#should i even continue reading this???? is it actually worth it???

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[lucijawriteswords]

losing it | trevor zegras

summary: you and trevor have hit a rough patch recently, with covid and him being away and all, and everything comes to a head over his tournament.

warnings: 18+ SMUT!!! kissing, oral (m receiving). grossly emotional. some fluff. once again relatively tame. once again, unedited. apologies.

word count: 3.9k

A/N: hello hello! firstly, i cannot thank you all enough for your love. i’m absolutely floored. please, continue to let me know how you feel, who you want me to write about, what you want me to write about. it’s all for you anyways. for those of you who love whiny, obedient, indulgent hockey boys, this one is for you. for those of you who prefer the other kind: be patient with me. he’s on the way and he’s worth the wait. yes, the timelines probably don’t line up perfectly. yes, the logistics of everything are off. but you’re probably not here for that ;). i invite you to enjoy this little piece of me. until next time.

18+ below the cut

Z❤️: I don’t think u should come to the tourney

your entire body stilled as you read the message banner on the top of your phone screen. you had to be seeing things. your thumb was shaky as you moved it up to click on the notification. you blamed it on the train.

and there it was. you weren’t seeing things. trevor actually said you shouldn’t go to his tournament.

now, if it was any other tournament, you would’ve probably given in. said yes, settled for just seeing him on facetime. but this was his last time playing for the national team as a junior, a team he had grown up with, a team that was his family, and by extension, yours. you and trevor had been together for years, since you were both fifteen. his friends clowned you two endlessly for it, stating that there was no way it would work out in the big picture, that it was just a teenage thing, and it would end when you guys turned twenty.

you’d never even considered their words until now.

Y/N🌹: wdym?

awful answer, but you truly couldn't figure out what he meant. or rather, if he meant it.

Z❤️: Think I made it pretty clear when I said u shouldn’t come to the tourney. We have the whole covid bubble and I’m not gonna pretend its been sunshine and rainbows w us the past few weeks cause it hasnt

Y/N🌹: ok

Z❤️: Ok? U don’t care?

you scoffed.

Y/N🌹: i care trevor i just don’t wanna argue with you about this. ur obviously pretty convinced i shouldn’t be there so i’m not gonna try and change ur mind abt it

Z❤️: Ok then

Z❤️: I love you

Y/N🌹: i love you more. can we talk more a bit later?

read 4:13pm

you laughed bitterly, trying to ignore the tears stinging your eyes. the screen above the door signaled your stop and you stood, making your way off the train. the boston air was cold, seemingly clawing it’s way through your coat and hoodie and sinking it’s claws into your already wounded heart.

you felt tears, cold on your face. you wiped them away quickly, scolding yourself mentally. get over it, it’s not like he broke up with you. it’s just a tournament. he’ll have more tournaments in his life.

your hand, already cold, seemingly rattled as it pushed the door open to your apartment building. once you were in the elevator, your keys seemed to evade you, playing a game of hide and seek in your bag. huffing in annoyance, you slung the bag off your shoulder, setting it down on the floor of the elevator and rifling through the contents harshly. finally, you located the bastards, seizing them triumphantly, trying with every bit of your being to ignore the usa hockey keychain with his initials on the back. the elevator door ground it’s way open and you stepped out as quickly as possible, muttering to yourself, “hate that fuckin’ elevator.”

the aforementioned bastardized keys jingled loudly as you shoved the correct one into the lock. you twisted it, pushing the door open with your other hand before harshly removing the jesting hunk of metal and tossing it away. the metallic thud and halting of jingling as it landed somewhere was therapeutic to your aching mind.

as you flopped down onto the couch, you realized that all you wanted was to lay down and go to bed. so what if it was only 4:30? it was cold, dead winter in boston, your boyfriend wasn’t home, and you didn’t have anything to do because you didn’t have to pack anymore. you should’ve felt relief, right? no responsibilities, half a month without in person classes, no plane tickets and masks and new, scary airport rules, no name tags around your neck and no girls giggling and groaning right behind you over trevor. but you didn’t feel relief. you’d grown to love the chaos, to understand it and want it. hockey was one of the most important things in trevor’s life, and he was one of the most important things in yours, so hockey became integral to your life too. you learned the ins and outs, befriended his teammates, went to practices and sometimes even dryland, just to see him to what he loved.

it had changed a lot over the past year or so, with him being drafted and then covid. he wasn’t playing in california yet, so there was that, but it was at the forefront of his mind, and you could tell. that’s not to say he wasn’t finding success in college hockey, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. you’d never brought it up until a few weeks ago, when he was about to leave to enter the covid bubble for the juniors tournament. it was the night before he left when you finally brought it up.

two weeks ago

“hey z?”

he lifted his head from whatever he was looking at on his phone. “mhm?”

you walked over and sat down on the couch next to him. “i just want you to know that i’m here for you and you can talk to me.”

his face immediately screwed up and you felt your stomach drop. “what? why’re you saying that? did i do something wrong?” defensive.

you steadied yourself with an inhale. “no, but i just wanted to make sure you knew. i can tell there’s been a lot on your mind recently.”

he scoffed. “yeah, whatever.” his gaze returned to his phone.

“whatever? trevor, are you being serious?”

“yeah, y/n, i am.” he shot back, his gaze fiery as it collided with yours again. “ i’m fine, i don’t know what your deal is.”

“i never said you weren’t fine.”

“no, but you said i don’t seem focused.”

you furrowed your brow and shook your head, incredulous. “i did not say that. i said you seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

“same difference. what, am i not paying enough attention to you? am i playing poorly? what’s wrong with me now, y/n? what am i failing at? god, you’re stupid sometimes.”

you were stunned, jaw slack as you took in his words. you saw the recognition in his eyes, noticed the way his mouth opened to retract his words and offer a shitty apology, the way his torso rotated towards you and he held up a hand as an ask for forgiveness as he was about to defend himself.

your response was automatic.

