#really genuinely I have been keeping learning I just....this blog was An Interest

[meichenxi]

life update!!

hello my friends!

as ever, not active - life happened! I probably will continue not being active, so let's count this blog as on semi-hiatus. BUT. I have big news!

I am!!!! going to china!!!! in august!!! for ten months!!! to work as a volunteer interpreter in a martial arts academy!!!! in a buddhist temple!!!!

I get to train with the foreign students 8+ hours a day, and translate when needed!!!!

ok that's the announcement, love and peace <3

I will be getting up at stupid o'clock (5:45am), eating in silence, wearing uniform / robes at all times, teach a beginners' chinese class, and also. crucially. do really HUGE amounts of Kung Fu!!!!

on a serious note, I have been trying SO hard for SO long during and after covid to get back to china. but now I actually HAVE THE VISA, as of today, the ticket is booked, all - praise be - will be well. I am so afraid to jinx it further, and so very happy :)

I would never have thought when I started this blog back in 2020 that I'd be able to use what I've learnt, all the 'useless' martial arts knowledge from copious amounts of trash wuxia, in an actually useful context. more long term, I also get to see if interpreting is right for me, improve my chinese, and get very fit - all for free :D

hope everyone is well! - meichenxi

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part V

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Things come to light Word Count: 6k Content Warning: typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: this one is a doozy. I'm constantly kicking my feet giggling at all of the comments and messages y'all have been kind enough to leave. the chapters keep growing larger and larger because I genuinely cannot help myself. ANYWHO, Well Enough Alone was inspired by the song of the same name by Chevelle, if anyone is interested to know. It's the first song on my Pope x Hawk playlist (listed above). please comment & reblog :)

“What are those, baby?” Smurf’s non-reaction to Pope all but slamming the bottle of pills on the counter made his eye visibly twitch. Watch what she gives you, is what Hawk said, and he did just that. When Smurf caught him switching a plate with Deran that night, Smurf switched it with hers and that is when Pope knew Hawk was telling the truth. No one spoke as they ate, but Pope never took his eyes off of Smurf. He followed her into the kitchen after everyone else was done and she was picking up. That is where they were now. 

“Don’t play dumb, Smurf. You know exactly what these are.” Smurf sighed, dropping the dirty plate she was washing back into the soapy water of the sink.

“Hawk didn’t tell you about them? I told her it wasn’t a great idea, but she insisted.” Smurf busied herself in the kitchen, and the more nonchalantly she lied to Pope, the more enraged he became. He let it simmer, building like a pressure cooker. He wouldn’t erupt quite yet because he wanted to see how far Smurf would let this play out. 

“So this was Hawk’s idea?” Pope asked Smurf. He knew it wasn’t, he wasn't stupid. As much as he wanted to fully blame Hawk out of pure frustration because of a very stupid decision she made at the behest of his mother, Pope knew this wasn’t something she’d be the mastermind of. Smurf nodded, playing dumb. 

Pope knew his mother was twisted, and he'd never put it past her to throw Hawk under the bus and reverse over her, but to hear the lies spewing from her mouth only further enraged Pope. Smurf sighed and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before leaning against the counter to give him her attention. 

“She came to me, baby. Told me she was nervous about having you in the house. I merely recommended getting you back on a dose to even things out while you adjusted to life outside of prison. You know how Hawk is -a heart of gold with skewed intentions. Has been her whole life." Smurf said as if this was his lesson to learn. "Didn’t want to make a big deal about it, and I knew it was in your best interest, so I gave her one of your old prescriptions.” Smurf explained softly to placate him. Why was she doing this? Smurf practically pushed him in Hawk's direction the second he stepped foot in the house after his release. Pope didn't like knowing something was going on, but not knowing what it was. "A lapse in judgement on my part."

“I was arrested this morning because I failed my piss test. I was held in South Bay for six hours before they released me, and thank God I was released because it’s a mandatory year sentence for breaking parole, Smurf. I was let off on a warning.” Pope hissed at her, nearing his breaking point.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I figured she’d talk to you about it, but it looks like she didn't and you've paid the price for her mistake. Guess you never really know a person, huh?” Smurf rounded the corner and tried to reach out to him so she could pull Pope into a hug, but he stopped her by picking up the bottle and throwing it past her head -just missing her by a hair. It hit a row of glasses she had on one of the many shelves lining the kitchen and the shelf shattered behind her, raining glass in a massive clash as everything tumbled down. Smurf stood there in shock, wide eyes never leaving her eldest son.

“Every pill in that bottle is accounted for, Smurf. Every fucking one. I counted them three goddamn times.” He stalked over to his mother, crowding her against the glass covered counter, and he saw the genuine fear in her eyes. “Hawk didn’t do this.” Pope sneered down at Smurf. “You did. I almost went back to prison because of you.” Baz entered the kitchen, alarmed when he heard the glass shatter from his room and stopped short when he saw the showdown between Pope and Smurf. 

“Everything good?” Baz took tentative steps forward in case he needed to separate them. 

“No, Baz. Everything is not good.” Pope turned his attention to Baz. “I’m sure you knew about the pills too?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.” Baz held his hands up. Another liar, Pope thought. He looked between Baz and Smurf before shaking his head and going outside to get some air. 

“What the hell just happened?” Baz looked to Smurf, but her attention was set on the sliding door. A deep frown was set on her lips and her calculating eyes shifted to Baz. 

“A minor hiccup. I had hoped he would pull her back in, but she’s pulling him further out, Baz. Talk to her.” It was an order, not a suggestion. “We need him as level headed as he can be for this job or you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, baby.”  

The radio silence from Pope was killing Hawk. He didn’t come back to the house for a week after he stormed out of the driveway and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since. Or if he did come around, Hawk hadn’t seen him. For all she knew, he was in after she went to sleep and out before she woke up. He never left any trace of himself in her home to begin with aside from the things he kept neatly put away in the guest bedroom, as was his way -to take up as little space as possible and to go unnoticed.

Hawk didn’t have the heart to check the spare bedroom to see if his stuff was still in there. Just the thought of it being empty made her keep a wide berth from the door any time she walked past it. 

Pope screened her calls and ignored her texts altogether, and Hawk had gotten desperate enough to call Deran to see if he had seen Pope or if he was completely AWOL. 

“Yeah, he’s been around.” Deran said awkwardly, eyeing Pope as he nailed the punching bag over and over outside. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him, Hawk.” But Hawk never heard back from Pope. All she could do was wait for him to reach out, to give her a sign of life, because he knew damn well that Hawk wouldn’t step foot at Smurf’s unless she was summoned -especially when she knew he was pissed at her. And Pope was pissed at Hawk, but he was even more furious with Smurf. 

The breeze that picked up outside gave Hawk a small respite from the oppressive end of summer heat. There was one thing that distracted her enough and kept her busy so she didn’t have to think about anything that was now out of her control -her yard. It took years of building and planting, and tedious upkeep, but all of the effort she and J put into it over the years was well worth the sight she got to see every day. Picking weeds wasn’t her favorite task to do, it was something that J -and on occasion Nicky- usually helped her with, but it needed to be done and she desperately needed the distraction. 

Hawk pulled a particularly thick weed out of her bed of beautiful, golden California Poppies when she heard the gate to her backyard creak open. Her head snapped in its direction and saw Baz letting himself into the backyard.

“Hey, stranger,” He called out with a wave, “Long time, no see.”

“What do you want, Baz?” She pulled another weed, then settled the soil back into place.

“Just coming over to check on you. Figure you’d know what’s going on with Pope.” He said with a shrug.

“Haven’t seen him in a week, so no.” She grunted as she pulled another out, tossing it onto the growing pile.

“But you know why he’s been gone?”

“Of course I know why he’s been gone, Baz. And I’m sure you do too, so stop fishing for information. If Pope didn’t directly tell you, then he doesn’t want you in his business, and if he doesn’t want you in his business, then you’re not getting anything out of me. I’ve already pissed him off enough for the foreseeable future.”

“I genuinely just wanted to make sure you were alright. He and Smurf duked it out and he uh…” 

“I’m fine.” Hawk snapped, yanking another weed from the dirt. Baz sighed, rubbing a hand over this mouth. He was the last person Hawk wanted to discuss any of this with and he was well aware of that fact, but he needed to get her comfortable. Baz squatted down to Hawk’s level, his forearms resting on his thighs while his hands were clasped together.

“He’s only punishing you because he can’t punish Smurf. You know that, right? He knows this was all her, but he can’t do anything about it, so he’s taking it out on you.”  

“Listen,” Hawk grunted as she stood up, wiping the dirt from her knees and ripping the work gloves off of her hands and tossing them to the ground next to her gardening tools. Baz followed her up, his knees cracking as he did so. “I don’t need you to play mediator between me and Pope, and I sure as hell don’t need you to come over here to do Smurf’s dirty work for her.” Hawk knew damn well that Baz would never bridge this gap for Pope. This had Smurf’s stench all over it. “Smurf put me in an incredibly shitty position and as far as I’m concerned, if she has anything to say to me about this, she can stop hiding behind you and say it to my fucking face.”

“I understand that you’re angry, I do, but sometimes we have to do things, Hawk. They don’t feel good, but it’s the best for everyone in the long run. And it was best for Pope had you just done it.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, Baz. Pope doesn’t benefit from the meds, you do. Smurf does.” Baz nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure, but you better add yourself to that list too, Hawk, because that’s the version of Pope that you’ve been shacking up with. The one that’s coming back is going to be very different from the one that left, let me tell you.”

“You really are a piece of work, you know that, Baz? A real fucking piece of work.”

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. If I wanted to argue with a brick wall, I’d stay home with Cath.”

“Oh yeah, because Cath’s the brick wall between the two of you.” Hawk scoffed, walking past Baz and up to the porch where her water bottle was sitting on the table. Baz took the jab with a bite to his lip so he didn’t respond in a way he would’ve had it been one of his brothers. She’s hurting and cornered, he told himself. “Why are you really here, Baz? To check on me? Fine, you’ve checked on me. I’m alright. I’m okay. You can report back to Smurf that things are all fine and dandy on the western front.” Hawk took a long drink of water and sat down. Baz sat across from her, his back to the sun.   

“You’ve distanced yourself from everyone. I know you like your space, but…It doesn’t matter how hard you’ve tried to claw your way out of this family, Chickenhawk, you’ve always found your way back in it. And now that you have…whatever is going on between you and Pope-”

“Considering he’s avoiding me like the fucking plague, there isn’t anything happening between us, Baz. Not anymore. You missed your window of opportunity for whatever bullshit you’re trying to sell me.” 

“Pope needs time. He knows who was pulling the strings, Hawk. I think he would’ve killed Smurf if I didn’t step in when I did. For what she did to him, and to you. I know he thought about it. I know he’s still thinking about it and I don’t blame him. I’m just asking you to give him some grace, alright? and be there when he’s ready to come back because he will come back. Whether you know it or not, you’ve been the center of his world since the very first time you went to visit him in Folsom and he’s been chasing your shadow since you were thirteen. You could ask him to strap a bomb to his chest and jump off of a building and he’d do it, Hawk. That’s a power you didn’t even know you had.” Hawk scoffed, shaking her head. “He’s changed for the better since he’s been around you, you know?” 

“Did he change or are you now just starting to pay attention to who he is? Because he’s not this horrible monster you and Smurf try to make him out to be with everyone else. He has his quirks, but that’s just being a goddamned human trying to navigate this fucking world.”

“You’re good for him,” Baz sidestepped Hawk’s question. “Knew you would be. It only took about twenty years for both of you to get your heads out of your asses.” He tried to lighten the mood, but Hawk learned very early on to never let her guard down around Baz. He was a sweet talker, an expert at manipulating through conversation and Hawk knew better than to let his words break down the walls of protection she had carefully crafted in her youth when it came to him because if Baz was anything, it was a snake in the grass. 

He was groomed by the best, after all. 

“Don’t you miss being in the thick of it?” He leaned on the table towards Hawk. “I know you miss the rush, the adrenaline of a successful job, and we were only doing small takes then. Now…we’ve got something big coming up.”

“The things I was involved with before…I’m not going back to that, Baz. I don’t need to. I "got away" with those things because I was a kid and my record was expunged. Unlike you guys, I’ve learned my lesson. I have too much at stake now to risk it on whatever bullshit you guys have cooked up, alright? I don’t want to know what you’re up to because I want zero involvement in it.”  

"Can't blame me for reminiscing on the good ol' days." Baz leaned back into the chair.

“Some of us don’t like reminiscing on the good ol’ days, Baz. For some of us, they were bad ol’ days.” She joked, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in her voice.

“There you go again, Hawk. I remember how close we all were. The shit we got into. How Smurf wanted to beat all of our asses when she’d have to bail us out. They were crazy, but they were good.” 

“Again, not my recollection of things.”

“You were one of us, Hawk. Always have been. Always will be.”

“No. I was always an outsider, Baz, held at arm’s length even when I was living there. And I still am, on purpose.”

“You made yourself feel like that, Hawk. You separated yourself from us when you didn’t have to. Smurf loved you in her own way, and she still does. You know that.”

“She loved being able to control an impressionable teenager, Baz. Your experience in that house and my experience in that house were two very different things. I was never family, not like you were, because I put up resistance.”

“You used to be.” He pushed. “You were family to Julia.” 

“Because I was all she had left.” Hawk’s eyes bore into Baz’s. “Smurf couldn’t manipulate us as well as she could manipulate you and the other boys. Why do you think she let me leave?” 

“She let you leave because she knew you’d flourish on your own, and she was right. Look at you now. Got this beautiful house right on a hill overlooking the fucking ocean, an impressive business you built from the ground up. You have properties on the other side of the country. All of it legit. You’ve got it made, Hawk. The only thing you're missing is your family.” It was as earnest as Hawk had ever seen Baz, but she knew it wasn’t genuine. “You did good with the kid -I really mean that. J’s sharper than a knife and he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You did the best with what you had and you did better than any of us ever could. And you did that alone, Hawk. Having Lena has been hard as hell and I have Cath. I couldn’t imagine doing that on my own. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Oh he was really trying to butter her up. 

“You want something. Or Smurf. Either way, my answer is no.” Hawk got up, grabbed her water, and turned to make her way back into the house, kicking her sandals off at the door. Baz was quick to follow her, sliding the door shut behind him. “I didn’t extend the invitation to come inside.” She said over her shoulder as she washed her hands and arms in the kitchen sink. Baz stood in Hawk’s kitchen with his arms crossed and a thick brow raised. “I’m serious, Baz. Whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it.”

“We need you.” Hawk laughed, loud and sharp, as she dried her hands on a kitchen towel. 

“You need me?” She teased, but there was nothing nice or kind about it.

“Yes, we need you, Hawk.”

“Listen, I have the time for this, but I’m not wasting it on you, so if you could please show yourself out,” She motioned to the front door with a wave of her arm as she grabbed a beer from the fridge and padded into the sunken living room to relax. “That means leave, Baz. Get out. Scram. Be gone.” Hawk snapped as she dropped down to the sofa, kicking her bare feet up on the table as she twisted the cap off the bottle of beer. Still, Baz followed her and took a seat on the coffee table next to her feet.

“This job, Hawk…we can’t move forward unless we have you. Just hear me out. That’s all I’m asking.” Baz pleaded. 

“How does Pope feel about this?” Hawk asked with a brow raised and a smirk gracing her lips. She knew he’d never agree to this, in any capacity, because Pope knew how she felt about all of it. 

“Pope doesn't know.” That might’ve been the first truthful thing he’s said since he stepped foot on Hawk’s property. “You’re not going to be directly involved with the job, but we need you for information pertaining to it.” 

“Leave, Baz.”

“You just have to come to Smurf’s for a dinner tonight. You know Paul Belmont?” Hawk’s brows furrowed. What the hell were they doing with Nicky’s dad? 

“Moderately.” Hawk glared openly at him. 

“But he’s familiar with you? He asked about you by name when I spoke to him last.”

“What the hell are you doing talking to Paul Belmont?”

“You’re either in or you’re out, Hawk. You want to know what we’re doing with Paul Belmont? Give me a yes.”

Hawk turned to Baz as Paul backed the mainly car out of Smurf’s driveway. Her arms were crossed and a heavy frown pulled her features down. “You are beyond stupid if you go through with this, Baz. You’re willing to risk federal prison?” 

“No one’s going to go to prison, Hawk.”

“You say that about the bank heist, too?” They held eye contact for a moment before Hawk looked at J. She still didn’t know where he stood with things, and at this point in the night she wanted to just go home and take a hot bath with a glass of wine. Hawk glanced at Smurf, who was watching her every movement. Hawk didn’t say another word to anyone as she got in her own SUV and took off back home. 

Another three days passed and Hawk still hadn’t seen nor spoken to Pope. She was reaching the point of acceptance that he was done with her. The trust that was severed was too great to overcome on his end and so she simply let sleeping dogs lie. Her life went back to the way it was before Pope was released from prison, albeit somehow more depressing and isolated than before. She took up more time at the shop, filling orders, helping customers, and propagating new plants that came in so she could build her stock. 

Hawk didn’t hear from any of the Cody’s following the dinner with Nicky’s parents, aside from a 'thank you' text from Baz, and she was eternally grateful that they’ve all collectively decided to leave her alone for the time being. 

Hawk’s head perked up when she heard her full government name spoken from the other side of the register. 

“Detective Yates, this is my partner Detective Fischer.” The woman motioned to the man next to her. Both flashed badges. “We were wondering if you had a few moments to answer some questions?”

“What’s this pertaining to?” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest. 

“You know exactly what this is pertaining to.” Yates stated.

“I really don’t.” Hawk shook her head. 

“I’d suggest you take a few steps outside with us, unless you want your customers to hear about the crime family you have entangled yourself with.” Yates raised her voice just loud enough to get the attention of the people in the shop. 

“We just need to ask a few questions and we’ll be on our way,” Fischer interjected, eyes pleading with his partner to not escalate. “We won’t take much of your time.” Hawk nodded over to Jane without another word and took a few steps outside the shop. 

