isolation...” she teased and a flow of blood colored his cheeks in a purple shade.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Not your sister, of course,” Arwen said innocently, “She will absolutely not do any of that.”

“That is not what... The isolation does not serve that purposed... and –” he paused, and recomposed himself. Her sense of humor sometimes is a bit too much for him to keep up with. “You tease me.”

“Always.” She chuckled and kissed his cheek.

“Besides, Kilvali and Dinvali –”

“It’s rare to share both,” she completed his sentence. “We were amongst the very few blessed...” She winked at him. “Go on, and tell me, after the isolation, if they don’t kill each other or die of boredom, are they done? Can we have a party and get completely sloshed with honey wine?”

“Afterwards, they must journey to Undermount’s depths.”

She whistled. “Pleasant place. Guarantee of a good time.”

A snort of laughter was muffled against her shoulder, and he let his thumb caress the side of her neck.

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45 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

#3

What if some of our favorite series in the Choices fandom were books? What the covers would look like? Would they have special editions? Hard covers? Covers portraying the actors who portrayed the characters in the movie/series adaptation?

Fanfic Writer's Appreciation Day had me wondering about this and I'm starting something here...

The first one is Meant to Be by the talented Lori and I have a couple more planned.

1. Meant to Be by @lorirwritesfanfic

2. Unspoken Desires by @princess-geek

3. The Cursed Heiress by @noesapphic

4. The Greatest Con by @lorirwritesfanfic

5. For Love and Duty by @noesapphic

Bear with me and share your thoughts on the matter.

I'm tagging a few of you who might enjoy the idea: @princess-geek @noesapphic @lorirwritesfanfic @storyofmychoices @aallotarenunelma @lilyoffandoms

48 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#2

Like Poetry – Blades of Light and Shadow – Tyril Starfury x f!human!MC

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Nayeli (f!human!MC)

Characters: Tyril Starfury; Nayeli (MC); Nia Ellarious (the Priestess); Kade (the Bard); Imtura Tal Kaelen (the Princess) and Mal Volari (the Rogue).

Rate: Mature (Read notes)

Word count: 7k

Summary: More than three decades have elapsed since Tyril Starfury left Undermount and joined a party in their quest to save the world from the Shadow Court. Reminiscing about the time spent amongst humans, he ponders about life, friendship, love and time itself.

Notes:

• Story freely based on a prompt from @the-modern-typewriter, in bold is the part of the prompted used, which also inspired the title, and you can find the original post here;

• All characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them;

• TW: character death (not graphic but still 2 characters die), violence, and mature subjects that might be triggering to some readers;

• The name Nayeli is of Zapotec origin and means “I love you”, and I think it’s quite appropriate to the MC in this story;

• Events take place three decades after the end of book 1 and I'm experimenting with different things narrative-wise in this story, so feedback is appreciated ☺️;

• English is not my first language.

I.

Time flows at its own pace.

Steadily.

Unstoppable.

Just like a river.

Always moving.

The apparent stillness of the surface sometimes tricks the eye, but time never stops; not even in those moments when it seems to stand still, like the first time Nayeli kissed him or when she confessed her love for him or whenever she cries his name when their bodies and souls unite in the most intimate expression of their love, it does not stop and one should not be fooled by it.

Impossible to block its path with a dam or slow it down. Impossible to press it forward either. The winds cannot change its course. Not even all the known magic in all the kingdoms can change that despite every attempt in doing so. Time never stops.

And that is the beauty of it. A beauty lost on Humans, the Elves used to say.

Humans seem to always be at war against time.

A war fated to be lost.

Not because of death, everyone dies, and everything shall perish eventually. Even the elves in their timeless grace shall meet their end. But humans, it seems, choose to focus on the losses and despair long before the end. Grasping for what’s impossible to hold, watching it slip through their fingers like sand, their eyes miss the true beauty of this world. The beauty in permanency. The beauty in order. The beauty that remains even when one is gone.

Prior to leaving Undermount, Tyril Starfury agreed with the scholars of his land: this behavior is nonsensical, why rebel against what cannot be stopped?

Time flows and Immortality is nothing but an impossible dream.

Nevertheless, more often than not these days, he wishes seconds would slow down and stretch indefinitely.

After three decades living amongst the humans, one could not ignore that the elf has learned too much about their ways – even if it is worth mentioning most of the knowledge about humankind was acquired against Tyril’s own will – and his mind and views about the world have changed. Evidently, they have not changed to the point to become foolish enough to go on a quest against time. Or death.

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59 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

tag game!

Thanks for tagging me @remys-lucky-franc ❤️

hot shower or cold shower // texting or calling // earbuds or headphones // paperback or hardcover // matte or gel // 12 hour clock or 24 hour clock // blue or green // sunsets or sunrises // tulips or orchids // candle light or moonlight // sci-fi or horror // pen or pencil // pandas or koalas // gold or silver // sneakers or boots // denim jacket or leather jacket // pink or purple // chocolate or sour candy // deodorant or perfume // drive-in movie theater or the cinema // pastel colors or neutral earth tones // lemonade or fruit juice // past or future // constellations or aurora borealis

tagging a few of you who might like it: @princess-geek @lorircreates @noesapphic @thequeenofpixels @mrsnazariowrites @peonierose @ladylamrian (feel free to ignore)

195 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

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