“i don’t know why you’re asking what’s wrong with you now because, if i recall, and forgive me if i don’t because i’m so stupid, i’ve said jack shit to you about how much attention you give me or how you play. do you honestly think i care? news flash, i don’t. i don’t fucking care how you play! i don’t care if you don’t score, or get an assist, i wouldn’t fucking care if you didn’t put a single point up all season! because i care about you. i care about if you’re having fun and feeling proud of yourself for how hard you work. i love being able to do it all with you, trevor, but if you’re going to call me stupid for caring about you, i can definitely let you do it on your own.”

it was his turn to be floored.

after a pregnant pause filled with his confused eyes searching your face and your eyes almost letting go of their tears, his voice cut through. “you’re breaking up with me?” you weren’t imagining the tremble in his voice or the watering of his eyes.

“no, trevor, i’m not breaking up with you.” you sniffled, wiping under your eyes with the cuff of your hoodie. his hoodie. “i don’t think i could do that even if i wanted to. i’m just saying you don’t get to be mean to me-” your voice faltered, tears truly flowing now. you tried to keep your sobs inside, feeling the cushion you were on dip as trevor scooted over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. you let go, cried into his chest, fingers clutching the back of his sweatshirt. you felt him crying too, the way his back shook and the wetness in the crook of your neck where his head was nestled. you shifted to be on top of him, legs straddling his, but there was nothing sexual about it. you just needed to be as close to him as you could be and you knew he needed you too.

trevor cried and cried and cried. you weren’t even hurt by what he said anymore. you’d known something was bugging him, that his mind wasn’t completely in it, but the way he cried- loud and hard and full of hurt- made you sad. it made you angry.

when you started to feel him twitch and hiccup, gasping for air in between sobs, barely getting air in, you knew your time in silence had ended. “baby, can you look at me?” he just squeezed you tighter and let out another sob into your neck. “honey, please.” he sniffled, reluctantly drawing his face away from your neck. your eyes filled with tears again at the sight of his face: lips and nose red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. you brought your hands to cradle his head, thumbs swiping gently under his eyes. he melted into your touch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, so quiet and tearful you weren’t sure you heard it.

“thank you.” you whispered back, bringing your lips to his forehead and kissing it lightly.

“you’re not stupid. you’re the smartest person i know. i’m just-“ he took a deep breath, willing the tears away from his eyes. “just been really hard lately and i haven’t had an outlet. shouldn't have said that to you. i didn’t mean it.”

“i know, baby. i’m not mad. just wish you hadn’t said it. do you wanna talk?”

he nodded. “yeah, i wanna get it off my chest.”

“i’m listening.”

“i just don’t know if i’m good enough. i’m scared i’m not gonna make it in the league and i’m not gonna do well at worlds. i’m scared i’m gonna let the school team down, scared i’m not doing enough for you or that you’re gonna stop loving me. i don’t know,” he finished with a big sigh.

your eyes searched his face as you formulated an answer. “well, one thing i can promise you is that i’m not gonna stop loving you. and you’re doing more than enough. why do you think that i would stop loving you?”

“i dunno. i’m just in my head.”

“so get out,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood even the littlest bit.

a small smile made its way onto his face. “ha ha.”

“i’m serious, trev. i’m not going to stop loving you. nothing could make me. even if, somehow, life leads us separate ways- and i don’t think it will- i will always have love in my heart for you.”

he nodded with a sniffle, absorbing your words.

while he was in a talking mood, you decided to get the other one out of the way as well. “why’re you so concerned about hockey all of a sudden? you’ve been playing great here, your coaches at camps in california had nothing but good things to say. what’s up?”

“i’m not really sure. i guess i’m just in my head again. i compare myself to other players. like, jack went fucking first overall. he’s not even playing in the tournament because he’s in the nhl. and the guys that are coming, like coley and turcs, they both went above me in the draft. i just- i don’t know. i have the same training and experience and everything as those guys but i feel like i’ll underperform once we all get to the nhl.”

you just nodded, unable to find the right words. you knew how trevor was with hockey. he got in his head and convinced himself he wasn’t good enough even though he was beyond talented.

“i’m sorry,” was all you could muster.

he shakes his head, hair bouncing. “don’t be. not your fault.” a yawn breaks from his mouth.

“tired?” you hum, placing your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, nuzzling into him. he lets his head fall sideways and rest on top of yours, his fingers lazily trailing up your sides. he hums an agreement and without another words carries you into the bedroom, sleepy apologies and ‘i love yous’ falling from both of your lips as you drift off.

now

breaking out of your reverie, you realized you were very cold. and your phone had stopped buzzing. standing up with creaky joints, you slipped your phone onto the wireless charger on the coffee table and flipped the heat up a couple degrees, padding into you and trevor’s shared bedroom to grab a sweatshirt.

tugging the garment over your head, you grabbed your favorite soft blanket from the end of the bed and made your way back to the couch to settle in and watch something.

a few minutes into your tv show, your phone screen lit up as it regained its charge, messages and snapchats pouring in.

from one person.

you almost broke the remote with how quickly you slammed the pause button, grabbing your phone with the charger still attached and clutching it tight, immediately opening you and trevor’s messages.

5:07pm

Z❤️: I can talk now if u wanted

Z❤️: Sorry to leave you on read we had a team meeting that I didn’t know about

Y/N🌹: it’s ok

Y/N🌹: should i call u?

Z❤️: Wait one sec

your brows furrowed.

Z❤️: Ok click on this

a banner appeared at the top of your screen from the wallet app:

New Boarding Pass from Southwest Airlines

your heart quite nearly fell out of your body. what kind of joke was he playing at?