“There better be a damn good reason for you to come into my business and do this horse shit.” Hawk snapped at Yates. 

“Janine Cody a good enough reason for you?” Yates asked, hands moving to her hips as she stared Hawk down. “How about Joshua Cody? Catherine Cody? Know them?” 

“What about them?” Yates said Hawk’s real name with a shake of her head. 

“Joshua's in danger, and so is Catherine.” Tell Hawk something she didn’t already know. “Josh was unofficially in your care for the majority of his life. I know you care about him and he cares about you a great deal. You want him to be safe and as long as he’s with Janine and his uncles, he will never be safe.” 

“You have the wrong one, Detective Yates. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Hawk turned to go back in the shop, but Yates opened her mouth again. 

“You’re also in danger. I don’t know who you think Andrew Cody is, but I can guarantee you that-”

“That what?” Hawk spun around and got in the detective’s face. “Anything you say isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. You’re gonna have to try harder.”

“Catherine can read between the lines, Hawk. She wants to protect her child and I don’t blame her. These men are dangerous, and Janine is worse. I don’t need to tell you that. At some point she will turn on you -he will turn on you- and when that time comes, it’ll be too late for us to help you.” Cath wouldn't be stupid enough to talk to these two idiots, Hawk thought to herself. They had to be bluffing. They probably tried to approach her like they were doing with Hawk and she told them to screw. Cath was smarter than that. “And not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days.” 

“I haven’t heard from her. Cath and I aren’t close. I like to keep my distance from any of them.”

“Except when Pope Cody is in your bed.” Yates interjected. “You’re his contact and address for the parole board. We've had an eye on you.” 

“Then you know that you've got nothing." Hawk said with a grin. "Would you believe me if I said Pope was the sanest out of all of 'em?” 

“How about this for a joke? Do you know what Josh has been up to? Say the last…three weeks or so.” Hawk hadn’t. She hasn’t seen much of J and neither had Smurf. “Figured as much.” Yates felt like she had the upper hand when she saw the look on Hawk’s face. “Or maybe what he’s been up to since he went to live with the Cody’s? He’s been busy, Hawk, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“I don’t have time for this.” Hawk shook her head and was about to push the door open when Yates dropped the bombshell. And then another. And one more for good measure. 

We need to talk at the house. Just us. Tonight. Hawk’s thumb hovered over the send button before pressing it. A few minutes passed before the three bubbles popped up followed by J’s response. 

Be there in 30

“Hey,” J breathed out as he hugged Hawk. She had a very severe look on her face and the atmosphere in the house was dour as he followed her to the kitchen. He took a seat and Hawk leaned back against the counter, watching him as his eyes bounced around the kitchen nervously. 

“Some very interesting people came by the shop today, J. Two detectives.” By the look on his face, he knew where this was going. They told him they were going to pay Hawk a visit and they hadn’t been lying. “Against my better judgement, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Josh. Is what they told me even remotely true?” Cops lied, that was a given, but the details they told her were too familiar to not be true.

They wanted to shake her and they’d been successful. 

“What did they tell you?” Hawk breathed out an incredulous laugh as she dropped her head before looking back at him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“That tells me all I need to know.” She was pissed. Hawk was understanding to a fault and when she was pushed to have an outward response it was for good reason. 

“No, what did they tell you, Hawk?”

“That you’ve been talking to them. That you’ve been telling them about what’s been going on with Smurf and your uncles. That you’ve been…Jesus Christ, Josh. Are you screwing your teacher? You are seventeen, Joshua! She is probably thirty! If she wasn’t protected by the police, I’d drag her ass out of that house myself and show her what happens to adults who do shit like this to kids. Because you are still a kid! How could you be so stupid?!”

“I thought-”

“No you didn’t! If you thought, you would’ve never and I mean never have gotten yourself involved with her. And you never would’ve spoken to a cop. Ever! When I told you to come to me for anything, this is what I fucking meant, Josh!”

“I’m sorry, Hawk!” J shouted, standing and running his hands over his face.

“They also told me that you’re involved.”

“What?” He picked his head up to look at Hawk.

“Are you?”

“Hawk-”

“-Are you involved with their jobs?” Hawk pushed, her eyes unrelentingly probing his for the truth. She shook her head, biting her lip in agitation when he didn’t answer. “I told you. I told you not to get in the middle of any of their shit, Joshua. I fucking told you.” Hawk wasn’t the type to reprimand, but it seemed that the Cody’s brought out the worst in her as of recent and J was no exception. 

“You think I’d be in the middle of this shit if it was that easy to say no? You have no idea-” J felt like his back was against the wall, cornered like a rat with no where to hide, so he started lashing out. 

“-I know exactly what it is like to live in that fucking house! You play stupid and don’t. Get. Involved.” Hawk shouted, slamming her palm on the island. “I lived that nightmare for five years, J, and I came out the other side in spite of it. For five years I lived under Smurf’s thumb, used and manipulated, then let go when I wasn’t of use to her anymore. Because that’s what she does. That’s what they all do.”

“Even Pope?” J knew bringing up whatever was going on between Hawk and Pope was a dirty play, and he regretted saying it the second it left his mouth. J didn’t want to hurt Hawk, not intentionally. She was the single person who has looked out for him since day one on this planet and he had disappointed her in such a catastrophic way that he didn’t think she’d ever forgive him for it. Add on the world of shit he was in with Alexa and those two detectives, and J couldn’t fathom how he was getting himself out of any of it. 

“I fucking guess so.” Pope had the balls to give her the silent treatment over a poor decision when he himself was purposefully doing this shit behind her back. He was in for a reckoning the next time they crossed paths and he didn’t even fucking know it. 

Hawk should’ve expected the deception from Pope, but it still hurt. Hawk trusted him and maybe she was blinded to think he’d never do something like this to her, but he was a Cody through and through. 

With her head tilted down, eyes squeezed shut, she had to know how deep J was in it. “What the hell did they make you do?” Her voice was just above a whisper, the anger gone and replaced with resignation. 

“They didn’t make me.” J’s voice was just as low. He didn’t want to say it out loud, to let Hawk know he was no better than the uncles she protected him from his whole life. 

“J,” She sighed, turning to pace the kitchen with her hands pushed tightly against her waist. 

“That night that the cop died,” He admitted, and there it was, that look that J knew was coming. The look of unbridled devastation cast itself over Hawk’s entire being and tears welled in her eyes. 

“You just moved into that fucking house and they already had you doing jobs?!” Her eyes were looking all over the room, her brain putting a timeline together, before her eyes landed back on J. “The night you came home beat up. That’s the night that cop died -you lied to me. You fucking lied to me and you’ve been lying to me, J. What the fuck did you do?” She sounded absolutely gutted. 

“I helped Pope get a car that night. The guy we stole it from is the one who,” J motioned up to his face. 

“Pope took the fall for it. For both of you. He said you weren’t involved in any of it. Said it straight to my face that you had nothing to do with-” Hawk stopped herself short, shaking her head. She was an idiot. She wanted to believe Pope.

“What the fuck is wrong with the men in this family,” Hawk shouted, storming out of the kitchen. She didn’t know where she was going, but she needed to move or she’d combust. As much as she didn’t want to, Hawk felt her bottom lip wobble and knew tears were following closely behind.

“Hawk,” She put her shaking hand up to stop him from getting closer to her as she returned to the kitchen. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Her breathing got heavier. Hawk stopped on the other side of the kitchen, the entire length of the island acting as a barrier between them. “You wanted to do it. After everything, you still wanted to do it.”

“Not initially. You told me to do what I needed to so I didn’t rock the boat. What the hell was I supposed to do with Pope breathing down my neck? You left me to the goddamn wolves!” He knew he was grasping at straws. Just yesterday afternoon he got into Camp Pendleton and got this most recent job rolling. It was a rush he never felt before when he made it out unscathed, but it had been a close call on his way out. He’d never tell any of this to Hawk, but he did actually enjoy himself. 

“I-” She had to stop herself with an incredulous laugh. “I left you?! That’s what you think? That I left you?” Her tears finally fell and J felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit. He was angry and frustrated, and Hawk was the only person he could take it out on because she was the only one there who would take it. “No one wins against Janine Cody, Josh. No one. Not me, not you, not Julia, not her fucking sons, not anyone. If I went against her, I would’ve never seen you again. In fact, she’d probably have my body dumped somewhere in the desert for the fucking buzzards to pick at. If Smurf finds out you’ve been talking to the cops, she’s going to kill you, do you understand me? There isn’t a single person on this planet who can save you from her.” 

“I fucked up, Hawk. I know I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.” 

“You fix this. I don’t know what you need to do, but you got yourself into this and now it's time to grow up, J. This is serious shit. It gets fixed or were both fucking dead.”

Hawk should’ve listened to her gut when she said that she didn’t want to open the doors that came with her involvement with Pope. It wasn't his fault, partially, and Deep down she knew this wouldn’t end well for herself or anyone else involved. Hawk wanted to love him and be loved by him, and she knew he wanted to be loved in return. Deep down Hawk knew loved Pope, but that love didn’t outweigh the hurt that seemed to weigh Hawk down to her mattress as she sat against her headboard with a bottle of wine locked in her grasp. It was the only thing that took the edge off for her, but she hated how sad she felt when she got to the bottom of the bottle. 

The anger Hawk felt for Pope had dissipated and in its place the oppressive shadow of self-doubt and misery took form. Was this what her life was destined to be? She drained the last of the bottle and slumped over a bit, letting her weight lean against the plush pillows. 

“Another night spent alone in an empty bed, in an empty house and with an empty bottle.” Hawk slurred, messily trying to kick her way under the comforter. Once she was comfortable enough, she flicked the lamp on the bedside table off and was out the second she closed her eyes. 

The clock on Pope’s dashboard read 4:16 AM as he sat in his truck in Hawk’s driveway. He felt his heart pound in his chest and the dirt grated under his fingernails as he tried to drown out the thoughts that assaulted his brain after what he just did. Pope’s done a lot of horrible shit in his life -he’s hurt a lot of people, but this…this he would never forgive himself for. 

Pope sighed as he got out of the truck, closing the door quietly as he went up the walkway and let himself in. He toed his boots off, setting them neatly on the shelf next to Hawk’s shoes and padded down the hall. Hawk’s door was wide open, catching his attention. She was spread out in her stomach, face smashed into her pillow, and one leg hanging over the side of the mattress. Pope saw the empty bottle on her nightstand and took a few steps into the room. 

Pope needed to touch her, to feel her. He needed her warmth and the comfort that he only ever felt when she held him. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her, and if Hawk ever found out about what he just did, he would probably take himself out before he could see the way she’d look at him for the monster he really was. 

He silently undressed, save for his boxer briefs, and crawled into Hawk’s bed. He lifted the comforter, pushing it down so he could gently turn Hawk over to lay on her back. She mumbled incoherently and Pope could smell the wine on her breath. 

Once Hawk was positioned on her side facing him as Pope needed her to be, he laid his head on her chest and let her arm fall over his waist. Pope’s arms wrapping around her waist to hold her as tightly to him as he could. Hawk’s other arm was placed over Pope’s shoulder and her fingers started to gently twist the curls at the nape of his neck the second they came into contact. 

The tears of agony Pope held in finally fell when he felt her hand in his hair. He didn’t move, he didn’t shake. He just laid there and cried, silently pleading for a forgiveness that he knew he’d never receive -especially not from her. 

please comment & reblog :)

[gooobraghhh]

I’ve successfully completely broken a mutual of mine and it has been so fun

I’ve talked about @the-kennel-keeper on here a few times but I think I really need to display the whole picture.

He started out like most of my followers, a puppy boy anon in my askbox that had a massive crush on me, but I had happened to follow his account along with like 10 others that were in the trans nsft tag when I first made this blog. He sent me an anonymous ask about realizing I followed him and how it got him so exited but he spam liked me like right before he sent it which made it exceedingly obvious who he was. That little pathetic mistake that was rip for being made fun of was the first thing that got me interested and his general tendency to accidentally humiliate himself or be easily tricked has remained extremely adorable. He finally dm’d me some message about how much he loves my blog since he wanted my direct attention and he did one of those ask games where one of the questions was like “who’s your tumbr crush?” and of course I asked him that one anonymously.

Surprise surprise he says me and at that point I’d sort of gathered too much dirt on him to let it go to waste and I really didn’t even try. We flirted, he talked about how he was only submissive in an extremely defiant, bratty way and how he basically can’t be tamed which just made him all the more alluring of a target for me. He did act like that for a while, but I built up to this perfect demeaning message where I revealed both of my little secrets on him and he just had no choice but to give in. The message ended with me telling him that I own him and I managed to get a “Yes ma’am” in response. He got so worked up that night that he finally got himself off after not being able to for months. I think that’s when I truly gained control over him.

Since then I’ve been slowly training him more and more. Learning exactly what gets him flustered and makes him tick. He started being more obedient, begging on command, singing my praises. A month or two later and the progress is undeniable. Hes cum for me a total of ~10 times (probably more than that, he couldn’t remember the exact number at first but I let him round down) 5 of which have been in the last 24 hours. He volunteered to send me audios of him jerking off and praising how good he’s been trained, he responds “yes ma’am” to basically every command I give him.

I know him so well that I can make him kind of shut down and give in from just a sentence or two of dirty talk. I mean I really pushed him today and yesterday and he couldn’t help but get himself off several times while recording it for me.

This man genuinely thought he was untamable, before talking to me he hadn’t even cum in months, but I’ve taken real good care of my new mutt. Thoroughly corrupted him into my perfect toy. Sometimes I even give him dirt on me just to give him a fighting chance but he’s so pathetic it doesn’t even matter. He’s had sex dreams about me and has chatted with me while around his friends, desperately trying to keep his composure.

So I’m starting a counter in my pinned of how many times he’s cum while thinking of me. It’s only fair I get to show off my hard work I think. We can all enjoy seeing how fucking pitifully submissive my mutt is.

And you can be jealous of him while that number ticks up because I know there’s a lot of you that’d kill to be in his position.

Exited to see how fast I can get keep the number increasing.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

virginity

words: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, virgin!reader and virgin!rafe, kind of bullying at the beginning, very cute and fluffy rafe, reader is implied to be a kook, first date, female receiving oral, fingering, p in v sex, protected (for once! yay) sex

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @dreamingwithrafe @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

“oh my god, bridgette, you'll never guess who asked me out!” you squeal, flopping onto her bed.

“ooh, umm… kelce?” she guesses, but you just shake your head no, the smile on your face growing.

“rafe!” 

bridgette sits up instantly. “rafe as in rafe cameron?” you can tell by the look on her face that she's skeptical.

“the one and only.” you nod.

“but um… he doesn't date?” she says, genuine confusion in her voice.

“i thought you said he was basically a rich frat boy?” you sit up, now thinking over the interaction, but there's no way to confuse “will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?” as anything other than asking on a date.

“well, yeah, he parties and stuff but he doesn't… date. he's never had a girlfriend.”

“well, ive never really had a boyfriend.” you shrug. “and don't say jonathan because he does not count.”

“yeah, but you have an excuse, y/n. your parents moved you all over the country, you didn't have time to date until your parents settled here a few months ago.” bridgette counters, and she does have a point. you've never been in one place long enough to form a true relationship. “i think rafe just doesn't date because he doesn't like any girls enough.”

you frown, thinking over her words. “well i guess that means he likes me enough to ask.” you say quietly.

bridgette shrugs. “good for you. he better take you somewhere expensive, boy has MONEY!” she says, causing you both to erupt into laughter. “oh…” bridgette suddenly quiets. “i wouldn't tell evelyn. she has the biggest crush on him, she'd get so jealous if she knew you asked him out.”

-- the next day --

“hey dad…” you say in a sweet voice, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“oh god, y/n, what do you want?”

“can i borrow your credit card?” you ask with a whine.

“y/n, you are an adult! you can’t keep borrowing my credit card! what do you need anyways?” “a new outfit… for a date tonight.” you whisper the last part, but your dads eyes still bulge open.

“a what?” “come on dad, all my outfits are so revealing, don’t you want me to buy something more covered up? or should i wear that pink skirt mom got me-” “no!” your dad cuts you out, fishing his wallet out of his pocket, slapping the credit card into your hand. “something that doesn’t show too much skin, y/n.” he warns, and you nod and run out to your car before he can lecture you or ask you any more questions about the date.

--

you look through the rack of dresses, trying to find one that you like and would feel comfortable in tonight with rafe. you don't want to give him the wrong idea by showing up wearing a dress that's more suited for a club or party.

you have some hangers already in your hand of dresses to try on when you hear a shout of your name. you look up to see evelyn and her two best friends following her. 

when you moved to the outer banks, you quickly assimilated into the social scene and learned that evelyn was the queen bitch, super wealthy, but not at all likable, with an insane amount of possessiveness over rafe, despite him never even showing interest in her. evelyns first words to you were to stay away from him, but you won't let her intimidate you away from this date.

“what are you shopping for?” evelyn asks, her lips smeared in a bright red shade of lipstick that contrasts her light hair.

“a date tonight.” you reply, keeping your eyes mostly on the clothes, trying to convey that you're not interested in whatever show of dominance she's attempting.

“i heard about that. how did you scam rafe into taking you somewhere?” she asks, her friends snickering behind her.

“he asked me, actually.” you hum, keeping your body language disinterested, despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. “I guess he likes me.”

“that's real funny, y/n.” evelyn says, placing her hand on the rack to stop you from looking. “because rafe is mine.”

“should i call him right now?” you look her in the eye, your temper reading on your face. “should I have him tell you what you already know? that he's not interested?”

“you are such a bitch!” evelyn yells, and the storekeeper finally becomes aware of the situation, heading out from behind the counter and towards you. “i will ruin you for stealing him.” evelyn states before turning and stomping out of the store, her entourage falling in step behind her.

“miss, are you okay?” the shopkeeper asks.

you hum and nod, knowing that whatever they plan on doing won't work, evelyn may have popularity because of her money, but everyone knows not to trust a word out of her mouth. “can i get a dressing room to try these on actually?” you ask, picking up a dress that you think would be perfect for tonight.

--

the doorbell rings and you give your father a glare, already having warned him to stay in the living room and let you answer the door. the last thing you need is your father scaring rafe before your date has even begun.

you open the door, letting out a breath of relief when rafe is also dressed up. you realized while buying the dress that you didn't actually know where you were going for dinner, you just assumed it would be on the fancier side.

“wow.” rafe let's out a gasp, “you look beautiful.”

you blush, smoothing out the front of your dress, giving you an excuse to break eye contact and look down at yourself. “you look really handsome too.”

“let me help you down the stairs.” rafe extends his hand, and you subtly wipe your palm against your dress before placing it in his, accepting his help out the front door as these are new heels (you couldn't resist when your dad gave you his card).

rafe keeps your hands locked together as he leads you towards his truck, of course opening the door for you and helping you in.

you smile at rafe as he gets into the driver's seat. “im excited.” you tell him honestly.

“me too.” rafe grins, keeping his eyes on the road as he takes off but reaching over your tangle your fingers together again. “im nervous too though.”

“rafe cameron did not just admit he is nervous.” you gasp, making rafes smile grow as he shakes his head.

“i really like you.” he explains further, making you smile and lift his hand to your face, pressing your lips to it in a kiss. 

--

“how's your food?” rafe asks, taking a bite of his own. you ordered salad, too nervous to eat anything else in front of rafe. since he admitted how he felt about the date, it felt all the more real.

“it’s really good!” you say. “thanks for taking me.”

rafe smiles at you, his eyes containing a warmth you haven’t seen before. “so, where did you live before moving to the outer banks?”

you had told rafe before that you moved around a lot, but never got into the specifics, so you spend most of the dinner telling him all the states that you’ve lived in and responding to his questions while asking some of your own.

rafe accepts the check and pays for you without question, brushing off your thanks before leading you out of the restaurant, his hand firmly placed on your back.

“do i need to get you home by any time?” rafe asks when you get back in the car.

“no.” you shake your head. “i don’t want to go home yet either.”

rafe smiles at you, reaching over to place his hand on your thigh as he drives towards his house. you hum softly to the music, glad for the short drive before you’re walking into tanneyhill. rafe informs you that everyone else is gone, so it’s just you two.

“should we watch a movie?” rafe asks, gesturing towards the couch in the living room.

“sure! you pick though.” you say, not wanting to have to make the choice. rafe sits down on the couch and picks up the remote, navigating to some comedy you haven’t seen before. you sit down next to him, close enough for your thighs to be touching.

rafe wraps his arm around your shoulder, letting you get comfortable against his side.

the movie is decently funny, but you’re far more focus on being tucked up against rafe. at a funny scene, rafe lets his laughter loose, and you can’t help but turn and look to him, watching his face light up.

rafe notices you watching him and his laughter softens into a smile. “can i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod, turning to face him as rafe places a hand on your cheek, bringing your mouths together in a kiss that quickly turns more passionate as you deepen it. you shift again so that you straddle rafes lap, placing your hands on his shoulders as you continue to kiss, your dress pooling on his lap.

“y/n-” rafe gasps when he pulls away, realizing both of you went a little overboard when your lips first touched.

“i have to tell you something rafe.” you say, realizing the compromising position you’re in and not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“what is it baby?” rafe questions, his hands falling to rest on your hips.

“i’m… i’m a virgin.” you admit.

rafe lets out a sigh, like he’s relieved, which causes your brows to scrunch together in confusion. “i never thought i’d say this to you but i am too.”

“what?” you question. “i thought you were known for partying and flirting and stuff!” “yeah, i used to flirt a lot but i was never serious enough with anyone to sleep with them… not until you.” “oh my god.” you coo, leaning forward to press your lips together again. rafe wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your chests closer together.

“i would lose it with you, baby. if you want.” rafe says.

“i-yes. i want that.” you nod.

“tonight? now? only if you’re sure.” rafe says. “i know we’ve only gone on one date, but it feels… right.”

“i agree.” you nod. “i’m not saying we are going to be together forever based off one date but i want to lose it with you. together.” 

“let me take you upstairs then.” rafe stands effortlessly, with you clinging to his front as his arms hold you steady. you press soft kisses to his neck as he carries you, feeling equal parts nervous and excited for what is about to happen.

rafe sets you down on the end of his bed before stepping back, admiring you in his bedroom, especially knowing what you are about to do together.

“can i take your dress off?” rafe asks, and you nod, letting him come up and grab the bottom of your dress. you lift your hips so he can pull it up and over your head, and you let out a silent thanks to god that you wore matching underwear.

“you’re so gorgeous.” rafe says, looking down at you with glossed over eyes. you can tell from the tightness of his pants that he’s not unaffected by seeing you like this.

“sit down, let me take your shirt off.” you tell rafe, grabbing his hand so he sits next to you on the bed. you tug his shirt off, admiring his muscles as you run your hands over them. rafes hands stay on his knees, waiting for permission to touch you now that you’re scantily dressed.

“do you… do you want to take your pants off?” you ask, glancing down at his crotch. “it seems painful.” you giggle.

“yeah, the zipper hurts.” rafe admits, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his legs so he’s in just his underwear, his cock straining against the fabric, a small patch of wetness already growing.

“do you wanna lay down? i want to kiss you some more.” rafe asks.

you nod, moving up the bed until you can rest your head against the pillows. rafe crawls over your body, his eyes mesmerizing every inch of bare skin until he can press his lips against yours, the kiss is passionate but slow and deliberate, building up gradually until you’re moaning against rafes lips.

you reach behind your back, unclipping your bra before taking it off, flinging it somewhere in the room to be picked up later. rafe gives you a final kiss before looking down at your bare chest.

“oh fuck.” he groans, reaching with one hand to grip the underside of your breast, holding it in his palm as he slides down, his mouth falling open onto your nipple. you let out a moan as rafe explores your chest and what makes you moan the loudest.

he plays with your nipple with his tongue, then teases around it before ultimately sucking it into his mouth before switching and repeating on the other side.

“is that good?” rafe asks, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “really good.” “should i…” rafe looks down at your underwear, and you give another nod.

“you’re going to have to um… finger me. to open me up for you, ya know?” you cringe at your words, but you know it’s true and don’t want your first time to hurt.

“yeah, yeah of course.” rafe tugs at your underwear, his eyes staying between your thighs as he tosses the fabric to the floor. you take a deep breath before spreading your legs, putting your cunt on display for him.

“so sexy.” rafe praises you, moving so he’s lying between your thighs. he spreads your folds open with two fingers before using his other hand to rub his pointer finger over your pussy.

he traces around your clit before bumping it, making you flinch at the sudden pleasure.

“was that good?” rafe asks, and you just let out a moan in response when he doesn’t wait, rubbing over your clit again.

rafe smiles, moving his finger lower to your entrance before circling around that as well. he presses against your tight ring of muscle, thankful that you’re already quite wet as you relax and give way, letting his finger slip inside.

he begins to thrust it in and out slowly, building up speed as it becomes easier for him to move.

“try to add a second.” you tell him after a minute.

rafe nods, managing to work a second finger inside of you, but he can tell by the way your forehead scrunches that it’s not as comfortable as one, so he leans forward and presses his tongue against your clit.

“oh fuck!” you scream out as he flicks the tip of his tongue over and over, allowing you to focus on that instead of his fingers thrusting in and out of you.

rafe even makes a point to separate his fingers some, widening them to open you up even more. you don’t even flinch this time as his tongue stays playing with your clit.

“i’m ready.” you pant. “i’m ready, i need you rafe.”

rafe nods, moving to kneel between your legs, not sure what the best position to put you in is, but you seem to have it already thought out as you take a pillow and put it under your hips to raise them so he can stay kneeling on the bed.

rafe works his underwear off, and your eyes widen when his cock is revealed, regretting telling him you were ready after just two fingers. he grabs the condom he must have tossed onto the bed earlier and rips it open, sliding the latex down his length.

“if you need more time…” rafe trails off.

“just go slow.” you say, knowing he will stop at any point if you really need him to.

rafe moves closer, holding himself in his hand as he lines up with your entrance. his head pushes in easily, but the further forward his hips move, the more you struggle, but rafe sees it and slows down until he’s finally fully seated inside of you.

something sparks in that moment, realizing that you have both lost your virginity and it has rafe bending down over your body to press your lips together. you appreciate the kiss as it gives you even longer to adjust before rafe starts rocking into you slowly.

“that feels good.” you reassure rafe, all feelings of pain now gone.

“you feel good.” rafe says, unsure how he’s able to keep so much control over himself to not go feral in this moment, but he likes you too much, cares too much to move any faster and potentially cause you pain.

he keeps up the slow movements, moving from just rocking to actually thrusting as he starts to pull further out. 

“faster.” you whimper, eyes sliding closed as you focus on his length inside of you.

rafe doesn’t question you, needing to move more himself as he begins to speed up his thrusts, pushing his hips forward harder as well.

“i-i’m sorry i don’t know much longer i’m going to last.” rafe admits.

“it’s okay just touch my clit again.” you say. you would do it yourself but your body feels weightless right now, and you’re not sure if you can raise your arms up.

rafe nods, gripping your hip with one hand but letting the other roam to your cunt, rubbing his thumb over your clit as he tries to hold back his orgasm as long as possible while still pushing his cock into your heat repeatedly.

you let out your moans with freedom, knowing that there is no one else in the house to hear you. rafe begins to grunt and you feel him swelling inside of you and you know that he’s close.

rafes body falls forward, his thumb still moving on your clit but his cock stilling as he cums, filling up the condom as he pants heavily.

“y/n!” rafe finishes with a call of your name. you are so close to your orgasm, and you surmise rafe must know as he stays inside of you, rubbing faster until you cum, your body arching off the mattress, even underneath rafes weight as your high hits you with a shout.

you manage to reach to push rafes hand away, needing the overwhelming pleasure on your clit gone as your orgasm works through your body.

rafe curses when your cunt pulsates around him, but waits until you’re done to pull out. he flops to the side, pulling the condom off and tossing it into the trashcan next to his nightstand.

“how does it feel to no longer be a virgin?” you ask.

“felt good to finally use that condom i’ve been keeping in my wallet since i turned 16.” rafe laughs, reaching his arm out to pull you closer to him. “but seriously, i’m glad i lost it with you.” “i’m glad too.” you smile, pressing a quick peck to his lip. “and maybe i should have asked you this before we had sex but… will you be my girlfriend?”

“oh my god, yes!” you squeal.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Rain Check? - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: 5 times Rhysand didn't take his shot, and the one time Feyre took too many

@carrieeve It's me! Hi! I'm your santa, it's me!

For the @acotargiftexchange, you told me you'd like an AU oneshot that was Feysand focused with a friends to lovers plot - I deliberated a long time over how best to bring that vision to life, and then after some light blog stalking, I saw that you're a fan of Jim/Pam from the Office! I started binging the show for research purproses, and a Feysand office romance was born! 🥰

I really hope you enjoy it! It's been such a joy quietly stalking your blog for these last many months, and I look forward getting to know you even more now that our identities are revealed! 💕

Words: 12k

Read on AO3

-

The first time Rhysand saw Feyre, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Only problem—so did every other man in the office. And they didn't exactly disguise their interest in the young, cute receptionist working on the fifth floor of their London skyrise.

After being propositioned by just about every single man in the office, including the ones who fell alarmingly outside her age range—a category which Rhys wasn't confident he was excluded from—he thought the last thing she needed on her first day was another colleague making a pass at her.

He offered a polite hello and welcome, but he intentionally waited until she survived her first week to strike up any further conversation. The chance opened for him when she walked into the break room at the precise moment he was filling up the kettle.

"Hey," he said, tipping the spout to gesture his hello. "Fancy a tea?"

"Oh." She glanced at the kettle, her bow-shaped lips popping open in what he could only assume was surprise. As if she'd walked into the break room expecting anything other than an electric kettle and a pod coffee machine. "I… didn't bring a mug."

"Well, Feyre, I'm not sure how they treated you at your last place, but here, corporate spoils us rotten with communal company branded mugs." Setting the kettle down on the base, Rhys flipped the overhead cabinet open, gesturing to its contents as if he'd unveiled a trove.

The dramatic flair earned him a polite laugh. It was cute, if a little forced. And he craved the chance to learn what her laugh sounded like when it wasn't given out of pity.

He gestured to the middle shelf, which deviated from the monotony of blue logo mugs. "If you do end up bringing a mug in, this is where you can keep it. Though I'll warn you, conversation gets stale here and that almost ensures you'll be asked for its backstory. I recommend bringing in something interesting, unless you want to end up like poor old Drakon."

"What happened to Drakon?"

Rhys gave a hearty sigh as he withdrew two mugs from the cupboard, shaking his head as he said, with the utmost solemnity, "He's known as the guy with a boring mug."

Her lips twitched. He thought that was a genuine smile she might have been fighting.

"If all I'm known for is having a boring mug, I think that's fine by me."

"Oh, believe me, you are far from the danger of that fate, Feyre darling—" the endearment slipped out before he could think better of it. He winced inwardly, trying to monitor her reaction in his periphery. Her brows lifted, and he continued on, hoping he could recover through the theatrics of setting the mugs in front of her, proclaiming proudly, "Because I'm gracious enough to let you use one of mine. Go on, take your pick."

The distraction paid off. Slip-up now forgotten, or so he hoped, Feyre leaned forward to read the print.

Then snorted. "This says Office Wanker."

He grinned. "That was my secret santa gift from last year."

Feyre lifted the other mug by its rather phallic shaped handle. The ceramic was dark green, with small white spikes pinched throughout to mimic a cactus. Feyre grinned as she read the white print on its side: Don't be a Prick.

"I'm sensing a theme."

"That was another gift." Rhys pitched his voice low. "Do you think they're trying to tell me something?"

"I think…" she bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that told him she was purposefully building anticipation. "They might be mugging you off."

"That couldn't be it," he said, knowing his deadpan delivery was ruined. He could feel the stupid grin already plastered over his face and he couldn't help it. "My mother is adamant that I'm a delight. She says everyone likes me."

"I'm sure she's right," she whispered, with just the right amounts of sympathy and derision that Rhysand might have fallen in love with her right then and there.

He nodded to the two choices on the counter. "So which mug are you going with?"

"Oh—dear. Hmm. They're both such strong contenders." Feyre lifted the mugs, tilting and examining each with exaggerated scrutiny. Then she shoved the one with the phallic cactus towards him. "I think Prick fits you better. I'll go with Wanker."

"That's quite the statement to make in your second week," he said, eyes locking with hers as he accepted the mug, their fingers brushing just briefly enough to pass as accidental.

Pride warmed his chest when he noticed her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. It was a similar shade to her lips, he thought. Which was a mistake, because he immediately needed to fight the temptation to stare at her mouth.

"Well," she said, withdrawing her hand, the movement a little stiff. A little uncertain. "At least I won't be known as a girl with a boring mug."

"That you most certainly will not," he purred.

The kettle clicked, steam billowing from its spout, and he was privately grateful for the excuse to pull his attention away lest he do—or more likely say—something stupid and inappropriate.

The entire office was flirting with her. If he escalated this beyond anything other than playful, inane small talk, she would think he was just another jerk trying his luck on the new girl. And really, isn't that exactly what he was?

Rhys lifted the kettle in offering. "So," he said. "Did you want tea?"

"Oh," she repeated. He would have teased her for it, this copy and paste exchange. Why did it keep surprising her that they were in the break room for tea? "No," she said finally, pointing toward the coffee machine. "I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ah," he said, pouring the water into his mug and tried to keep his cool as steam crowded his face. This whole time, he thought she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She could have been in and out of there in a minute if she just put the damn pod in.

But she lingered, watching him stir in sugar—which wasn't how he preferred his tea, but it offered an excuse for him to stay in the break room just a little longer.

"Do you—" he cleared his throat— "Do you know how to use the machine?"

"Yeah," Feyre said, waving the offer away. "I've got one like it at home."

"Ah, good."

He set his teaspoon in the sink, not in any rush to leave but faltering for a reason to stay.

If he could go back and do anything differently, Rhys would have chosen that moment to ask her out. Just for a coffee, to get to know each other. To explore what was already an obvious chemistry.

Instead he pinched the handle of his mug and nodded. "See you around then, Office Wanker."

Feyre waved. "Bye, Prick."

-

The bi-weekly sales team meeting was the bane of Rhysand's existence.

While he was being forced to sit and listen to Tamlin Spring stroke his own ego in front of the executives, Rhys knew his unattended inbox and phone line was being inundated with client inquiries that would prove a much better investment of his and the company's time.

Instead, he was trapped in an hour-long posturing session where each member of the team needed to prove to corporate that they were making enough money to justify their payslip. Something which Tamlin had been struggling with this month, though he was giving quite the performance about the value he had in the pipeline with his "nurturing prospects".

The door clicked open, and every head in the room swiveled towards the interruption.

Feyre stood there, one arm propping open the door, the other fidgeting with a sticky note. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a wince. "I just have a note for Mr. Night. One of his clients is on line 6."

She waited until one of the executives gave her a nod of approval before scurrying to Rhys, her head ducked down. She didn't linger, pressing the sticky note into his hands, then disappearing as quickly as she'd come. He clenched his jaw when he noticed the trail of eyes that followed her.

Tamlin's gaze, in particular, dipped beneath her skirt-line, then back up. Twice. He shared a lazy grin to his left, not even trying to hide what he'd been doing. Worse, reveling in it.

"I should take this," Rhys said tightly, staring at the note in Feyre's hasty scrawl.

Office wanker,

Hope you're prepared to pay up.

"It's from my contact at Hybern," Rhys explained to the room. "I'm on the verge of closing this deal."

The executive gave Rhys a stiff nod of approval. Hybern had been a prospecting account for upwards of a year, until Rhys had taken over the lead two months ago. It was a big account, one he knew the execs were antsy to close.

Rhys had been waiting for Tamlin to finish fumbling his update to announce Hybern officially signed this morning. The choice had been purely strategic, an attempt to highlight the contrast between their performances after Tamlin tried to undermine him in the last meeting. And, admitedly, he'd been looking forward to the gratification of seeing Tamlin flounder in front of the execs he was trying so hard to brown-nose.