Y/N🌹: trev r u serious

Y/N🌹: what kind of joke is this cause i’m not laughing

Z❤️: I’m going to explain everything rn

Y/N🌹: um hell yes you are

Z❤️: Rawr 🐱

despite yourself, a snort escaped your nose.

Y/N🌹: stop being funny and explain

Z❤️: During practice I just wasn’t playing well and a bunch of the guys were chirping me saying ‘how can you keep that bird if you can barely keep a puck’ and other bullshit like that and it just got under my skin

Y/N🌹: t don’t listen to them they’re full of shit

Y/N🌹: you know you’re talented

Z❤️: I know

Z❤️: I miss you so much

Y/N🌹: i miss you more

Y/N🌹: but i don’t understand the ticket. that’s not that bad of a chirp

Z❤️: I just really need you to be here and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier

you smiled, your thumbs flying across the screen of your phone.

Y/N🌹: what airport do i fly into?

Z❤️: It’s all on the boarding pass baby just pack whatever you need for a few weeks cause u change outfits all the time and figure out a ride to the airport

Z❤️: I can order you an uber to the airport?

Y/N🌹: no baby that’s okay you’ve done way more than enough

Y/N🌹: trevor i love you so much

Z❤️: Im not tired I wanna keep talking to you

Z❤️: Can we ft while you pack?

Y/N🌹: you’re perfect

3 days later

the noises of the airport surrounded you as you made your way through the tunnel off the plane, your overfilled carryon and heavy backpack giving your back a run for its money.

waiting by the baggage claim was treacherous. your phone was going crazy in your hand.

Y/N🌹: just landed, waiting by baggage claim

Z❤️: Ok I am outside the baggage claim door

Z❤️: I have a hat and mask on so you might not recognize my wonderful hair or gorgeous face but i have this red and navy usa hky puffer thingy on

Y/N🌹: ur such a weirdo

Y/N🌹: who taught u the word puffer miss girly girl

Z❤️: Shush

Z❤️: Just get your bagggggggggg and come out here I miss you

you smiled at your phone and shut it off, looking at the spinning track, willing your bag to come out quickly.

you bounced impatiently on the balls of your feet as the gray suitcase made its way around, grabbing the handle excitedly and hauling it off the track as it got to you.

the wheels thrummed against the linoleum as you popped the handle up and scurried your way out the door, thanking the employee standing nearby.

the automatic doors squealed on their tracks as your suitcase wheels rattled over the concrete, turning as you exited the doors in a search for trevor. your eyes searched left and right for the navy and red puffer he said he’d be wearing, and when your eyes landed on him, your knees nearly buckled.

“trevor!” you shouted out excitedly, throwing a hand up in the air and waving at him, an unfiltered and toothy and real smile breaking onto your face.

you could practically see him smile even with the mask, walked him step quickly through people until he was clear, then break into a run the last few paces.

his chest collided with you in a bone crushing, devastating hug, a hug that said i’m sorry. i love you. please let me keep loving you. your arms wound around his back, hands digging into his jacket and you buried yourself into him.

“missed you so much, honey. i’m so sorry.” he murmured into your hair, pressing kisses onto your head through the mask.

you nodded, lifting your head from his chest, your eyes meeting. “let’s go to the car, yeah?” you nodded again, following him.

the streets and parking garage were near empty, a strange phenomenon around an airport. trevor’s grip on your hand was tight as he led you to the car, squeezing every now and again, like he couldn’t believe that you were there.

once your bags were in the car and you were sitting next to him in the passenger seat, the atmosphere between you changed drastically. tension shimmered between you two like hot air rising above the blacktop. his hand found its home on your thigh, drawing light circles, making you shiver.

his gaze strayed to you, eyes brimming with something that looked a lot like love, but more like want.

“how far is the hotel?” you breathed out, your true intentions on full display. and why wouldn’t they be?

“bout 45 minutes.” trevor responds, his hand simultaneously moving further up your thigh, nearing your clothed center. you squirmed, crossing your legs, leaning towards him.

“plenty of time, then.” you murmured as you moved your hands towards his zipper, towards what you wanted. you fiddled with the zipper tag, trailing your fingernails across the seam covering his bulge. “come on baby, don’t tease me.” he ground out, taking a turn a little to sharp when you scratched your nails down his denim clad thigh.

“or what, z? what’re you gonna do to me? gonna make me pay?” how you would love for him to make you pay.

he whined, the leather of the steering wheel groaning as his grip tightened. “please, baby. please. you’re killing me. i won’t make you pay, ill be so good when we get there, baby, ill do whatever you want.” he sputtered, turning off of the main road onto some side street away for the noise of an inner city airport.

a grin snaked onto your face, finally pulling his zipper down, almost salivating at the sight of this bulge of his pretty cock in his boxers. you shimmied his pants down, fingers digging into his rigid thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in the flesh. he huffed out something between a moan and a sob, head lolling to the side. “please, baby, please, just touch me. please, i’ll be good.”

“if you insist.” you cooed evilly, trailing a feather light fingertip over him through his boxers.

incredibly, finally, you took him in your hand, pumping him through his boxers, the soft fabric gliding along him, coaxing a moan from his pretty mouth.

trevor’s eyes, which had never strayed from the road, flared and his hips lifted pathetically in the air, searching for something, anything to relive the ache in his cock.

your core clenched around nothing at the sight of him, of his pathetic and desperate thrusts into the air, at how badly he needed your touch. he was quickly relieved of his boxers as you pushed them down, the fabric bunching around the hem of his pushed down pants. the car slowed to a stop, the noise of then turn signal and his ragged breathing almost comedic, almost shameful, but so, so right.

you looked up at him, the way his jaw clenched and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, trying to play the role of dedicated driver to the cars in the adjacent lanes. an evil grin clawed its way onto your face before you lifted him to your mouth, taking him deeply at once, groaning at the silky, hot skin, the heavy feel of him on your tongue.