This was far more gratifying, though.

Rhys strolled out of the confrence room and returned to his seat, where he promptly picked up his desk phone and dialed line 6.

"Rhysand speaking."

"You thought I wouldn't do it," Feyre said in sing-song triumph. "You really thought I'd be too scared to do my job because of a bunch of serious old men in suits?"

Rhys blew out a stung breath. "Ouch, Feyre. Old?"

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over your creaking bones."

"I didn't take you as a sore winner," he said, grinning.

"Doesn't matter what you took me as, because you know where you'll be taking me now? To lunch. And I'll be ordering something expensive."

He hoped she would. "Order whatever you want. A deal's a deal."

"Oh, I'm getting a side and a dessert."

"Better yet, why don't I take you to dinner? You can have the full course and drinks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. One that prompted him to glance towards her reception desk, where he could see her pink lips part open. Her head swiveled towards him, brows merging to assess his meaning.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"We're celebrating," he said, evading the question. "I closed the deal with Hybern, you won our wager. Let's get drinks."

"Okay," she said. Her smile was shy. "Let's go to dinner."

"Tonight?"

She hesitated. "I… have nothing to wear."

"Blimey, Feyre. I didn't realize you'd come to work nude. A bit bold, don't you think?"

"Shut up," she said, giving an exaggerated eye roll to be sure he could see it across the room.

It was, perhaps, with too much severity that he rushed to add, "You look perfect."

The admission hung a second too long. Rhys cleared his throat before she could mull over the gravity with which he said it—meant it.

"Anyway, we'll leave together after work, yeah? I know just the place."

Feyre bit her lip. It wasn't the immediate agreement he was hoping for, but the pink flush rising over her cheeks was an encouraging sign.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll wait by the lift."

"Don't want them to see us leaving together?" He teased.

"Are you kidding?" She sounded horrified. "If they see us leave together, tomorrow there will be rumors that we're shagging."

"In rumor only?"

"See how well dinner goes first, Prick."

"That's not a no," he crooned, to which Feyre slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

He couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face, even once the sales team got out of their meetings and Tamlin plunked into the seat beside Rhys.

Tamlin scowled. "What are you so happy about?"

His voice was sour, even for Tamlin. Rhys figured the meeting must have gone south after he left. Ass kissing could only go so far when there's no money to be shown for it.

"I closed the deal with Hybern," Rhys said, deciding to capitalize on what was shaping up to be a superb day by rubbing it in Tamlin's face just a little bit. "Sending it through for approval right…" Click. "Now."

"Congrats," Tamlin muttered, mustering as minimal enthusiasm into the word as possible.

Rhys would have felt bad for the guy. When Tamlin first joined, Rhys had tried to take him under his wing, taking him on sales calls and feeding him solid leads that just needed a bit of nurturing. He'd thought they were something like friends until he'd caught Tam trying to poach his clients six months ago. When Rhys asked him to back off, Tamlin had gotten upper management involved, and things had gotten messy.

Since then, their relationship had regressed into this—Tamlin slumping back in his chair, frowning at his screen as Rhysand's closed deal started making the rounds in their sales channels.

The door to the CRO's office snicked open. "Hey, Rhysand. Can we talk?"

"Of course. I'll join you in a moment."

As Rhys slid out of his chair, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance towards Feyre. He was just doing his job at the end of the day, but he was good at it, and some juvenile part of his brain wanted her to notice.

Their eyes met. It always zapped through him, the sight of those bright eyes, like dragging his feet on carpet and touching something metal.

Feyre ducked her head, smiling shyly at her computer.

When he turned back, he saw Tamlin staring at him. Hard.

"What?" Rhys asked, straightening.

"The quirky little receptionist?" He snorted. "I didn't realize that was your type."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tamlin shrugged. "I'm only trying to warn you. I hear she's fucked half this office."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, obscuring the fingers he curled into fists. He shouldn't let Tamlin rile him. He knew it was untrue, and even if it was, he wouldn't care. But Feyre would be upset if she knew that's what people were saying about her.

"Watch your mouth," Rhys said. "This is a workplace, not a locker room."

"Could've fooled me. I thought it was brothel when I first walked in."

Tamlin's head turned deliberately to Feyre, who's desk was positioned directly in front of the entrance. She was leaning over now, scribbling a note on her desk. At the angle, the cut of her top sloped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The observation felt like stepping into Tamlin's mind, seeing Feyre the way he saw Feyre.

It was truly a shock to the system to feel repulsed by a sight of breasts—by Feyre's no less, which were magnificent in any other context. Rhys felted trapped between defending her, which would only validate Tamlin's suspicions and make her more of a target, or to let it slide and hope the bastard moved on.

"Each to their own, I suppose," Rhys said, brushing past Tamlin's desk. He slipped a hand out of his pocket to thrum his finger across the wood. "Hey—think they'll give me that promotion for the Hybern deal?"

The deflection worked. Like dangling car keys in front of a toddler, Tamlin's focus shifted back to the CRO's office.

He sneered. "Let me get back to work, Rhysand."

"Right. Right. That Adriata account, huh? Heard it's not going to well."

"Fuck off."

"So touchy," Rhys said, clicking his tongue. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'll give you some tips after my meeting."

Tamlin made a low grunt in the back of his throat, a sign that he was retreating into what Rhys and Feyre had dubbed 'beast mode'. Rhys actually preferred it when Tamlin was in beast mode. It meant kept his mouth shut and communicated through nods and grunts until his temper subsided—which, Rhys would argue, was much more effective communication than when his colleague attempted to use words.

It was a shame those sacred moments of Tamlin's silence would be wasted in the CRO's office. Rhys wasn't sure what to expect as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Come in," the CRO said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "I heard you closed the deal with Hybern. Many congratulations—I know that was hard won."

"They made me work for it," Rhys acknowledged, lowering onto the alabaster seat. "But I knew we'd close them in the end."

The CRO nodded. "You did good work."

"Thank you," Rhys said, bracing himself for the pitch. He knew he wasn't called in here for a congrats.

"You're a strong salesman," the CRO continued. "You have excellent people skills, and you're good at getting clients on your side."

Rhysand's brows rose. He didn't think he'd ever heard this much praise come from upper management before. He was still waiting for the catch.

"The deal with Adriata has fallen through," the CRO went on. That was corporate speak for: Tamlin wet the bed.

"That's a shame," Rhys said mildly. It wasn't his deal, and he wasn't exactly heartbroken to hear Tamlin fumbled a big sale.

"I know you have a contact there—Tarquin. You used to work with each other at your previous role. Do you think you could leverage that to recover the sale?"

Rhys paused. Adriata was one of the leads he'd fed to Tamlin through that acquaintance. He could have taken the deal himself, but he thought the new guy could use an easy win. It shouldn't have taken this long—nearly a year—to close the deal and it certainly shouldn't have fallen through.

"Adriata is Tamlin's client," Rhys said slowly. "If I helped close the sale…"

"You'd get the commission," the CRO said, hearing the question that went unspoken. "And the account will be yours. I just want this closed before fiscal."

In other words, before Monday.

Rhys glanced at the digital clock on the CRO's desk, calculating the time difference in his head. "Tarquin's based in L.A. Latest I can get him on a call is five."

"If you stay late and get this done, you can take Monday off."

It wasn't Monday he cared about. It was the date he envisioned with the pretty blue-eyed receptionist. He thought he would finally have the chance to take her somewhere nice and give this chemistry between them a solid chance.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek. Feyre would understand, wouldn't she? With the commission he'd get from Hybern and Adriata, he could take her somewhere even nicer. Hell, he could take her out of London. Fly to Paris for the weekend. Amsterdam. Art museums. Anywhere she wanted.

"Okay," Rhys said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

After that, he returned to his desk. Tamlin was still in beast mode, ignoring Rhysand's existence and probably nursing his ego about the ruined Adriata deal. It offered Rhys the privacy to slip a sticky note from his desk and pass it to reception on the way to the break room.

Have to stay late tonight. Rain check on dinner?

-

The following Monday, Rhys took the day off.

And later that morning, he was waiting to meet his family for breakfast when he received a call from the police.

His mother, father, and younger sister had all died in a car accident on their way to meet him.

Rhys took the rest of the week off.

-

It was the day of the funeral.

He was sitting on a bench, staring absently at a flock of ducks wading through The Serpentine at Hyde Park.

He'd just gotten back to London and couldn't bear the thought of going home. So he'd come here, though it was a miserable, foggy day and he could feel the cold burning his nose, cheeks, and ears.

In some ways, the cold felt grounding. This pain was real. Fixable. So much easier to process than the intangible grief he was drowning in.

"Here I thought I was the only person in London mad enough to be out on a day like this."

It was just his luck to run into Feyre on today of all days.

Rhys knew he looked a mess. He wasn't trying to hide it. And he knew it was inevitable she would see him in his grief. Their company only offered five days of bereavement, after all. He'd be back at work on Monday, and he didn't anticipate being any less of mess than he was now.

When she appeared before him, hands settled on her hips, he wondered if this was how it felt to see a mirage in the desert. To glimpse salvation and know it was impossible to reach.

In the dull grey backdrop of English winter, she was a smear of vibrant color. She was wearing a sky-blue overcoat, buttoned over a cream turtleneck and brown suede trousers. Her cheeks and nose were frostbitten, like his own, and it made him feel strangely envious of the cold.

"You look like you're freezing."

Unlike Feyre, bundled in her coat and scarf and mittens, he wasn't dressed for the weather. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and though he'd brought an overcoat with him to the funeral, he was fairly certain he'd left it at the wake.

"I'm fine," he said.

A blatant lie. Usually he was better at those.

"Here." Feyre began unwinding her red knit scarf.

"No." Rhys held up his hands to stop her. "Really, Feyre, I'm—"

Dodging his weak attempts to deter her, Feyre unraveled her scarf and wasted no time hooking it around Rhysand's neck. The scent of lilac and pear coiled around him, constricting like the vise of a serpent.

"Keep it," she said. "It didn't really match this outfit anyway."

"I'm not sure it matches mine," he said, glancing down at the shock of red against his black suit.

"I don't know." Feyre leaned back to admire his outfit with a level of interest that had Rhys reconsidering his whole wardrobe. "I think you look nice with a bit of color."

"It's warm," he granted, pressing his palm to the soft fabric. The heat of her body was still there, though leeching by the second. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"Keep it," she said, taking the seat next to him. "Like I said, it looks good on you."

He could see what she was doing. She even raised her brows, practically taunting him for a response. Something like Clothes tend to look better off me, or it looked better on you.

The mask was in reaching distance. He knew the script. He just didn't have the energy to don the part.

Feyre tried to keep the concern off her face. The only problem was, he'd spent the better part of a year trying to learn how to read her. He knew her tells, and if he didn't, he could still see the crease of concern forming between her brows.

"Where have you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual. "The rumors are crazy, you know. You close the two biggest sales of the year on the same day and then disappear for a week."

Rhys offered her his best imitation of a grin. "Is that your way of saying you were worried about me?"

"You know as a receptionist, it's part of my duty to know all the latest office gossip."

"No gossip here, Feyre." He shrugged. "Just taking some time off."

Feyre frowned. Her voice was soft and devastatingly gentle as she said, "Rhys. It looks like you just came from a funeral."

"Didn't know them that well."

It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was that Feyre was one of his last shreds of brightness and he wanted to keep her firmly compartmentalized from this grief.

If he told her, she would worry for him. Every exchange in the office would be weighted. Different. He couldn't stand the thought of her holding him like shattered glass, the way everyone else in his life was doing.

And, most of all, he couldn't stand the thought of burdening her.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric, as if trying to instill the depth of her conviction. "Even if you hardly knew them, I'm sorry if today was difficult for you."

"Difficult?" He said, the word strained. "No day where I get to see you is difficult, Feyre."

"Do you want to get a drink? You still owe me lunch, remember?"

Rhys pressed his hand over hers, squeezing tighter than he should. But in that moment, it felt like she was all he had to hold on to.

"Not today," he said. His eyes stung and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Rain check?"

Feyre nodded. "Rain check."

-

Rhys went back to the office the following Monday.

Things returned to normal. Almost.

The equilibrium of his life had shifted, and normal looked a bit different. Less like living, and more like survival.

He didn't go up to the receptionist counter like he used to, armed with a hundred excuses just to talk to Feyre. He made his own copies. He scheduled his own appointments. He stopped playing mental games with Tamlin.

He just… stopped.

And everything else kept going.

That was the most overwhelming part. The constant, distinct sensation that he was being left behind because he didn't know how to keep up.

Feyre found new people to talk to in the office. Tamlin made different enemies. Corporate started taking an interest in other high performers. He felt like a shadow, an apparition haunting his own mundane life. And he only woke up once they were already burying him.

That was how it felt, anyway, when the news broke the office. Like handfuls of dirt tossed on top of his lifeless body.

Feyre and Tamlin are engaged.

He couldn't breathe. The weight was too much to claw through. Engaged? He didn't even know they'd been dating.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Rhys said to her in passing later that day.

"Oh." Feyre cheeks turned the same red as the scarf he kept in his bedside drawer. He supposed it was inappropriate to keep hold of it now. "Thank you."

"How long have you two been…?"

He was too much of a coward to even finish the question.

Feyre managed to fill in the rest, though. "About four months."

That was all? Christ, he could have been married to her four times over by now. If he'd been brave enough to ask her out on that first day.

But he sensed the way she braced herself for his response, and guessed people hadn't been holding back commentary about their hastiness to get down the aisle.

"Sometimes when you know, you know," Rhys said, reserving his own less-than-complimentary thoughts.

He could think of only one reason Tamlin was in such a rush, and the suspicion was too ego-centric to lend any merit to.

Feyre was a treasure. Anyone with eyes could see that. Even Tamlin.

When Feyre gave him one of her forced smiles, he felt it like another clump of dirt landing on his chest. There were many ways he'd describe his relationship with Feyre, but something it had never been was forced.

He'd hurt her, he realized. When he withdrew into his grief without explaining himself. He should have told her what was going on.

And now he'd lost her.

Rhys thrummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I should let you go back to work."

Feyre's solemn nod was the eulogy that finally sent him sputtering, wondering what on earth he was doing buried in this hole.

Tamlin was obnoxious, sure, but at least he was alive.

Maybe it was time to move on. Not just from his grief, but from Feyre, too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd tried going on a date.

Not since she first started here.

With a heavy sigh, Rhys pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his cousin.

Rhys: Drinks tonight? x

Mor: I already made plans with a friend. Unless you want to join us??? 👀 xxx

Rhys considered. He snuck a glance at Feyre, catching her in the act of tucking her unruly hair behind her ear.

The sight of her struck him like a punch in the gut.

Rhys: Is she single? x

Mor: I thought you'd never ask 😌 x

-

It was his first night out in… god knew how long.

He hadn't left his house much in the last few months, and truthfully it had felt good to fall back into the routine of caring about his appearance. Taking a shower, shaving, picking a nice cologne, styling his hair so it wasn't just a sad mop of curls.

He felt… good wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't there yet. But his head felt clearer, and the air felt crisp, and he didn't feel like he was on the verge of suffocating in his own dread.

It was progress.

"Rhys!"

He barely had time to turn before his cousin vaulted into his chest, knocking him back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug.

"You look good!" Mor pulled back, her eyes brighter than the last time they'd met. He could see her relief in them. "Really."

"You do, too."

"You have no idea how many times I nearly sent Az and Cass on a kidnapping mission." She slapped his shoulder lightly in admonishment. "We've been worried sick!"

"I've just been busy," he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but lacking any other armor. "I'm sorry."

Mor sniffed. "You'll only be forgiven if you buy me and my friend a drink."

Rhys scanned the crowd. "Is she here?"

"Yeah. She just went to the bathroom. Asked me to order her a G&T."

"Coming up," Rhys said. "Go find us some seats."

"I haven't told you what I want," Mor pointed out.

"House red. Biggest glass they have."

She grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I missed you—"

"No touching the hair," he said, batting her hand away. "Seats. Now."

"Okay, bossy."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching the corner of his lips. It was nice. The normalcy of bickering with Mor.

It was a busy night, despite being a weekday, so it took a while for the bar to make their drinks. Longer still, for Rhys to take up the precarious task of balancing all three drinks in his hands as he searched for the table.

He caught a flash blonde hair poking over the seat of a leather booth and grinned. There was another girl sitting beside Mor, a brunette, both of their backs turned as he rounded the corner.

And nearly dropped the glasses on the floor.

Bright blue eyes stared at him, wide and achingly familiar. Her mouth parted open into a gasp.

"Rhys?"

He was equally dumbfounded. "Feyre?"

Mor said her friend was single. It shouldn't have been the first thought to bubble up through his shock. But it was.

"How do you two know each other?" Mor said, the question nearly accusational.

"We work together," Rhys said, recovering enough to set the drinks on the table.

Mor's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she said, whipping her head to gape at Feyre, who was dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my god, Feyre!"

"Is something the matter?" Rhys asked, unable to pry his eyes away from the red stain burning along the dainty curve of Feyre's ears. She kept her hands over the rest of her face, but he could see peeks of blushing skin through the gaps in her fingers. How was it possible that she was the one mortified about this?

He could see the mischief spreading over Mor's face, and it made him nervous. "Oh," his cousin said, drawing out the vowel as she plucked her wine glass from the table. "It's just that Feyre darling here has told me all about the people she works with in her office. Neglected to mention names, of course, but I'm starting to put two and two together."

Feyre darling. Smug satisfactions coursed through him at the realization that Feyre had been telling Mor about him. Not Tamlin—or at least, not exclusively Tamlin.

Feyre retreated from her hands just enough to glower at Mor. She wasn't meeting Rhysand's eyes, which likely had something to do with her scarlet coloring. He'd made her blush before, but never like this—never the kind that spread over her throat and collarbones, too. For a distracted second, he let himself imagine dragging his lips across every inch of red skin, just to see how long he could make the color linger.