"holy fuck-" the car stuttered forward before the brakes were slammed back on, causing his cock to lurch deeper into your mouth, a pathetic whine leaving trevor's lips as he brushed the back of your throat. you just hummed around him, bobbing your head and bracing yourself against the console as the car accelerated slowly into a turn.

a murmured comment of "thank god for tinted windows," or something of that sort, caused you to let a small laugh out of your nose, the muscles in your throat constricting around him. you heard his ragged pants and the sound of his head hitting the headrest as he undoubtedly threw it back.

"baby, i'm gonna lose it, you're killing me." he whined, raising his hips off the seat, the strong muscle of his thigh pushing into your chest.

you simply grinned around his delicious length, pushing your head down till your nose almost met the soft skin at his base before pulling almost all the way off of him, tracing your teeth along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, featherlight and torturous at the same time.

"shit." trevor heaved a sigh, chest caving in as he fought the urge to let go.

you trailed your nails up the taut muscle of his thigh, fingers splaying to anchor yourself. you felt him harden like steel and twitch in your mouth; you could almost smell the release coming over him like a wave, savoring the way his hips rolled and stuttered and finally bucked up into your mouth as he let go with a whimpered "fuck."

you moaned around him, laving your tongue over his now shuddering cock, taking everything he would give you.

"holy shit. holy shit." he whispered, one hand coming down to your head to gently urge you off him, overstimulation crashing over him suddenly and and unbearably.

you just sat back up and licked your lips, drowning in his taste.

"just wait till we get back to the hotel," you chuckled, crossing your legs and turning the radio on.

[sineala]

Hello. Sorry for bothering you again, but can I have some rec of what to read about Steve & Diamondback? Kinda interested in them recently.

Hi! I haven't read everything, but I can rec a few things!

Diamondback, as you probably know, was created by Mark Gruenwald at the beginning of his decade-long Cap run; her first appearance was Cap #310. You know how when a new writer takes over a solo hero book and they decide that the woman the hero was previously dating was just not cool enough and they need to break up immediately so that the hero can have a hot new girlfriend? That was what happened here.

(A longer answer with pictures is past the Read More.)

Steve was engaged to Bernie Rosenthal when Diamondback first showed up with the Serpent Society, who are a snake-themed organization of criminals who formed so that they could all get health insurance (no, really).

In #313, Diamondback meets Steve and, as you can see, is immediately, uh, taken with him:

Same in #315:

A few issues passed, and Steve and Bernie broke up in #317 so Bernie could move to go to law school. Steve took a road trip across the country so he could find himself, like he does. Eventually what he actually found was the Serpent Society and Diamondback again. They eventually got together and they were off-and-on for a really long time. She's Steve's girlfriend, Bad Girl archetype. She is usually on the side of good when she is with Steve.

So the thing about Diamondback is that she primarily appears in Mark Gruenwald's Cap run, and while his Cap run had some high points, the low points were… pretty low, and a lot of them featured plots that were really, really… weird… about women, specifically.

Like, there's an arc (not featuring Diamondback, Cap #355-357) where Steve gets himself deaged to a teenager so he can help teens who are being kidnapped by what is apparently a Nazi dominatrix teen bondage summer camp. Or (unfortunately featuring Diamondback, Cap #387-392) there is The Superia Stratagem, in which the villain Superia shows up, and Steve has to infiltrate the cruise ship to Femizona Island where she and her Femizons are plotting world domination, which of course features a plot where Steve is captured and forced to undergo Feminization Treatment. But, don't worry, he defeats her (after disguising himself as a woman) and foils her dastardly plots in the end! Diamondback's contribution to this plot is to get captured and then to angst about whether or not she still wants to be part of the superpowered life, as far as I can remember.

You see what I mean about being weird about women, right? There's, uh, really some stuff going on here. So Diamondback, being a female character, is caught up a lot of plots like these, and even though she seems like she should have plots where she is just badass all the time, there are a lot of plots where bad things happen to her in a specifically gendered way. Like, she has a backstory that involves having been raped by Crossbones. This is… not handled especially well in the narrative.

But if you want to read comics with her in them anyway, I think the Gruenwald arc that is the most fun and the least weird is The Bloodstone Hunt (Cap #357-362), where Steve and Diamondback team up to find the Bloodstone and Diamondback is extremely flirty; they are not actually together at this point. Here they are in #358:

Their actual first date is in Cap #371:

That issue is definitely worth reading if you want to see the themes of their relationship, which are "Steve wonders if she's a little too wild for him" and "Diamondback wonders if she can really go straight for him."

She's also a supporting character in Streets of Poison (#372-378), which is the Drugs Are Bad arc where Steve accidentally becomes addicted to Super Cocaine, and I do not recommend that anyone read this for any reason, but if you're actually going to, she is there.

She continues appearing through most of the rest of Gru's run. I haven't actually read most of it because I was deliberately trying to avoid all the Crossbones stuff, and also the rest of the run includes things like The Superia Stratagem.

After Gru's Cap run ends, she occasionally shows up and occasionally gets with Steve. The best (IMO) of her post-Gruenwald appearances is Cap v4 #29-32 (the Avengers Disassembled tie-ins) where she is getting back together with Steve:

They are definitely getting together, boy, are they:

And maybe she is secretly betraying him to the Red Skull:

But the twist (yes, I'm spoiling it) is that she was secretly an LMD, meaning that Robotfucker Steve here absolutely banged a LMD of his ex-girlfriend.

When Steve finds this out, he doesn't seem upset in any way about having done this, and actually the next thing he does, after he meets the real Diamondback, is immediately ask the real Diamondback if she'd like to get a room.

Steve is really committed to getting laid, I guess.

(Mostly I assume that they were together for the sex, but comics couldn't really talk about that in the era when they were actually together.)

She was apparently in a few comics in the intervening years that I did not read, but the next comic I remember her getting substantial page time in was in Nick Spencer's SamCap run (Captain America: Sam Wilson #4-6), this part of which is just prior to Steve secretly becoming Hydra, in which it turns out she needs money so she's taken up stripping.

Yes, Sam is a werewolf. Don't worry about it.

We did actually see her very recently in comics; in Avengers Assemble v3 #1 (the current miniseries about Steve's emergency response Avengers team), she's back with the Serpent Society.

She's not doing much but she's there. She hasn't met Steve again, though.

I like Diamondback a lot, but I would say that she's a character that canon has not, historically, done a very good job portraying. You know how you get that thing in comics sometimes where it's like, "I know you personally invented this character, and I don't know how this is happening, but somehow they are still out of character?" It's that. This is a problem because she's not in all that much canon, and for whatever reason -- I suspect because there's not a lot of fic set in the era where she's with Steve -- she's not one of Steve's girlfriends who shows up a whole lot in fannish works. (Teaberryblue and Rainproof's 1796 Broadway is the big exception. It is MCU, though.)

Hopefully someday someone will give us some more canon (or fanfic) with her. I know, write it myself. Be the change I want to see.

[apollos-olives]

hey! if you don't mind me asking(feel free to ignore this ask) what do actual palestinians think of hamas? I'm not asking to sow any discord or to "catch" you out, I'm asking purely out of curiosity. from where I'm from, people generally view hamas and the houthis positively (and by people i mean the vast Muslim majority of pro-palestine supporters) but i have seen than some Palestinians don't hold them in such a high regard. similarly some people supported the IRA whereas other irish people strongly were against them - so I'm wondering if this is a similar situation? again if this ask is uncomfortable for you to answer , don't feel obligated to

this ask is uncomfortable but i'll still answer because i think it's important.

we as palestinians are sick of getting asked about this. it's asked as though every palestinian somehow has the same opinion on hamas and that each singular palestinian can speak for the rest of the population, which is obviously not true. i don't know every palestinians' opinion on hamas and i cannot list every opinion out there because not all of us agree on one single thing. each palestinian has their own opinion on hamas and honestly, it doesn't matter. we are tired of this question. we don't care about hamas anymore. this shit isn't about hamas at this point. 30000+ palestinians are dead and people are STILL talking about hamas as if that's actually important and rather than protesting for a ceasefire or fighting for a free palestine.

my opinion on hamas is different than my friends' opinions on hamas. my opinion on hamas is different than my parents' opinion on hamas. my opinion on hamas is different than my palestinian mutuals' opinion on hamas. my opinion on hamas is different than a lot of other palestinians who are involved. palestinians who keep getting asked this are tired. we are so tired. i appreciate that you are asking in good faith, but we don't want to talk about hamas anymore. we want to have a free palestine. we want our children to stop dying. we want to return to our land.

my personal opinion is that i don't really care about them. i don't care for their policies or their political goals. i only support them because they are one of the largest and efficient groups who are trying to liberate palestine. many palestinians share this same opinion. they do not support hamas as a whole, but they still appreciate that hamas is trying to fight for a liberated palestine. we support their efforts for the fight against the occupation, but past that we do not care or do not support them outside of that. what they do as a political group isn't something that i'm interested in, because i'd much rather be focused on freeing and rebuilding palestine.

some palestinians hate hamas. my parents dislike them, but they won't criticize them for trying to fight against the occupation, because they know that hamas is one of the most powerful groups of resistance in palestine, and will not go against their efforts to try to help palestine. some palestinians love hamas. some palestinians don't care about hamas. every palestinian is different, but in the end it doesn't matter. hamas is fighting for the same goal as the rest of us. a free palestine.

@el-shab-hussein has a post on his own opinion on hamas that i think is worth the read.

in the end, it doesn't matter about what our opinions on hamas are. because hamas only exists because of israel. if israel didn't exist, hamas wouldn't exist. hamas is a large group working for the resistance and hamas isn't the reason of palestinians' suffering. israel is.

@fairuzfan says: "I know this was sent in good faith but it doesn't really matter what Palestinians opinions on hamas are because even before hamas existed 750,000 Palestinians were exiled and killed."

we suffered before hamas existed and we will continue to suffer as long as israel is in power. so again, it doesn't matter what palestinians' - or really anyone's - opinion is on hamas. what we should be focusing on is fighting for a ceasefire, fighting for a free palestine, and fighting for a free world.

[starcurtain]

A Look at Ratio and Aventurine... and Ratio/Aventurine

I was morally obligated to use this picture.

Anyway, I got an ask about my understanding of Ratio and Aventurine's relationship both in canon and as a ship that I have been holding on to for a while now because... phew, there's like... a lot to talk about there... But I felt I should at least give it a try, so here is my attempt to comment on the intersection of two of Star Rail's most complicated personalities. Long post is longgggg; you have been warned.

First, Aventurine's canon relationship to Ratio:

In the interest of not hitting tumblr's image limit, let's just throw out some of the information we have in one go:

It's pretty complimentary. (Yet somehow...)

The implication of the infamous "Keeping Up with Star Rail" video is that Ratio understands Aventurine better than anyone else, and Aventurine knows this. At the very least, putting all shipping aside, Ratio is the person who can explain Aventurine's behaviors best. He's the person Aventurine chooses do so. This suggests significantly more knowledge of each other's lives than the game first led us to believe.