"Let me guess," Rhys said, knowing he should keep the purr from his voice—she was engaged, for Christ's sake—but his eyes never lifted from her face. "She told you about a devilishly handsome salesman who sits at the desk across from her?"

"Hmm." Mor feigned an expression of deep thought. "That doesn't ring any bells, no. Though I'm pretty certain she mentioned something about a giant prick?"

Feyre's lips twitched, the making's of a smile.

Until Rhys interjected, "I suppose I do wear tight pants."

"You're disgusting," Mor said, wrinkling her nose. Feyre made a sound like she was inclined to agree.

And it was starting to drive him crazy that she wasn't saying anything. Was still refusing to look at him.

He tried to tempt her gaze by dragging her gin and tonic across the table, pushing it towards her as he asked, "What else have you been telling my cousin about me, Feyre darling?"

Finally. Finally she looked at him. Those blue eyes were more wary than he was used to seeing, but still full of challenge. More so, as they narrowed.

"I didn't know you two are cousins," she said, artfully evading the subject.

"Would have kept the finer details to yourself, if you'd known?"

Feyre lifted her chin. "It's not nice to speak ill of someone's family."

"Oh, I'm sure your descriptions were scathing." He smirked. "Do you have a code name for me?"

"Yeah, Prick."

"I know you're more imaginative than that, Feyre. You probably gave her a physical description, too, hmm? Tall, dreamy eyes, dark-haired—"

"Swaggering, insufferable arrogance," Feyre filled in.

Mor shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known it was Rhys from that alone."

"You wound me," Rhys said, clutching his chest. "Both of you."

His cousin rolled her eyes. "I think you'll manage to recover." She turned to Feyre and tapped her half full glass. "Where's the bathroom? There's a cute brunette at the bar and I need to make sure my lipstick hasn't smeared."

Feyre studied Mor's makeup. "You're fine."

"Liar. You just don't want me to leave you alone with Rhys." She slid out of the booth, her white teeth on full display. "I think you two can play nice for five minutes."

"Your judgment is questionable as always, Mor," Rhys said, though it did nothing to deter his cousin from gathering her purse and striding towards the restrooms.

Leaving him alone with Feyre.

He reminded himself to take deep, steady breaths—a task which escalated in difficulty once he noticed the scent of her perfume. Lilac and pear, the same she was wearing the day of his family's funeral. The same scent which had long since faded from the scarf she'd wrapped around his neck.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for crashing your girl's night."

Feyre shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I knew you were coming. I just… didn't know you were coming."

"And that makes it worse?" He said, ignoring the pang in his chest that she would prefer a stranger's company to his own.

"It makes it… complicated."

"Complicated?" Rhys raised his brows. "Like how Mor asked me to come here to meet her single friend kind of complicated?"

Feyre sat up straighter. "Mor said what?"

Rhys winced. He hadn't meant to throw Mor under the bus. "Just for my own clarity, you are engaged to Tamlin, right?"

"That's also…. complicated."

"Complicated how, Feyre?"

She chewed on her lower lip. A habit he'd noticed at the office, and had sent him walking stiffly to the men's room more times than he'd care to admit.

"Tamlin asked me to marry him last night," Feyre said, her voice so soft that he needed to lean over the table to hear her over the loud atmosphere. "I didn't say yes. I didn't say no, either. I just… I wanted more time to think about it, I guess. But he announced it to everyone in the office today."

Rhysand's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. "That bastard."

"I don't know what to do about it," Feyre said, all in one exhale. Her shoulder slumped. "I feel trapped. If I back out now, it will be this whole big thing. We'll have to walk it back in front of the entire office and it will be so uncomfortable."

The last thing Feyre needed was a big reaction. He could see it in the way she braced herself across from him, holding her body taut as if she was a passenger in some unbridled vehicle, expecting to crash at any moment.

He managed to keep his voice calm as he said, "This isn't the kind of decision that you should feel pressured into. You should marry someone because you want to, not because you feel obligated."

Feyre shrugged. The gesture was resigned, like he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already said to herself.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

"Then I think that's your answer. If it's not a resounding, unwavering yes, then you shouldn't do it."

"Will it ever be like that, though?" Her voice was strained. "Do people ever actually fall in love and know that they want to be with that person forever? Without any question?"

Rhys needed to take a deep swallow of his whiskey before he could answer. "Yes," he said, feeling it burn down his throat—the admission and the alcohol and the words he just couldn't bring himself to say. "If it's the right person, you know. Without any question."

Her eyes bored into his, so deep he swore she could see straight to the quick of his soul, where he was still raw and healing and afraid to tell her what he should be telling her.

Don't marry him.

I love you.

Please, don't marry him.

He didn't know what he would do—he didn't know if he would survive—if he unmasked himself completely, revealing every gnarled, jagged edge of jealousy and love and fear, and she still walked away.

"You came here wanting to meet one of Mor's single friends?" Feyre's voice trembled a bit, as if she was also holding back too much, waning beneath the weight. "Like, to be set up on a date?"

"Yeah," he said, shame drying the roof of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, though he couldn't explain why or how. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there."

Feyre looked down at her drink. "Sorry you got me instead."

If there was one thing Rhys couldn't stand, it was hearing Feyre apologize for something outside of her control. She was always doing that in the office—apologizing for delays due to broken printers and out-of-order lifts.

"I owed you a drink though, didn't I?" He forced himself to wink. To grin. To play the smug arrogance he knew she expected from him. "This is a much better twist of fate."

Feyre opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something else, when Mor saddled back into the booth, lipstick freshly re-applied. "So," she said, tossing a lock of curls over her shoulder. "What did I miss?"

-

Feyre did, eventually, call off her engagement with Tamlin.

It happened months after Mor's failed setup attempt. Months of listening to Feyre go back and forth with Tamlin in the office about wedding plans, holding his tongue while she was strong-armed through every decision. Months of watching her steadily grow thinner, quieter, duller.

Months of watching Feyre Archeron wilt before his very eyes.

He didn't know what the catalyst was, in the end. All he knew was that one day, he walked into the office armed with a stupid joke to try to make her smile, since she was doing less and less of it these days. And instead he'd met the stern face of their new receptionist, Alis.

So when Mor told him that she'd invited Feyre on their annual trip to their family cabin in the Alps, he'd had conflicting feelings.

One hand, he'd get to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Feyre, where they could deviate from their usual script of jammed printers and pleasant weather. And more importantly, he could finally, finally, enjoy her company without the threat of her impending engagement looming over their shoulders.

On the other hand, what was the appropriate buffer to give the love of your life time to grieve her relationship with the worst man you've ever met? Mor had told him, very sternly he would add, that all topic surrounding Tamlin were strictly off limits.

Did that include topics concerning the absence of Tamlin, and if or when she'd be ready for someone to fill that void?

He ached to tell her how he felt. Now that the Tamlin-shaped dam was finally removed, he was drowning from the weight of holding back years of confessions and unrequited feelings.

Their burden became impossible to carry the closer the trip became, to the point where he considered bailing simply out of fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Feyre deserved better than that. After all this time, they both did.

But his fears were unfounded when she walked through the door.

Rhys had long associated Feyre's presence with joy. Even during those agonizing months he'd loved her and believed she would be marrying another man. The sight of her walking into a room still filled him with joy.

Now, he was flooded with distress.

She was thin. He noticed she'd been losing weight in the months leading up to her resignation. But this was drastic.

Feyre looked as if her dread and grief were eating her alive.

He wanted to weep at the sight of what Tamlin had done to her. Weep, then take Cass and Az and three of their best baseball bats and—

"Feyre darling," he greeted, lifting from the sofa with a broad smile. "Look at you, out of work clothes."

"I'm surprised you recognize me in something other than a blouse."

"Well, I wasn't certain at first," he intoned, strolling closer to the doorway. Until he could see the snowflakes on her long eyelashes and every adorable freckle smattered over her nose and cheeks. "But that smear of paint always gives you away."

Feyre turned her head to Mor, her eyes widening as if to confirm, Do I really have paint on my face?

"Oh, ignore him," Mor grumbled. But she did lick her thumb and lean in to rub Feyre's cheekbone, which resulted in sputtered protest that his cousin happily ignored.

Rhys watched Feyre thrash against Mor's hold, a familiar fondness stirring in his chest. "It is nice to see you again, Feyre. I've missed you at the office."

"Why?" She snorted. "Because I was the only sane person there?"

"Precisely for that reason."

He opened his arms to her, and he was relieved that she didn't hesitate for a second to throw her arms around him. Rhys held her tight, trying and failing not to marvel at how fragile she felt. Some delicate, breakable thing.

What happened to the girl who proudly drank from an office wanker mug on her second week? Rhys knew she was still there, hidden behind layers of guilt and sorrow and what he suspected was the subconscious voice of a man who'd tried everything in his power to whittle her down.

"How is… everyone?" She asked, her diction stilted just enough that he knew who she was truly asking after.

He shot a help me glance to Mor, who immediately jumped in and admonished, "You both promised me no office talk!"

Rhys held up his hands. "Okay, okay. How about wine talk?"

"Why dear cousin of mine, how did you know that's my favorite topic?"

"Lucky guess," he said flatly.

He recognized Feyre's laugh. That hollow, polite sound that she used during her first week in the office, when she felt obligated to laugh at every bland, unfunny joke. Including his own.

It was enough that she was laughing—that she was trying to laugh again. And he resolved that if he could do one thing for her on this trip, it would be getting her to laugh. A genuine, shoulder-shaking, clutching-her-stomach-because-she-can't-breathe laugh.

Rhys turned his gaze to her, failing not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. "What about you, darling? Are you drinking wine these days?"

She grinned, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm drinking anything these days."

That seemed like too much to unpack when she was still standing in the entryway, the open door blowing a gust of cold air at her back.

It was instinct, the way he reached for her scarf to unravel her in the direction of the overstuffed armchair. If he was overstepping, Feyre didn't seem to mind. Her laughter was more breath than anything, but she indulged him by twirling on her toes, helping him to unwrap the rest of the scarf as if it were a choreographed dance. Though, with the way her balance wobbled at the end, Rhys didn't suspect they'd be competing on any dance shows in the near future.

"Careful," he said, bracing her elbow. "The nearest hospital is an hour away and in the next thirty minutes, none of us will be sober enough to drive you."

"You could always bundle me up on a sled," Feyre mused. He let go once she regained her balance and tried not to look disappointed when she retreated from his touch to curl up on the arm chair. "At least if I didn't reach the bottom, I'd be going out in style."

"Sledding!" Mor squealed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, yes, we should absolutely do that this year!"

Rhys shot his cousin an incredulous look. "If I recall correctly, our last emergency hospital visit was the result of sledding."

Mor poked her tongue at him. "Whatever. Cass probably thought it was as worth it for the photos alone."

Rhys explained to Feyre, "Last year, Cass face-planted a rock. Fucked up both his front teeth."

"He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he saw the blood," Mor added, rolling her eyes. "Az took a picture and Cassian made it his screensaver for like six months."

Feyre shuddered. "I think I'll pass on the sledding."

If he was honest, Rhys hoped she stayed exactly where she was for the rest of the trip. Safe, in that oversized chair, in front of the crackling fire, where he could already see some color returning to her expression.

His eyes swiveled to the basket of blankets tucked beneath the coffee table. He knew if he grabbed one for her, he'd be accused of coddling. And maybe he was.

Even so, he couldn't help praising, "Wise decision."

"Lame decision," said a deep voice, striding out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped far too precariously around his hips.

The cabin had four bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, with only one bathroom nestled in the center. No one was exactly thrilled to be sharing a single bathroom between five adults, though Cassian argued half the fun was trying to catch a glimpse of Azriel naked.

"Cassian I presume?" Feyre said from the armchair.

Cass grinned, striding forward on wet, slapping feet. The only thing that dissuaded him from dripping onto the carpet to go shake Feyre's hand—or offer some other, far less appropriate greeting—was Rhysand's sharp glare

"And you must be the renown Feyre Archeron." He slid Rhys a knowing grin that was begging for a punch. "I'll go get dry before the hall monitor gives me a detention for getting his precious carpet wet. But then, you and I have much to talk about."

Rhys couldn't give two shits about the carpet, though it was his parents' and it was cashmere. But he would prefer if Cassian could avoid flashing Feyre when she was only a few weeks post-break-up.

He needed things to go well so that Feyre would consider coming back next year. And the year after. And however many holidays it would take for her to consider that she might like to be part of this group.

And if that was all she ever wanted, that would be good enough. As long as she was happy again.

"Should I be scared?" Feyre asked.

"Of Cassian?" Mor laughed. "No more than you would be afraid of a big, slobbery puppy."

"It's Az people usually find scary," Rhys said, wandering in the kitchen to fetch the girls their wine. "But that's just 'cause he's quiet. Truth is, he's a big softie."

"More like he's got a big softie," Mor muttered.

Rhys straightened. "Pardon?"

"Are we talking about Az's dick?" Cassian called, scrambling back into the room. "Without me?"

The front door shut, diverting everyone's attention to where Azriel stood, a gloved hand still pressing the handle. He blinked at them, sighed, and then walked back out the front door.

"Wait, Az!" Cassian called, cackling as he vaulted over the sofa to get to the front door faster, narrowly recovering from flashing them by fisting the towel at his groin. He managed to catch the door before it closed, sprinting outside with his feet and chest still bare.

"Are they…" Feyre hesitated. "Together?"

It was a terrible time to have handed Mor her wine glass. She sputtered, choking on a mixture of wine and laughter that erupted over her clothes, the sofa, and the coffee table.

Feyre leapt to her feet to help. "Oh my god, are you okay?" She thumped a fist behind Mor's back as his cousin's laughter fizzled into a coughing fit.

Rhys, meanwhile, set Feyre's wine glass on a clean corner of the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

"I'm sorry for—all of them, really," he called to her.

Mor, still wheezing, could only lift her middle finger broadly on his direction.

"To answer your question," Rhys said, coming back to Mor's side to divide layers of paper towel among the three of them. "No, Cassian and Azriel are not dating."

His cousin shrieked at the reminder, launching into another coughing fit.

"Thanks," Feyre said, balling up her collection of towels to dab them gingerly into the carpet. Red wine. His parents were rolling in their graves. "I, uh, think I put that one together."

"Cass just likes to push buttons. And Azriel's the most private among us, which leads to a lot of speculation," he sent Mor a pointed look, "among our group."

Mor, having mostly recovered from her fit, tapped her chest and croaked, "It's the greatest tragedy of Cassian's life that he'll never know if his dick is bigger than Az's."

"We spend every year naked together in a sauna," Rhys reminded her, raising his brows as if to say, what are you up to? Mor didn't usually indulge conversations about naked men to this degree. "Believe me, he knows."

"And?"

Rhys jerked his head, just to be sure he'd heard the question right. Feyre was looking at him with a glint in her eye. She was biting her lip, restraining a laugh just like she'd done on the first day they'd spoken to each other in the break room.

A habit she'd never broken, after all these years.

His lips twitched. "And, what, Feyre darling?"

"What's the outcome of this annual dick measuring contest you three apparently have in the sauna?"

"Why don't you join us this year and find out?"

"Am I allowed to bring my strap?" Mor asked.

The front door shut, revealing cold-flushed yet grinning Cassian and a bewildered looking Azriel.

"I don't know what conversation we just walked in on," Cassian said, "but count me in."

This was a nightmare. At least, Rhys thought it was a nightmare. Feyre, strangely, seemed to be enjoying herself and he thanked the gods that she had a good sense of humor about all this chaos.

"You must be Azriel," Feyre said, beaming at the dark haired male becoming a shadow at Cassian's back. "I've heard so much about you."

Azriel glanced toward the door. Rhys knew he was debating the merits of trying to make another escape. He'd probably already started his car by the time Cassian caught up and dragged his ass back.

"All good things," Feyre assured quickly.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever seen Azriel blush before.

"What happened here?" Cassian said with a low whistle, taking in the mess of wine-soaked paper towels. "It's too early in the evening for you to have forgotten where your mouth is, Morrigan."

"Har har." Mor stood up from the sofa. "Just for that, I'm stealing one of your hoodies."

"Didn't you bring your own clothes?" He complained.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if I wore my own."

"I only brought like two hoodies!"

"You should have thought about that before you opened your big, dumb mouth."

"At least steal one of Az's. He smells better than me."

"If you think so, maybe you should wear one of his hoodies."

"Mor—" Cassian groaned as she strode off into his room. "Mor!"

"I should have warned you they were going to bicker like this," Rhys said apologetically, perching himself against the armrest of Feyre's chair to, at last, hand her a wine glass.

"Oh trust me, bickering over sharing clothes is a staple of sisterhood. I'm used to it."

"That's right, you have two sisters don't you? Nesta and Elain." She looked surprised he remembered. "How are they doing?"

"Well. Nesta is this scary, big shot lawyer who eats suited men for breakfast and Elain is living the dream cottage core life with her husband, Lucien. You remember him, right? He was Tam's—" she winced. Like that name was a bruise she didn't mean to press.

"I remember him," Rhys said, trying to help her past the slip-up. "Redhead, right? Snarky?"

She snorted. "You could say that again."

"Does he treat her right?"

"Oh, like a princess." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the way she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"I believe it," Rhy said. He wondered if he had that stupid grin on his face again, the one that proved just how wound he was around Feyre's little finger.

Feyre didn't seem to know how to respond to that, but she shrugged and said, "They're happy."

Rhys didn't doubt for a second Feyre was happy for her sister, but he could see the discomfort on her face at that admission. It couldn't have been easy to have a brother-in-law who was close to her ex fiancé. And he knew first hand how difficult it was to see someone else happy and have that reality feel so distant it was foreign.

"I'm glad," he said. "And I'm glad you could join us this year. It will be a relief to have someone sane in our entourage."

"I don't think that's fair to Azriel," Feyre said. "So far, he's been the most well behaved."

Az smiled. "The night is still young."

Rhys chuckled at Feyre's look of betrayal. "Like I said, darling. You're the most sane person here."