Other people (read as: my GOAT Owlbert) perceive respect from Aventurine to Ratio, and although I read them as a bit sarcastic, the 2.1 mission logs not only repeatedly confirm that Aventurine views Ratio as smart and reliable, but that Ratio is reliable "as always," again indicating a longer and closer history of collaboration than we get to actively see in game. The devs were working hard to tell us "Penacony isn't Ratiorine's first rodeo," which is interesting--given Topaz's voiceline recommending the Trailblazer avoid working with Aventurine whenever possible, we're led to believe through 2.0 and 2.1 that not many people will willingly work with Aventurine more than once, let alone many times.

While going through psychological scrutiny from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come his Harmony-infused self, the "Future" Aventurine suggests that Ratio and Aventurine are quite similar, and that Aventurine puts a surprising amount of trust in Ratio, to be willing to hinge such a dangerous plan on something as untested as Ratio's ability to act. At the very least, Aventurine's own psyche is pondering on Ratio and whether or not their connection has any emotional meaning.

But despite all this evidence suggesting Ratio and Aventurine spend significantly more time with each other than we get to see in game, Aventurine's own thoughts cast strong doubt on whether he and Ratio are actually close.

Aventurine's "About Dr. Ratio" voice line suggests that Aventurine believes Ratio does not particularly like him. He seems to think that Ratio would prefer to stay away from IPC operations where possible, and it's "unfortunate" for Ratio to be stuck with Aventurine as a conversation partner. He's tolerated, rather than enjoyed. His overall impression seems to be that Ratio mostly views them as distant coworkers.

When the "Future" Aventurine suggests Ratio did not betray Aventurine willingly, actual Aventurine immediately pushes back:

(Personally I'm on the fence about whether this was real doubt or just a ploy to continue sussing out Sunday; see my other post about this scene for some more thoughts.)

But if we take this statement to be played straight, it implies that Aventurine doesn't fully believe Ratio will side with him, even (maybe especially) in dire circumstances. If this statement is real doubt, then despite considering Ratio the person who best understands him, despite building an entire life or death gamble around Ratio's loyalty... Aventurine still doesn't think Ratio even likes him.

Aventurine's not stupid or blind, so theoretically he should be able to read the situation better than that. But actually, there's plenty of evidence both in the game and outside it to suggest that Aventurine is not the most accurate judge of his own relationships to others and is a down-right terrible judge of his own worth as a person.

"Future" Aventurine suggests that one of Aventurine's deep inner flaws--the truths that he rejects about himself--is a massive inferiority complex. This is backed up well by the mission text, where Aventurine's thoughts about himself spiral into self-harm, and the scene in the maze, where "Future" Aventurine taunts our Aventurine with the unforgettable fact that his entire life was only worth pennies:

There's also pretty consistent self-deprecation, with both "Future" and real Aventurine noting several times that he's a pathetic mess of a person that other people don't trust or like.

The overall impression 2.0-2.1 left me with is that Aventurine is perfectly capable of respecting and caring for others, but virtually incapable of accepting other people genuinely respecting and caring for him.

Part of this seems to stem from the directly-stated sense that he's a failure whose only worth is in transactional exchanges, using and being used by others (there's so many layers to this--internalized racism even), but I also suspect that much of his inability to accept genuine connection from others is defensive behavior.

Aventurine's true self, Kakavasha, is deeply hidden away, like the ghost of the child that manifests from his Harmony delusion in the Dreamscape. Although Aventurine clings to that person, claiming that he has "never changed," he actively coats over his beliefs, his kindness, and his authenticity with the mask of a "cavalier gambler," with glitz and glamor and showy distractions. No one gets to see Kakavasha. No one gets to know him, because being buried deep in the dirt is the only way to remain untouchable, and fiercely keeping one's distance is the only safe bet. (For both Kakavasha and any fools who would doom themselves by daring to care for him.)

So: Canon is telling us that Ratio is one of, if not the, closest people in the world to Aventurine. But canon is also telling us that that still means absolutely nothing at all, because Aventurine won't let himself be close to anyone living.

Aventurine's senses of self-worth, trust, attachment, and safety have been warped so badly by ongoing and untreated trauma and mental health issues that, at least until the end of 2.1, I just don't think he was capable of even accepting genuine friendship from Ratio, let alone anything more.

(Interesting side note here: Ratio is actually one of the people Aventurine calls "my friend" the least. He only says it directly to Ratio a single time in all of their lines of dialogue across 2.0 and 2.1, and even then, does so only when right outside Sunday's door, while almost certainly being spied upon by the Family. Anyone who knows how often "my friend" is peppered into Aventurine's dialogue otherwise should know that the absence of the phrase is actually pretty telling. It almost feels like canon Aventurine's not even sure he can call Ratio his friend, at least to Ratio's face.)

Which makes Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine quite sad and ironic:

From start to finish, Ratio canonically esteems Aventurine more highly than almost any other character in the game. I'm not even talking about shipping when I say that there is no character Ratio is closer to in the entire game.

At present, Ratio has only four voice lines about other characters, and of those four, Aventurine's is the only one that isn't someone from the Genius Society. The only one. Ratio's voice lines are also notably, uh, not very complimentary. Herta is "talented but not helpful to others" and "sees no one as her equal" (read as: she's self-absorbed). Screwllum is a "monarch, rather than a genius" (with the vague implications of being a tyrant), and Ruan Mei is overly ambitious and "fooling everyone."

Meanwhile, Aventurine is "our man" (who is "our" Ratio? who?) whose success "can't all be chalked up to luck," implying that part of Aventurine's success must come from skill. Ratio notes that Aventurine questions his own ability... but as far as Ratio's evaluation goes, he seems to doubt that Aventurine will ever experience a downfall. For someone who thinks 99% of the people he meets are mediocre failures scrambling around in the filth of existence, to be recognized as skilled and unlikely to fail is quite obviously glowing praise.

Then, of course, there are numerous moments that echo Aventurine's hints, implying that Ratio spends significantly more time with Aventurine than we see on-screen, that he knows Aventurine extremely well, and, although he tries (vainly) to pretend he isn't, he's clearly quite concerned with what Aventurine thinks of him.

Especially this last one. "No wonder that gambler likes you so much" is pretty intentional on the devs' part, confirming that Ratio and Aventurine are having off-screen conversations we players are not privy to, which obviously would indicate a closer relationship than the in-game cutscenes could cover.

Then, Trailblazer has the option to flat out ask Ratio to "rate" Aventurine. (Star Rail ship bait is not even subtle.)

At first, this line might read as all over the place:

"The bosses say we're partners but I wouldn't say that" -> Read as: Ratio wants people to know how their relationship is classified but doesn't want to admit to being actually invested.

"I see myself as the teacher to everyone I meet" -> Read as: Ratio at least pretends that he doesn't view anyone as his equal; everyone is either above him--geniuses--or below him--students.

"Aventurine is not that bad of a student" -> High praise; even Ratio can't pretend Aventurine's untalented.

"Actually, Aventurine's probably in metaphysical danger" -> Read as: Ratio is aware of the "void" Aventurine is experiencing and his mental struggles.

The ultimate takeaway of Ratio's "rating" actually says more about Ratio than Aventurine. When it comes down to it, Ratio's choice to answer this question for the Trailblazer instead of dismiss it tells us that Ratio has spent time quantifying and trying to define his relationship with Aventurine, is willing to at least discuss that relationship with other people (when we have no evidence he ever discusses any other personal/non-academic matters with anyone), and that Ratio pays attention to Aventurine's mental states.

Canon Ratio is not beating the allegations, I'm afraid.

But actually, I think the biggest tell about Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine is that Ratio's behavior completely changes the moment Aventurine appears in the game.

In every single one of Ratio's other appearances, two facts are hammered home again and again:

First, Ratio hates interacting with fools and "noisy" people. He wears his plaster bust so that he doesn't even have to see them. Canonically, we're informed by both March 7th and Argenti that Ratio brought and was wearing his headpiece in Penacony. Curiously though...

The players never see it throughout 2.X--probably because 90% of Ratio's scenes are with Aventurine, and Ratio is never shown wearing his bust on screen with Aventurine--even in their very first meeting in the Final Victor lightcone. Aventurine clearly knows of the bust, but despite Ratio verbally going on and on about how Aventurine is the most "flashy" and "devoid of logic" person Ratio knows... the devs deliberately send their message: Ratio has chosen not to cut himself off from Aventurine.

Aventurine can be more "clamorous" than a screaming peacock, but Ratio will still not put up walls against him. This isn't accidental. The devs had every opportunity in the world to go the opposite route and make jokes about Ratio refusing to take the bust off in Aventurine's obnoxious presence; instead they decided that Ratio apparently has a glaring, Aventurine-shaped exception to his "I don't want to perceive you fools or be perceived by you" life rule.

This "willing to tolerate shenanigans only if Aventurine is involved" behavior continues basically throughout all of Penacony's plot. In 2.3 for example, if you turn around and talk to Ratio again on the Radiant Feldspar, he flat out says:

But there's no actual explanation for why he's there in the first place. He mentions he was assigned to watch over "the IPC's ambassadors," which theoretically should apply to Jade and Topaz, yet we never see him interacting with them in any capacity. He's never even shown in the same room as Jade or Topaz, and he's not shown doing any other form of business for the IPC on the Feldspar either. Theoretically, he could have been on the Feldspar to meet regarding the Divergent Universe... except Screwllum wasn't there yet, and Ratio doesn't mention a single word about the Divergent Universe to the Trailblazer.

The only person Ratio talks about in his dialogue on the Feldspar is Aventurine, and the only non-Trailblazer he talks to in 2.3 at all is also Aventurine, replying to him and only him in the group chat.

He looked like he might give it a shot to try to befriend Boothill and Argenti at the end of 2.3... but immediately changes his mind and leaves without saying a word to them.

It's not really a stretch to suggest that the only reasonable excuse for Ratio to attend the party on the Feldspar was if he was there for Aventurine, a behavior that he himself notes is out of character. ("A waste of time" he says, as he stands there anyway.)

But, second and even more importantly: Ratio's single most defining character trait is that he believes people need to pick themselves up. The entire point of his debut appearance in the game was to present his philosophy that if the powerful or privileged intervene to continually "save" the mediocre, ordinary people will never learn for themselves or get the chance to grow. It is in times of desperation, he says, that fools exceed their limits and reach greatness.

This is why, in 1.6, he insisted on Asta and the Trailblazer being the ones to solve the attacks happening on the space station, without relying on Screwllum or the other geniuses. Although Ratio did actively intervene a little (using the phase flame to save the researchers from death), he did so only from behind the scenes, where his actual help would not be noticed by those affected and where it had no impact on their decision-making or their struggles to solve the mystery.

He let Asta and the Trailblazer panic. He let them flounder. He even deliberately misled them at points, claiming that Duke Inferno must have kidnapped the researchers (when it was actually Ratio himself who re-routed them).

Ultimately, Ratio let Asta and the Trailblazer grow from their experiences.

This is also why he lets the Trailblazer go blazing in to fight Ruan Mei's faux emanator of the propagation, despite knowing that Trailblazer was not actually strong enough to win. Ratio watched and was ready to intervene... but in the end he did not, because it was the Trailblazer's fight to lose.

Ratio's most defining character trait is that he believes standing back and observing is the true kindness, rather than inserting oneself and denying people their autonomy or opportunities to grow.