"Maybe that's what I'd like you to think."

He liked seeing something other than resignation in her eyes again. So much that he couldn't resist leaning forward, his voice ripe with challenge as he purred, "Then I look forward to being proved otherwise."

-

Despite his best efforts, Rhys couldn't convince Mor that it was a bad idea to take everyone sledding the next morning.

They were all nursing hangovers from a concoction of liquors that they'd made the mistake of letting Cassian combine into what he called 'Solstice Punch'. Rhysand had a blistering headache, which wasn't helped by Cassian's noisy attempt to make breakfast. With only four rooms, Rhys had drawn the short straw for who had to sleep on the couch.

Rhys groaned, burying his head beneath a pillow. "There is no way in hell that you're getting me onto a sled today."

"Even if you get to share one with Feyre?" Cassian teased. "You'll get to wrap your arms around her and—"

"Shut up."

"I guess Az and I will just get to enjoy her company instead," Cassian said smugly.

It nearly convinced Rhys to go, until Mor strode into the living room. "Feyre isn't coming," she announced. "She's not feeling good."

Rhys sat up way too fast. "Is she okay?" He asked, blinking away the black spots that burst in his vision.

"Calm down, white knight. She's just hungover like the rest of us." Mor looked at Cassian, frowning. "Maybe we should take it easy today."

"Fuck that. Az is already loading the car. You coming?"

Mor sighed. "I can't leave Feyre."

"Sure you can," Cassian said, grinning over her shoulder at Rhys. "Lover boy will take perfect care of her."

Rhys slumped back into the sofa, ignoring the jab. "You go, Mor. We'll take it easy today."

Mor pressed her lips together, consternation pulling at her brows as she flicked her eyes between Rhys and Cassian. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll go. Someone needs to babysit the idiots. You sure you'll be okay, Rhys?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now get the hell out of here so I can go back to sleep."

-

Rhys couldn't say how much longer he slept for. When he woke up, the cabin was silent. Someone had graciously left the curtains drawn, keeping the living room subdued in darkness and by the same virtue, making it impossible to guess how late in the day it was.

The heating had kicked on at some point, leaving him sweating beneath the pile of blankets. He kicked them off and shuffled into the hall.

"Feyre?" He called, stopping to listen outside her door. When there was no answer, he assumed she must still be asleep.

Rhys pushed into the bathroom, intent on washing off his sweat even if the bright fluroscents felt like a thousand needles shoved into his eye sockets. He groaned, fumbling half-blind as he jerked the shower curtain open and turned on the water.

It was only once he was under the water, steam billowing around him, that he felt his head begin to clear. And that was when he realized he left his clothes in the living room.

Rhys fell forward with a groan, resting his head against the damp tile as he debated the merits of retrieving his clothes now or waiting until he finished his shower. There was no telling if Feyre would still be asleep by the time he finished. At least if he left now, he could evade a potentially awkward encounter.

It took all of his willpower to step out of the warm embrace of water. More, to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

He opened the door gradually, peering through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before he hurried with wet, slapping footprints to where his bag rested beside the sofa.

As he crouched to unzip the top, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door handle turning. He froze.

The door pushed open. He knew he was doomed because whoever stepped through was far too silent to be a member of his family.

Rhys hovered in place, clutching his towel tight around the hips, internally debating whether it was better to let her know he was there or try to flee behind the kitchen counter before she realized.

"Rhys?" Feyre called.

Shit. It was fine, right? She'd seen Cassian in a towel yesterday and hardly reacted.

Slowly, he rose from behind the couch, prepared to play this off with a flirty comment. But as soon as he saw her, his brain deserted every word of the linguistic tongue.

"Oh!" She jumped, faltering to quickly re-secure the towel she had wrapped around her torso.

Rhys decided a Christmas deity must be trying to punish him. There was no other explanation for the ridiculous towel she was wearing, so short her breasts spilled over the top and if she bent, even the slightest, he would be able to see her entire ass.

Where on Earth had she found a towel like that?

Rhys needed to finish mentally reeling his tongue back in before he was able to shape coherent words. And once he did, they came out entirely too rough, like he was scraping them over sandpaper.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

A familiar blush was spreading over her chest, but Feyre did a good job keep in her expression composed as she quirked a brow. "I think that depends on who wore it better."

"I won't make any argument on that front," Rhys said. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to drink her in like this. "I'm just grabbing some clothes and I'll head into the shower."

"Or—"

How could such a soft, breathy word strike with enough momentum to take him off his feet? Rhys clenched his hand tighter around the handle of his bag, trying to will his blood flow back into his head.

"You could come join me?"

Fuck. Fuck. He'd never heard Feyre use the voice before—at least anywhere outside of his own fantasies. It was just rough enough to scrape him raw, wondering if he'd imagined the sultry undertone or if he was letting his own ego get to his head.

"Join you where, exactly, darling?"

"The sauna," she said. "I've just warmed it up, and seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

This was how it must have felt to be ensnared by a siren. To see your every desire brought to life, just in reaching distance, and to know it would be your undoing.

There wasn't any scenario where he could go into a sauna with Feyre, alone, and keep hold of the careful distance he was putting between them. He couldn't think of a single outcome that wouldn't end with Feyre in his lap, panting beneath his touch. And he wanted it. So badly he would crash his ship to shore and gladly drown in the wreckage.

But he wanted her to be ready, too. He didn't want to be another man pressuring her into say yes, making her feel trapped. If he was going to kiss her, touch her, do anything more than flirt with her, he needed to do it in a neutral space, where she could leave if it became too much.

Rhys was careful not to let the pain show on in his face. He released his breath through his nose, quiet, measured.

"I think we should wait until we're better hydrated," he said. "I wouldn't want you passing out. Rain check?"

Feyre's smiled dropped. Rhys was starting to feel nauseous again, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Oh." Feyre said. He could hear her disappointment. "Okay. Maybe later, then."

Rhys held himself still as she hurried past, fleeing into her room. His chest pinched at the sound of the door snicking shut, as if a piece of his heart was caught in the doorjamb, begging for it to open.

With a sigh, he gathered his clothes and went back to his shower.

Feyre

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had returned at some point in the late afternoon with a few nicks and bruises, but no broken teeth. Feyre was assured that meant it was a successful sledding trip. Which was more than she could say about her lazy day at the cabin.

She'd spent most of it in her room, with the exception of her brief attempt to coax Rhys into the sauna. After his mortifyingly polite rejection, she'd spent the rest of the day in her room until Mor came knocking.

"You okay?" She asked, finding Feyre buried beneath a pile of blankets.

This was ordinarily Rhysand's room. Which meant that everything in here smelled like him. Citrus and a dark, churning sea, threatening to swallow her whole beneath warm, chunky-knit blankets.

"Doesyercznlkmm?"

"What?" Mor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Feyre pulled her head out from beneath the blankets. "Does your cousin like me?"

"Rhys?" Mor frowned. "Of course he likes you."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know how I feel about him, Mor. Sometimes I think he feels the same way, but then he just pulls away from me."

Mor glanced towards the door, her expression wary. She always grew a little evasive whenever their conversation skewed towards Rhys, and Feyre felt a little guilty for putting her in the middle.

"My cousin can be pretty guarded," Mor said. "He keeps his cards close to his chest, especially after his family died. But… Look in that box, under the bed."

Feyre's eyes followed Mor's gesture to the small gap under Rhysand's bed. Curious, Feyre extracted herself from the bed to fish out a small shoebox. She pushed the lid open, frowning when she saw a red scarf carefully folded inside.

"He took that here last year. Wore it everywhere. It was the first Christmas since his family died and I think it brought him a lot of comfort." Mor shrugged. "He wouldn't say where it was from but I have my suspicions."

Feyre ran her fingers over the soft wool, recalling the anguish on his face when she'd given it to him. She'd always half-heartedly wondered what happened to the scarf, but she'd assumed he'd thrown it out or otherwise forgotten about it.

Mor said, "If you want to know how he feels, you should just ask him. But I think you mean a lot to him, Feyre. Maybe he's just waiting for you to tell him how you feel."

Easier said than done. The last two years was a montage of chances where she could have told Rhys how she felt and didn't. It was always never the right time. He was working late or she was rushing out the door or he was grieving or she was dating Tamlin—or it was just safer to stay in this soft, liminal space between friendship and something more.

Walking away from Tamlin had been easy. Complicated, yes, but emotionally… All she'd felt was relief.

If it's the right person, you know. Without any question.

"Right," Feyre breathed, nodding to herself. "Tell him how I feel. That should be…" Nerve wracking. "I can do that."

-

Rhys

When Rhys felt something soft wrapping around his neck, his first suspicion was that Az and Cass were pulling a prank on him. It wasn't uncommon to wake up from a drunken stupor in this cabin with a marker mustache and a few drawn-on dicks.

He was convinced when he felt the weight of a body settle over him.

"C'mon Cass," he mumbled. "Not now."

The body above him giggled. Light. Feminine.

"Does that imply Cass usually climbs into bed with you?"

Rhys opened his eyes to find Feyre's face hovering inches over his, her hair cascading around his head like a canopy. Her hands were at his chest, tugging a red scarf around his neck.

"What's going on?" He asked, not convinced he was awake. He didn't even remember going to bed, but the lights were off, so it had to be late. "What time is it?"

"You never gave my scarf back," she said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer to his question. "But you kept it all this time."

She was straddling his lap, her ass settled just above his groin. If he moved even the slightest bit, he would grind against her, and he couldn't deny the temptation crossed his mind.

"Are you drunk?" He asked. Which, as he thought about it, was a stupid question. They'd all been drinking—Feyre more than anyone. He had a vague memory of half guiding, half stumbling with her into his bedroom.

Which, as he sat up, was where he realized they still were. Not on the sofa. Christ, he must have crashed trying to get her to bed.

"Not any more than you," she argued. "At least I managed to stay awake. Pussy."

He laughed. "Did you really just call me a pussy?"

"Do you prefer it to Prick?"

"Not really. Though I'll admit, I am fascinated to learn what other filthy words you'd like to call me."

Feyre tugged at the scarf, drawing his face closer to hers. He could feel her breath against his lips as she whispered, "You'll have to earn them."

He fought a shiver at the invitation in her voice. "How?"

"Kiss me," she said, eyes fixing on his mouth.

He wanted to. More than he wanted to breathe. "We're drunk, Feyre."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Pussy," she said again, before grabbing both ends of the scarf and yanking it upwards, crashing her mouth to his.

Rhys shut his eyes, a guttural sound forming in the back of his throat as he slipped his arms around her back, pulling her tighter. It wasn't the kind of first kiss he'd imagined giving her. That had always been soft and sweet, an admission in itself.

This kiss was clumsy and urgent—two people latching to each other as if terrified the other would let go. Feyre wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with a grip he likened to someone hanging from a precipice, where every digit, every ounce of surface area, could be the difference between life or death.

"Feyre," he groaned, trying to pull away. She chased him, mouth crashing back to his, swallowing his protests, and he was simulatenously in heaven and hell. "Feyre," he said again, pushing lightly at her shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. He could feel her body trembling.

"Don't push me away, Rhys." Her voice was so small. "Please, don't push me away. Not again."

She might as well have reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, securing an arm around her back to keep her pressed where she was, her fluttering heart beating against his. "I'll sleep here. Just—let's wait until the morning, okay? I promise to kiss you stupid once you're sober."

Feyre tugged at her scarf as she thought about it. He knew she made her decision when she sighed softly and slumped into his body, resting her head against his chest.

"Rain check?" She asked, with a small yawn.

Rhys had never been happier to say those two stupid words. "Rain check."

[certifiedsexed]

Hi, I have a question that’s been bothering me for a long time. What do you know about kids having fetishes? When I was little I would often imagine outlandish scenarios involving several bizarre, hardcore kinks, and I’m pretty sure they aroused me? Im asexual, so tingling is basically as far as it’s ever gotten, but that’s what kid me felt in response to those ideas. My body still reacts to these fetishes now, but i genuinely hate most of them and hate how it makes me feel. Is it normal for a kid to be that kinky?

By the way, thank you so much for running this blog. I’ve been reading through it for the past hour, and I’ve learned a lot. It’s really cool how you’re respectful and kind to everyone, no matter what they’re saying. Thank you

Hi! Yes, kids having kinks is actually very normal. Kinks don't just appear for everyone when they hit adulthood, plenty of them start beforehand.

Kids are often very imaginative, it's not really a stretch for you to have discovered certain scenarios would arouse you! Plenty of kids will even do things that count as kink in a non-sexual way as well, sometimes before having any interest in sex. [They will also do things that count as kink in a sexual way too but I digress.]

Being sex-repulsed and hating how having certain kinks arouse you makes sense, if that's what you're dealing with but I do want to say that I hope you keep in mind there's nothing wrong with you having those kinks, now or as a kid.

(Not saying that's how you feel, I just wanted to add that just in case you do, because shame makes dealing with everything harder.)

And you're so, so welcome! I cannot tell you how much I enjoy it and I'm so glad you've learned from it! 💚💕 I hope something in this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[nnymphie]

Hiiiii obsessively scrolled your blog in one sitting and I’m obsessed w how you write Laios it’s so sweet (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

With that, how do you think he’d handle maybe some of the more animalistic traits his partner would have? Getting used to things like hibernation, “weird” (to tall men) mating rituals, different bodily reactions due to whiskers or different strength in senses. We all know he ♡’s monsters and animals of all kinds so he’s probably not TOO surprised by it, but now he has to deal with it as the partner to someone with these traits?! Woah!

AHH thank you so much🥺🫶 I’m seriously SOOO flattered!!! I’m glad you enjoy my interpretation of Laois! He’s honestly one of my favorite characters from any franchise, and i think one of by far the best written manga/anime protags ever. Like he’s just wonderful and i wanna chew on him and hold him so gently ugHHHHH

As far as you ask:

I think he’d honestly be a damn good partner to someone with animalistic qualities. This man probably has multiple journals dedicated to every little special quirk, habit, mannerism, etc, that you have- and he thinks they’re all wonderful. He is genuinely in awe of everything about you and how uniquely you live life. He would absolutely ask as many questions as you’d allow him, and conduct all the research he possibly could. Hell, I could see him researching the specific husbandry and behavioral aspects of whatever species your beast side comes from- and trying to work some of it into his routine. Dare i say he’d even be a bit jealous that you get the privilege of experiencing some of these instincts and traits???

If you hibernate? You best believe he is helping feed you plenty before its time and making sure you have a safe comfortable nesting place. If you have special mating rituals? He’s learning them all so he can be the best mate possible to you ( he’s honored to even have the title of mate)

He’d love to test your reflexes and sensitivity to different stimuli, but also learn what you don’t like and find ways to mitigate or all together alleviate your discomfort.

I’ve talked about it before, but I firmly believe that your animal traits and beastly nature makes him understand you better. He hasn’t ever really fit in, and regular human social situations are not his strong suit or something he favors really at all. He doesn’t seem to pick up on queues the others do, his interests and passions are often not understood and mocked/judged. Perhaps in a different way than you, but he has also been a misfit outcast most of his life, he empathizes with you on that, finds a sense of camaraderie in not belonging. And even better? The very things that make you different are precisely what he’s so passionate and knowledgeable about. He is fantastic with animals and beasts alike, hell, there’s a solid chance he already knows about some of your specific behaviors and needs before you even have to tell him. And what he doesn’t know? He is eager to learn from you at any and every opportunity. He would never make you feel like a burden for the things you cannot control, rather id imagine he’d encourage you to live as naturally and comfortably as you can.

Laois is so damn amazed by you, he loves every little weird thing, and wants to keep discovering more for as long as he’s possibly able to,,,

[disarmd]

okay this is not cleanly any of the prompts from the fic ask game? but my proposal for how I'd identify your anon fic. I think a disarmd hallmark is really living in the tension between instinctive kinky impulse and metacognition/potentially unpleasant self-awareness? I think there's a line somewhere in Dwelling that's like "sex usually felt regular to do but then excruciating to talk about," and, yeah. yeah! the potential gap between what kink feels like to do and to define!!

so like, the pov character stuttering between hornily subsumed and uncomfortably lucid? zooming in to all sensation and desire and then right back out to idle observation about the room or a numb body part or somebody else's weird expression? Anyway it's the realest thing in the world and I'm obsessed w it.

if there's a question in here it's maybe about contrasting Dwelling with Monaco LN Bodyworks which both have so much kink-you're-not-talking-about and intimacy without security (huh maybe THAT'S the de-anon clue, I also said that about Shiny and New), but with background radiation shame vs nuclear meltdown levels. Do those fics feel linked to you? xoxox

[fic ask game] this is the most interesting message in the world, i've been thinking about it all morning and i almost don't want to reply right now because i just want to keep chewing on it forever. god damn!!! the way you've read me to absolute rights but also articulated everything in the most brilliant way and put words to things that are extremely accurate but i wouldn't have been able to describe myself.

living in the tension between instinctive kinky impulse and metacognition/potentially unpleasant self-awareness this is so so so so so so interesting, and you're right, that's absolutely how i write. i have read stories or blog posts or whatever by authors who really enjoy the intellectualization of kink - and in what is entirely uncharacteristic of me, because i like intellectualzing absolutely everything else, i just never have any interest in trying to apply reason or causality to things involving sex or kink. i don't know if this came through at all, but one thing i thought about when writing bodyworks was never having the story/narrative suggest that carlos "needed" to be spanked - but that's a whole other topic so i won't start rambling about it now. the point is, yes, exactly what you've said, i totally do write kink coming from the instinctive horny place contrasted with moments of uncomfortable lucidity. i feel like you've given me such a gift with this ask, because i've often wondered if there are strong themes that come through in my writing and i genuinely feel like i've learned new things from you, <3

re the section in dwelling:

The thing about doing kinky things was that they didn’t really feel that kinky at the time, usually. Like Dylan had wore all of his ex-girlfriend’s clothes once, including her panties and bra, and it hadn’t really felt like much at the time, just kind of a funny thing to do, but then way afterward, one night when he was at a party, someone said something about crossdressing and he realized that he had done that. Technically, that’s what he’d done. But it hadn’t felt like that at the time. Things usually felt normal to do and excruciating to talk about.

i love that you pointed that out because i really do think that's my actual thesis statement on kink, and as you've said it's shown up a lot of times in various things i've written. (also, i ended up rereading some, and i really do love that story. i was actually thinking last month about how much fun i had writing absolute idiots in hprf and that's what inspired the lando pov in taking care, haha, i was like, oh, i wouldn't mind playing around in the mind of an idiot again.) although i obviously talk and write about kink and sex a lot, so not something i actually find excruciating.

so i completely agree with everything you've said and will start off by saying, yes, for sure, you're absolutely correct. For me, the story i actually thought of as being like Dwelling was Green Thumb. In that -- so for Dwelling, my premise was what if the ot3 had the failiest kinky sex, like originally i had imagined them doing like full suspension bondage and being the worst you can be while not actually putting anyone's life at risk. like just endless of dylan and mitch bickering while connor is in a situation. so in my head, that was in the domestic-flavoured kink realm, like obviously dwelling was literally curtain fic (god i love tropes so much) just written insanely because that was fun for me. and i had Green Thumb in my head in the similar category of domestic-flavoured kink. humans in their homes doing fun weird stuff in fun weird ways. Perhaps a garnish of dynamic play, but you'd probably call the "active" characters tops as opposed to doms.

Whereas in Monaco LN Bodyworks, i thought of it instead as kink-flavoured kink and the dynamic aspect was the primary thing i was thinking about/orienting the fic around. my dom lando agenda, let me tell you all about it. where dwelling was about relational security, to me lando and carlos already had such a strong foundation to their friendship that bodyworks kind jumped in with that already established and was then more about carlos's journey of self-awareness/self-acceptance with a lens or commentary more on masculinity/stereotypical gender roles. so like security in self, about self. (vs. the idiot op3 being actually very capable of doing weird sex stuff, happily, but not being able to talk about where they were going to put their clothes WHEN THEY ALREADY LIVED TOGETHER).

As well, though, all the other things you've mentioned - intimacy without security (and vulnerability in general), not-talking, shame either as background radiation or full nuclear meltdown (oh my god i'm so obsessed with how you framed that, YOUR INSIGHT) are all my favourite things to play around. so i totally see what you're saying in terms of the linkages!!!

[slutforpringles]

Hey Jaimie, I just wanted to come on here and say thank you for all your contributions to the DR3 fandom. Whether it’s fighting for Daniel’s rights on Reddit or posting all the latest news, you’ve become somewhat of a lifeline for me. Your highlighted articles are my favourite to read, because it keeps me up to date with everything that’s happening. I truly hope you know how appreciated you are here, and I hope that the community that you’ve built here stays around for a long time, despite the recent news. Thank you for your dedication and positivity. Take care!

Hey, I know you sent this earlier today and I'm sorry it's taken me a while to reply, but I wanted to sit down and write a proper response. Getting this message was genuinely so lovely and I can't tell you how much it meant to me to hear that my tumblr has been able to be a positive place for someone 💞

I know I've very rarely been super personal on here, but this sport and this fandom has come to mean a lot to me, so I wanted to use this moment to express my gratitude to the dirlies (gn) and this community.

I was first introduced to F1 through friends while I was living in Europe in 2019 through DtS. I knew from the first moment I saw Daniel he was my favourite. I was immediately enamoured by his vivaciousness and that unabashed joy for life that exudes from every fibre of his being. But I was busy studying overseas and just didn't have the time to be fully bitten by the F1 bug.

I came home at the beginning of 2020 and between the pandemic, lockdowns and my personal life going toooootally to shit I was in a pretty bad place. And it was after a few months of struggle and wallowing that somehow my youtube algorithm landed me on a video of Daniel. I was hooked and very quickly worked my way through highlights, interviews, social media clips, all the funny videos, then each race highlight video as it came out in 2020, which led into every single WTF1 podcast (🙃😂) from 2020. The amount of google searches I did trying to learn all these racing and engineering terms and technical phrases I hadn't come across before (I distinctly remember googling what "box, box" meant because I had no effing clue what it meant 😂). I read every article I could about the upcoming season and the insane hype of Daniel going to McLaren (🙃🙃🙃) and can remember that first FP1 session in Bahrain I ever watched live.

I kind of stumbled onto tumblr via reddit. As I'd been learning about and becoming obsessed with F1 and Daniel I'd made my way onto the F1 sub, and for a long time I could be found on there first learning, and then discussing (and then later arguing for and defending Daniel lol). And I think it was as reddit started becoming more and more anti-Daniel that I started spending more time on tumblr.

For a long time before I joined tumblr I lurked, reading so many of all of your wonderful posts and opinions and seeing all the beautiful and creative fics and art. The mclaren hate blogging era was some of the best (and worst) times and some of the masterpieces on here in defence of Daniel and his career are so iconic and I have referenced their points/stats/quotes so many times in defence of Daniel.

I was a bit scared to fully join tumblr and start posting but I felt really quickly welcomed into this community on here. None of my friends IRL are remotely interested in F1, and so getting to talk about it here with all of you has been such a blessing (and I think my family are probably incredibly grateful that they don't have to listen to me talk about F1/Daniel quite as much as before 😅).

I just wanted to say how incredibly grateful I am to have gotten to experience the last few years with all of you on here. It hasn't always been easy and it's been a rollercoaster - that's for fucking sure - but the highs have been SO incredible. Daniel brought so much happiness and joy and laughter into my life at a time when I really, really needed it and seeing the outpouring of love for him on here the last few days has been beautiful, despite the heartbreaking circumstances.

I don't know what the next few months will look like without Daniel in F1, but I'll be sticking around for sure. I know I'm not always the best at replying to messages or inboxes (I blame my ADHD) but I'm always here for a chat and my messages are always open💞

[creatingblackcharacters]

hello! i'd like to start this by apologizing in advance for my rambling and if i end up saying anything that could be offensive or insensitive

ik how that sounds, the truth is that i am a little bit scared of coming here bc of previous experiences i've had asking for advice on the internet when it comes to Blackness in my writing. at the time i was an overly excited kid who didn't know better and i have learned from my mistakes, but the fear of offending ppl has kept me from doing any more questioning and i am done w that! i am white. i was raised by white ppl. i've had very little interaction with Black ppl. i am ignorant, and i want to change that, and i don't want this anxiety to hold me back from learning, so here we go:

for context: i've been playing a lot of interactive fiction games, and the way that i find the most fun to play them is by having a premade cast of OCs for me to toss at Situations and see what happens. i find that to be a really interesting and different way of developing a character, with the downside of being limited by options that were predetermined by someone else. the two characters i play with the most ended up with confident, sometimes downright defiant personalities, and i wanted a character who was the opposite so i could explore each game more fully... well, that character is Black, and that's where i think i might have made a mistake

Cynder, the character in question, started out with the objective to be a more shy, meek, submissive character. i genuinely didn't realize this was a problem until 5 min ago when i scrolled through your blog a bit before opening the ask box. i want to keep their shyness, and maybe their meek attitude, but i do want to know how i could work with a character like that in order to make them better? they might have started as a premade for me to use in place of a self-insert, but much like my other characters who started out that way they're developing to become much more, and one day i want them to have a story of their own

Cynder has anxiety and wears their heart on their sleeve. they're very friendly, but very shy, and prone to crying when they feel very strong emotions. i think part of their character arc is definitely becoming more confident and coming out of their shell a bit more, but they're happy to not be the center of attention. the major issue is their lack of a backbone. ngl, i wanted a doormat character, and that's exactly what Cynder is. they want to do good and have a strong sense of morals, but their first instinct when panicked or faced w danger is either "freeze", "flee" or "fawn". they're extremely insecure and prone to manipulation, even when they know they're being used, because they lack the confidence to think they could do better. that's a trauma thing, and is definitely going to be worked on, bc otherwise what's the fun of it, but that doesn't change the fact that's p much their default state. they're smart, but not a genius, they're extremely observant, very tuned to people's emotions, prone to guilting themself for things they couldn't have helped with, and their biggest weakness is their lack of physical strenght, but they're extremely fast and very good at stealth. they love music and drawing, and are overall a sweetheart who wins people over by just being extremely genuine and kind in their friendliness

basically their character archetype is "shy baby who really needs to learn to love themself". how can i work with that with a Black character? do i just scrap the whole concept and go for something else?

another aspect of Cynder is the fact that they're usually religious. once again, this is bc my other characters always end up being atheists of some kind, and Cynder came in to fill that "hole" when playing games that involve a religious aspect, be it fantasy religion or irl religion. im not sure how much i'd like to explore that on my own, but it is a important enough aspect of theirs that i thought i should bring it up; this is gonna sound very vague, bc i genuinely dont have a specific religion in mind (im not christian, i know nothing abt christianity or any other religion that involves the bible, and honestly i'd much rather work w a made up religion than anything else if im gonna be writing abt this stuff) but do you have any pointers for writing religious Black characters? is there anything i should avoid or be aware of, any harmful stereotypes and the like?

another issue with Cynder is their design. they have dark brown skin with warm undertones, black coily/kinky hair kept in stylized cornrows, and hazel/amber eyes. im worried abt their eyes. they're meant to be downright golden, a light brown that looks gold when hit by sunlight, that is when their eyes aren't just straight up yellow in a more fantasy setting. i know the problems with giving Black characters features such as light eyes, and i wanted to know if that'd be a problem w a character like a Cynder, who has such a different eye color?

i have a lot of other questions, but this ask is already extremely long and probably messy. thank you so much for reading all of this, and thank you if you decide to answer it as well!

There's nothing wrong with your story description so far. Why would meekness be inherently bad for a Black character to have? I will say, if this is one that you'd feel better leaving as your self insert, then you don't have to make them Black- it's okay to have your own self insert character! I'd far rather you do that, than project onto Blackness and... Not get it.

Nothing you've described would anything that is somehow inherently different because that character is Black, so much as it is the perspective that they, you, and the audience will have on them will change because they are Black. So them being a "shy baby learning to love themselves" is not something that we wouldn't experience! We'd have a lot more to face about it, even!

I've made a post with resources about Black Christianity, I'll see if I can find it and post the link in the comments.

Did you give him those eyes because you thought lighter eyes were better than darker ones? That's the perspective you need to approach this from. Why did you do it?

I'm gonna be honest, I know you said you scrolled for a bit, but I would highly suggest going through all of my lessons and all the links contained within to help broaden your education of this topic. Your confidence will increase with more knowledge. Because it feels like you are insecure about your lack of awareness of Black people, and rather than just asking for me- or anyone else on the Internet- to validate your fears and give you the answer, which runs the risk of them being not nice (because yeah, I'll admit, it doesn't sound great when you start with that) it would take more work but benefit you far more in the long run to do the reading. 👍🏾

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

hey!

I love your blog, you are so talented at making the reactions realistic to each character! great job!

can I ask a reaction were they (students and professors) see the MC be bitten by a werewolf?

or they discovered that they are one?

the choice is yours!

A/N: thankies! I try my best! ❤️

HLC REACT TO MC BEING BITTEN BY A WEREWOLF

WARNING: some angst

Wrong place. Wrong time. That's how it happened. What was just thought to be an ordinary mongrel turned out to be a werewolf. MC laid on the ground in a pool of their own blood, grasping their wand arm. MC managed to kill the beast, but not before it got a nasty bite on them.

Even as new to the magical world as they were, they knew this was bad news. There was no cure to the werewolf disease and as soon as the light of the first full moon hit them, they would become a mindless feral beast. This would be their fate for every month for the rest of their life.

They can't tell anyone. They would never be trusted again. Everyone would abandon them. They would be expelled from school. They would never have a normal life.

They try to claim ill when the full moon would come around and disappear into the forest until the moon would wane again. Unfortunately, this pattern doesn't go unnoticed.

~~~

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: Werewolf is the last word he expected to come out of their mouth. That's why they've been avoiding him? They thought that something like them being a werewolf would make him not want to be their friend? Please, that's the most incredible thing anyone has ever told him!

OMINIS GAUNT: What He really cares about is if they're managing themselves responsibly. They could seriously hurt or kill people, they are not themselves when they're forced to transform. He'll take it upon himself to keep track of the moon cycle and constantly remind MC when the next full moon is.

ANNE SALLOW: Now they're both cursed forever. Misery loves company. At least the company is nice.

IMELDA REYES: She doesn't believe MC at first. That's got to be one of the most wild stories she's ever been told. But the monthly disappearances keep happening. She follows them one night on her broom and sees them transform. They never see her in the canopy of the trees. There's a twinge of fear in her eyes the next time they interact.

NATSAI ONAI: She's curious about the form of lycanthropy. Do they turn into a werewolf specifically or is that just a blanket term for lycanthropic creatures in this area of the world? Because where she's from, lycanthropy takes many shapes. She shows genuine interest in learning about MC's condition and helping them manage it. She'll stupefy them if they don't keep up with their moon chart.

GARRETH WEASLEY: That's a pretty heavy thing to admit to, but he can see the silver lining in this. MC is now a source of pretty rare potion ingredients. Don't look at him like that, of course it's the first thing he thinks of. Werewolf teeth and claws are hard to come by without...well, without a lot of unpleasantness.

LEANDER PREWETT: He reflexively jerks away when they admit it. He's heard horror stories of what werewolves do to people, if they bother to leave you alive. MC couldn't possibly be.... He needs time to process. He won't tell other people, but it's hard for him to look at them the same way.

AMIT THAKKAR: Please, he knows the moon cycle for the next 10 years by heart. While he may stand an extra foot or two away from them, he will still gladly be their friend. They're not dangerous as long as they're being smart. Everything will be all right.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He's uncharacteristically quiet for a long time after MC confesses. It's a lot to take in that someone you know is now considerably more dangerous and unpredictable during certain times of the month. He'll need some time to decide if he's willing to stick around.

POPPY SWEETING: Who's a good dog? Kidding. MC has nothing to worry about with her. She's fully accepting of them in their condition, it's not their fault. And for what it's worth, beasts don't really care either. Stick with them and MC won't have to explain wolf tracks constantly in their vicinity.

~~~

ELEAZAR FIG: Because of the amount of time he has spent with MC, he's the first Professor to notice the change in their behavior. It didn't take long for him to realize they would mysteriously disappear during the full moon. Oh, MC, he's so sorry. This wasn't the end of the world, but this was going to make their life difficult. He'll do what he can for them, they still have him after Hogwarts. He won't let them leave school without a plan.

He informs the other professors individually. He wanted them to be in the know so they can continue to manage MC's education without letting the headmaster catch wind of MC's condition.

MATILDA WEASLEY: This news weighs heavy on her. If any parent caught wind of MC's condition, this would be a nightmare for staff to deal with. They were allowing a werewolf within the walls of a school. But this was MC. They were managing it, everyone else that was important knew about it. They were managing it too. They were doing everything in their power to keep accidents from happening. But what if something does happen?

CHIYO KOGAWA: She and Hecat keep close tabs on MC when the full moon draws near. The new transformations wouldn't happen until the moon was at its peak, but they weren't taking any chances.

AESOP SHARP: He met werewolves during his time as an auror. MC is in for a hard life. The vast majority of wizards do not look upon werewolves kindly. In his spare time, what little he had, he researched treatments for lycanthropy. There had been no successful cures or treatments yet invented, but he could take it crack at it.

ABRAHAM RONEN: Next to Professor Fig, he's the professor MC goes to when they need to talk. This condition that they will have to deal with for the rest of their lives has to be weighing heavily on their mind. Mc can tell him how they're feeling. They will get no judgment from him, only comfort.

MIRABEL GARLICK: She's up for MC experimenting with some new plants she has. One in particular called Wolfsbane. There's a superstition that it repels werewolves. Is it true?

MUDIWA ONAI: She does a palm reading for MC and explains in great detail that their condition does not define them as a person. They are MC. They are a person with feelings and emotions and desires and dreams. Not a monster.

BAI HOWIN: She knows someone. She'll give MC a name and tell them to write to that person. They are the liaison to a small werewolf community, perhaps being in touch with others who have dealt with this will help MC cope. Don't worry, no one else needs to know about this.

DINAH HECAT: She's on watch with Kogawa. She knows MC isn't dangerous until the moon is actually out and at its peak, but it's Professor weasley's orders that they keep visual on MC until they are in the safe zone the nights of the full moon.

CUTHBERT BINNS: As long as MC is well behaved in class and keeps up with their studies, he could not care less what is in their blood.

SATYAVATI SHAH: It crosses her mind to inform the headmaster. Even if they're not intentionally dangerous, they are still potentially dangerous. The safety of her students comes first. A direct order from Professor Weasley keeps her from saying anything and she helps MC keep track of the moon cycle.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: He never notices what individual students are up to. It's a good thing too, because MC would be immediately expelled if he did. He won't have a dangerous half-breed in his school.

[poptropica222]

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

(re) introduction

hello! though i believe as of right now most of you have migrated over to this account from shifttok (thank you!! so excited for this community we already have) i wanted to give you & anyone new to my shifting journey a refresh on my history with shifting/shifttok as well as discuss this new chapter which i can’t wait to begin! <3

about me:

my name is ati, i’m 22, use she/her and i’m from california.

i first learned about shifting through tiktok in october 2020 (pre-college, and now i’ve graduated, which is crazy). i had known about manifestation for longer than that, started doing research in 2019 and successfully manifested multiple things into my reality.

i began my shifttok account in 2021, and for a couple years really enjoyed discussing my shifting attempts and thoughts and desired realities. however, in 2023, without actively realizing it my shifting motivation/desire to shift left. it became a nebulous thing again instead of something i believed i could actually do. my life got a lot busier and shifting left my list of priorities. in 2024 i wanted to continue working not only towards shifting but on my spirituality and connection to myself & the universe but never made genuine effort. in 2025 i’d really like to change that.

i decided last year i would no longer be sharing my shifting journey on tiktok. though i’m incredibly grateful to shifttok and the community i’ve found on there, it’s no longer a place where i want share something that feels very deeply personal. the strange ban situation has only reinforced that.

while i’m still very happy to share my life and interests on tiktok and youtube, shifting is something i’m holding closer to my chest from now on. i’m a writer—it was my major, and it’s my desired career—and tumblr/blogging feels like the perfect avenue to reconnect with shifting.

what’s next:

i have not genuinely attempted to shift in a long, long time. it’s become a half-hearted desire rather than something i’m committed to. i’m changing that!

i have still been successfully manifesting but want to form a deeper connection with my spirituality through research and practice.

however, i’ve never been great at keeping my interests separate, so you won’t only be seeing shifting/manifestation content on this blog. i love to read & write & fangirl about the things i enjoy, so you’ll definitely be seeing all that too <3

my experiences so far:

my most solid experience comes earlier on in my journey 9/20/21, when my wake up scenario involved ginny weasley touching my shoulder and i felt a hand grip my shoulder (woke up immediately alone in my room) and freaked out so bad i changed my scenario. was very exciting though!

felt wind/breezes on my body and face multiple times when i was firmly under the covers, fan off, window closed.

i have smelled my scripted scents for my dr about 10-15 times: firewood when i visualize my dorm room, chocolate and male cologne when i visualize waking up on the train. (the male cologne was especially wild seeing as i lived in a studio apartment at the time that had definitely not seen the presence of a man 😭)

many lucid dreams that have as of now stopped, though i made multiple attempts in the dreams to create portals that led me to experience what tiktok termed shifting “symptoms” (falling, spinning)

too many asked for and fulfilled signs from the universe to count, including one that happened just a couple weeks ago (seeing a barn owl in person, very very rare for me, which i asked the universe for as a sign in 2021).

my dr’s:

𖤓 harry potter, golden trio era

my first and oldest dr, though it’s gone through many changes! my desire for this dr got a bit oversaturated, but it holds a special place and is definitely somewhere i still want to go.

𖤓 DC, gotham city, batfamily

the second script i ever made and one that is by now equal with my golden trio dr. i’m a big batman fan and this one is more often than not nowadays the one i’m focused on shifting to.

𖤓 percy jackson, arcane, voltron

these ones don’t stick in my brain the way my first two do, and i’ve never tried shifting to any of them, though i want to!

questions/topics i hope to explore:

there’s definitely a disconnect between how i view manifestation and how i view shifting that i’m trying to bridge. even though i’ve applied my successful manifestation techniques to shifting, something doesn’t seem to make sense in my subconscious.

i have a massive fear of being out of control, both physically and mentally. i won’t strap myself in to a rollercoaster and i won’t even smoke because the sensation that i am not fully in control of my body/mind causes me immense panic even if it’s not outwardly true. it’s why i stop so many of my shifting attempts and why lucid dreaming has offered me the most success. i’m trying to get over this and embrace letting go/releasing myself to what’s happening. trying to let go of self sabotage as a whole, honestly.

MEDITATION !!! i had a great run with it but have not experienced a truly peaceful mediative session in a looong time.

research on quantum jumping and scientific perspectives on the multiverse. i personally am not too bothered on defining what shifting is—whether it’s contained to your consciousness or traveling the multiverse—but i love research and am eager to learn more about it.

that’s all for now!!

i am so very excited for this new chapter. it’s been five years since i started and i’ve grown so much and learned a lot about myself and the world. i can’t wait to get back into this with you. thank you for reading and thank you for being here!

other platforms you can find me:

instagram: atiragali & littleepilogues

youtube: ati gali

substack: substack.com/atiragali

spotify: ati.g

[hiswrlds]

Ok so I needed to write this out at some point & with how the rpc is growing I need to specify some things about my portrayal, I was hoping I wouldn't need to do this cuz I'm really bad at explaining themes & stuff but it'd help anyone new get a vibe of things instead of just hoping they'd get it from checking out my blog ( my bad for that ), so here goes vibes & how it affects interactions . tw : l o n g & subjective to updates !

My writing for Sonic adopts years as silent killers, it focuses on passage of time as I hc the events of the games to have spanned over 8-10 years, with Sonic being 24 in his main current verse here . My writing also takes Everything seriously . And I tend to rewrite half the canon events in my head in a way that suits me ( & you, ultimately ) . "Forces" specifically is very important to my portrayal, as Sonic survives his 6 months of hell w/ Eggman & Infinite, just not unaltered . And then there is the whole war . Though reserved, warm & compassionate as he could ever be, Sonic's grown from a careless punk of a teenager into a refined, mellow adventurer who's much more genuine & wise about life how he handles a lot of situations . There are parts of him that won't ever change, but that doesn't mean he just comes out continuously unaltered after every adventure he's been through . He carries stories, loneliness & a lot of bittersweet memories, and darker ones too, but it's his steadfast resolve to remain kind & composed that keeps things together .

If your muse is games canon, especially part of the main cast, then it means they've been by Sonic's side since long & witnessed just as much along the way, that's why I prefer plotting & creating dynamics on our own a lot more than sticking to whatever Sega is doing . Please don't walk into my blog expecting a blue insufferable nuisance & I mean that in a derogatory way . My writing for him does not tie to any canon material besides the ones written on my page, Sonic can & will always be a bastard but he's not childish or "annoying", he's aloof, chill & 90% of the time he's off doing fuck all in god's knows where by himself . Threads & memes that just repeat the same theme of Oh Sonic is stupid or Oh Sonic is annoying make me feel so discouraged & unmotivated to write, he's a very nuanced & interesting character to write, don't force the fandom's or sega's picture of him onto my portrayal, they've mostly forgotten how to write him by now .

Don't get me wrong, your muse is allowed to call Sonic names however they please as long as it's properly in character for them to have such a perspective, I'm not going to get mad about such things . I just don't want these characteristics to be the focus of the dynamics between our muses when there are many, many other good things we can explore .

tldr ; learn about Sonic from me and not from canon media, don't baby or nerf him ( emotionally, mentally ), plot with me, form something special, I'm holding your hand .

[dreamlike-mindscapes]

This is probably meaningless and doesn’t quite fit here on a kink blog, but I mulled it over and wanted to say it anyways. It’s kind of interesting, but I’ve learned to just enjoy hypnosis as it is I guess? Kink sure, but it’s genuinely fun and interesting just being able to try new things and meet new people you know? Yes, I rarely get to play and practice, but those few opportunities have been such a wonderful experience. Even if I get demoralized, even if things don’t work out and leave me feeling a little less than enthused, I keep coming back. Because out of all the things I’ve done and tried, this is one hobby I’ve stuck around with and found the satisfaction and inspiration I’ve felt a few times before in things like my cooking and writing. So yeah, just a bit of positivity I suppose. Even if it’s hard to really work things out, just keep at it if you really enjoy it my friends, there’s always something to help keep you up and at ‘em with learning to play with the mind

[ghouldtime]

i usually don’t message anyone or anything but i just wanted to say i love your characterizations of konig, ghost, and soap very much. the love and appreciation you have for these characters really come through in your writing.

the cod fandom is full of talented writers but the majority of them write smut. it gets tiring scrolling through the tag and just seeing porn when i actually just wanna see… ppl who enjoy the characters outside of sex appeal, yk? so your blog, truly and genuinely, is a breath of fresh air.

that’s not even mentioning the ppl who write them as abusive or use them to fulfill certain fantasies. i mean i don’t kink shame ofc, but idk sometimes ppl write them in extremely degrading ways that do a disservice to their character and it bugs me a little. plus all the “innocent bimbo reader” rhetoric, idk it gets tiring.

anyway, sorry for the yap session, but i did mean everything i said genuinely !!

💚💚💚💚 Salutations anon! You really don't know how much I appreciate hearing this. Seriously, messages like this give me motivation to keep writing and to stay active on here. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU from the very depths of my heart. You've all been so so incredibly kind, sweet, and encouraging 😭 I don't know what I've done to deserve this but it's appreciated and you all are absolutely awesome. This has made my YEAR, thank you for taking time out of your day to send my silly self a message 💚💚💚💚💚

I'm so so happy my characterizations have hit the mark for some people and that I'm (hopefully) doing them some justice! I'm always worried about that because characterization matters heavily to me and I want to respect their characters and how much they mean to me and other people through it EVEN IF THE WRITERS OF THE LAST MODERN WARFARE DON'T KNOW WHAT A PROPER STORY LINE IS AND KILLED SOAP WHICH I'M NOT FORGETTING, IM NOT FORGIVING, AND IM CERTAIN NOT LIVE LAUGH LOVING WITH IT. I'm refusing to accept he's dead, no matter what they say

I love the boys all so much. They all have such interesting things about them and have a lot more dynamic to them than people think and I just want to represent them right, especially lesser appreciated characters (haven't actually really written for them yet but Keegan, Logan, Hesh, Sandman, Roach, Nikto, Krueger - legit I love them, anyone feel free to send asks or scenarios you'd like I WILL write them. Legit, y'all, you can send me asks about certain characters even if there isn't much on them. I WILL do my research and I WILL write to the best of my ability)

Oh there's many talented writers in the COD Fandom, there really are. I can't say I really know any personally seeing as I never really interact with other blogs but I've seen some reallly really nice fics with so much thought put in them. But equally, there's a lot of just... smut. Not even well written smut, I'm sorry, but a lot of it is just really, really poorly written. I'm all for do what you want, write whatever makes you happy. Freedom of speech! If it makes you happy, cool! But I'm also going to cringe cause a lot of it is... yeah, yikes

Not trying to be the smut police and say every detail must be accounted for and everyone should follow it in a certain way but plz basic anatomy 101, basic prep 101, no guy gal or enby pal will appreciate it if you just shove it in to anywhere dry and I've seen a loooot of that and other things that just hurt?????

I get it, people learn by reading/writing, but this is literally just a single search away. And common sense. There's also a lot of practices being unsafely represented (like fifty shades of gray level) and uh it's not on purpose, it's not meant to be dubious, but it just is written as that. PLEEEEASE please please do some research, the internet is right there

But I felt the same way. Like bless whatever y'all want to write, no shame and NO shade to writing smut. I'll probably eventually do it myself again in the future (undecided on that but it'd likely be a side blog if I do and would never be a main focus, I prefer story over smut action. Once again, no shade and no shame to those who don't, to each their own!). Never ever going to full on NSFW mode or only writing that, I'm always always always going to prioritize writing the characters first and trying to get more stories out there about them :D

But I got tired of opening it and all I see is just... smut, smut, more smut, extremely dubious content x 50. And maybe a sprinkle of normal things or fluff here and there. I just don't look in the tags honestly anymore, because so many people just don't properly tag it or give 0 warning at all, not even under a read more, just BAM, unavoidable unless you flat out don't look at the tags at all

There's more to the characters than just being attractive 😭and I love exploring those aspects of them and trying to figure out why they are the way they are

Also I'm ALWAYS going to have an issue with people who fetishize horrible things. When you're actively fantasizing and writing about someone abusing someone else, like flat out abuse, and being incredibly toxic and terrible to someone - just, please talk to a therapist. That's not social commentary, that's not a proper portrayal of real, HORRIBLE things that affect many people and have very real repercussions - that's perpetuating the negative narrative around a lot of struggles and setting it back by instead turning it into something that's treated as attractive. I really fully can elaborate on this and have a whole rant - but it's not cute and it's NEVER cool to fetishize actual, awful awful things that happen to people. Dead dove doesn't excuse you from judgement - especially when it's not even acknowledged. You're just saying you know what you write is probably morally reprehensible. Hey, I'm going to reprehend and won't respect you at all when you write awful things just cause and get off on it. Think people forget that. Dead dove is a descriptor and doesn't excuse you or make you instantly free from judgement or mean you're not doing something problematic/disgusting. It's just saying you know it is, that's about it.

I don't get why people do that when it's clear they have no idea what they're talking about. I've seen that a lot with the bully! Things. Like... wow, clearly some of you WEREN'T bullied and you're writing about it and it shows because if you were, hey, you know how fucking awful that shit is and how it leaves life long effects. Not saying this applies to all but there's a lot I see like that where it's just ".... wow, okay, so you don't have any idea what you're talking about, cool."

AND YEAH the mischaracterization really does do a great disservice where it's clear they're just after the characters for their physique. They just warp them so bad it's like "Are we talking about the same character?" . In AUs you get to explore that and can shape them to your wants, that's your choice! Highly recommend AU's, it allows so much freedom.

But when it's like.... regular? And it's just no where close and they're doing a 180 in how they actually are (like having Ghost flirt with strangers and be big scary daddy dom im sorry he's not at allllll) I don't get it and it's clear you really aren't writing about or for the character - at that point, plz, make your own characters. Just make your own OCs, it's great! And you can make them HOWEVER you want instead of just ignoring a character's characterization to make them fit what you want. And guess what? It's your character so you can TRULY do what you want and have them the way that you want instead of bending characters to fit a box that they weren't made for

I'm not saying you HAVE to write a character the same as me or in a specific way, but when it's a character with an established personality/backstory, the least you can do is follow that outside of AU's if you're writing for them. That's... the whole point of writing that character - I don't get why you'd write for them specifically if you're literally going to ignore everything about them

SPEAKING OF THE INNOCENT BIMBO THING, I'm also really not a fan. Once again, if that makes you happy to write or read, cool! I just am NOOOOT a fan. Why does the reader always have to be so small and so delicate and so pure/innocent? Why does the reader have to be just so UWU coded? Why are they always like "oh you're so little and small :( and just don't know any better" . It's either that or they're John fucking Wick with little in between. Pleeeease it hurts my soul

Its why I try to genuinely write a neutral geared reader with reactions that will likely fit a lot of people! I'm always taken out of a story's immersiveness when it mentions something like like your hair length or how uwu small you are in comparison. Give me just... average sensible reader. Give me reader who has realistic human reactions. Give me reader who isn't perfect, give me a reader who isn't magically special or different. Give me a reader who is just doing their best, who is THEMSELVES, with no intent otherwise. I love those fanfics so so much instead of trying to feel like I have to be something I'm not to get myself in the mindset to read some pieces NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YAPPING. IM ALWAYS WANTING TO TALK IM ALWAYS AROUND 💚💚💚💚THANK YOU FOR THE MESSAGE IT MAKES MY HEART WARM AND MAKES ME SO SO HAPPY

[broomsick]

Hello!!! Im just starting to properly get into the world of paganism as a whole, and I was wondering if you have any advice on being able to tell if there is a deity reaching out to you? There have been a lot of little things happening and I really just. Don’t know where to start. With any of it. I really, really want to, it feels like there’s something calling me towards it, the norse side especially (I think Loki?) and so if you have any advice or guidance to offer I’d appreciate it tremendously

Ps, thank you for everything you do here!! I’ve been scrolling through your blog and it’s an absolute well of knowledge and insight

Hi there! I'll first tell you welcome to paganism! I wish you so much fun and happiness on this journey! And I'm quite flattered that you came to me with your question. I'm truly touched to know that you enjoy my posts. Fair warning: this post is pretty long—I'm sorry for writing so much, but I hope my answer can help you!

Now, I wish I could tell you without a doubt that a deity has reached out to you, and if so, which has. However, I'm sorry to say it's generally impossible to be certain of these things. It's often a matter of leaving it up to faith and telling yourself, "Well, I'm not sure if this deity has reached out to me, but it feels very much like they have, so I will act accordingly". Either way, your instinct is telling you to look into this deity, and to me, instinct is reason enough.

You've told me you don't know where to start, so I'll advise you three steps to start off. The first, do some research! And I know, I know, just the word "research" tends to turn some people off. But research doesn't have to be boring! Especially since you're only getting started. Begin with the basics, read up on norse mythology, learn about the surrounding culture, really immerse yourself in and try to get a feel for this branch of spirituality as a whole. To help you out, here's a post where I listed some of my favorite resources! The second step sounds a little stupid but it's something that's helped me tremendously when I was first getting started with paganism: learn about the Gods individually. Don't let yourself form your opinion of them based on 1-2 myths that you loosely know. Really get to know them, what they're associated with, how you can work with them, what their role is in myth, how they're perceived by scholars and by worshippers alike... You might develop an interest in a deity you'd have never thought to work with initially! And my third advice is to pray, plain and simple prayer. Just close your eyes and reach out to the deity genuinely. Ask for something that you want help with, or simply praise them and explain why you're interested in them, or both! It's all perfectly OK, even if it's your first time praying to them. It'll help you get a feel for what their presence is like, and if praying to them feels right to you.

Now, enough with the introduction, let's dive into what really interests you: how to tell if a deity has reached out to you, and how to tell which? Healthy skepticism aside, it's safe to say a deity will generally manifest themselves through recurring patterns or ideas. Look for symbols that stand out to you regularly, and that seem to draw your attention for no apparent reason. For example, if a deity's name keeps showing up around you in your life, by which I mean in real life, not on social media (algorithms will always show you what you want to see after all). I find that half the time, when you ask pagans how they started to worship this or that deity, the story often goes "I couldn't seem to get this deity out of my head for some reason, like a tugging at the back of my mind or an itch that I needed to scratch." Whether or not this is the deity's direct doing is up to your belief. And to me, this sort of occurrence often results in your looking up the deity, and things seem to click into place almost instantly. You'll see a picture of the deity, or read this or that piece of information about them, and suddenly, it feels right. As if your mind was telling you, "This is what I've been waiting for, this is a deity who's going to help me." Don't be looking out too much for this feeling, however. As long as you're interested by the deity you're looking into, even if you don't get this moment of sudden realization, there's no need to doubt that they're right for you.

And how do you tell which deity is reaching out? More often than not, all you need to do is listen to your gut. It tends to be quite obvious, especially once you've looked into the symbols that seem to turn up around you. Examine what they mean and what God is associated with them. My advice to you is to expect that a deity you don't know much about might reach out to you. This is your sign to look into them! Open yourself to the possibility of working with deities and with aspects of the divine that you'd never considered before. It can be such a fulfilling move, spirituality-wise. Explore and discover what feels right to you!

I hope my answers have helped you, and I wish you the best of luck on your journey. Please don't hesitate to ask further questions if you have them, it would be my pleasure to help in any way I can!