Buttttt... then there's Aventurine, and suddenly the story is completely different.

Suddenly, Ratio isn't an observer but becomes essential to the plan. He's even walking around making big claims about being the manager of the task, flexing all of his C+ acting ability to actively carry out their mutual ploy.

In 2.3, he claims he was just there to watch, and his Penacony sticker asserts he's only "a supporting character"--yet we have never seen Ratio take a more active role in the entire game. Unlike with the Trailblazer in 1.6, he's not primarily watching events unfold from shadowy corners. He's in Penacony as Aventurine's active partner in crime.

And, even more telling--he later jeopardizes their entire mission just to ask if Aventurine needs help.

What? Huh? The character who is famous for the voice line "You look distressed. Is something troubling you? If so, you can figure it out for yourself" is suddenly offering his assistance entirely unprompted?

The guy whose motto might as well be:

Is suddenly out here throwing his own core philosophy out the window to solve Penacony's mystery for Aventurine and save him from himself in Aventurine's hour of greatest need?

A lot of people get hung up on the second half of Ratio's letter, the part about staying alive, which of course is very sweet. But I think the second half causes people to forget that the first part of Ratio's letter is, quite literally, the answer to Penacony's mystery.

Ratio gave Aventurine the answer.

This is like if your professor just gave you and you alone the score key to the final exam and then turned around to insist he "doesn't play favorites."

Of course, Aventurine is brilliant and didn't need Ratio's answer about dormancy, which makes the fact that Ratio went out of the way to give it to him even more odd. Ratio despises unnecessary repetition. If he wasn't dead worried, he would never have given Aventurine an answer that Aventurine had the power to find on his own.

And, as far as canon tells us, Ratio has never done this for anyone else.

The difference is night and day. It's literally the Gordon Ramsay meme, with everyone else in the entire game being the "fucking donkeys" to Aventurine's "Oh dear. Gorgeous."

So: Even if we entirely put aside shipping, if we look strictly at what we're given in canon:

Ratio treats Aventurine with more respect than he treats most other characters in the game.

He involves himself in Aventurine's struggles in a way that he flat out refuses to do for anyone else.

He compromises his own beliefs purely out of concern for Aventurine.

So, at least as far as we've been shown in canon, it is accurate to state that Aventurine is the closest character to Ratio--and unlike Aventurine (king of self-gaslighting), Ratio isn't even good at acting like he doesn't care.

Frankly, the whole thing is a little sad. Ratio's behavior is so blatantly out of character that a smart person like Aventurine should easily be able to determine it is genuine, but Aventurine's personal hang-ups and ongoing trauma make it difficult for him to even see that authenticity, let alone put faith in it. Even in canon, Ratio is mostly unable to help himself when it comes to Aventurine, which is especially unfortunate given how badly skewed Aventurine's perception of himself and others is by the start of Penacony's story.

PHEW! I finally made it through canon content!

Now there's just... everything else... 🫠

Well, to be honest, I don't think I could ever manage to put all my thoughts about this ship into one post. Probably not even fifty posts.

So rather than trying to say everything there is to say about Ratiorine, what I want to focus on is how fantastically these two characters just fit together. Like puzzle pieces that need to be mirror opposites in order to link, these two characters parallel each other while also perfectly filling in each other's voids. It's some of the best character pair writing I've seen in a long time (though I'm still sort of convinced it was at least 50% sheer luck on Hoyo's part), and my perspective on their ship can really be tied to my underlying perception of Ratio and Aventurine's characters as remarkably similar individuals:

It's obvious that Aventurine is not a healthy or well-adjusted adult man, but like... neither is Ratio.

Both of these characters are "not quite right" marginalized people who, at least in my interpretation, have essentially given up on even faking normality and are now just vaguely play acting their way through being functioning members of a universe that is entirely unequipped to accept them for who they are. In a world full of cyborg cowboys and people with wings growing from their heads, the game still manages to somehow convince us that Aventurine and Ratio are odd ones out.

Kakavasha can't even exist in the dystopian capitalist hellscape of the IPC's machinations. "Aventurine" isn't even a real person, just a never-ending performance, a slick, devil-may-care persona without a single ounce of substance.

Ratio, meanwhile, is a world of one, rejected from the only place he thought he could find validation and acceptance but unable to lower himself to fit in anywhere else.

Aventurine is so bad at making genuine connections that he turns everyday conversations into gambles because he doesn't believe people will care enough to keep talking to him without tangible incentive.

Ratio's insistence on treating everyone as students, not as equals, also means he has an excuse to never emotionally engage with anyone he meets. (This is not at all a textbook method of intentional avoidance to prevent any chance of social rejection. Not at all.)

At the end of the day, Aventurine and Ratio both come across as desperately lonely, and so caught up in their own situations that they really don't have the ability to climb out of that hole on their own.

Preventing them from even being able to maintain any form of relationship is also the fact that neither one of them can even find justification. Neither one of them has a reasonable answer to the question "Why am I alive?" anymore, because Aventurine's reason died on Sigonia and Ratio's reason died with an IPC invitation instead of a Genius Society letter. Though their differing perspectives have led them on opposite paths pursuing their own answers to that ultimate question of "Why should I keep living?" (Aventurine was headed toward giving up before the end of Penacony, while Ratio has invented an immeasurable, impossible goal to distract himself from feeling purposeless), both of them are pretty much miserably unfulfilled in their current lives.

They're also both violently allergic to emotional vulnerability and to having any of their flaws or true desires actually be perceived. Both of them put up insanely high walls. Aventurine pushes boundaries with everyone he meets to provoke their hatred in advance, before they can come to disdain him for his "real" flaws. He acts out harmful racist stereotypes to use others' preconceptions for advantage, manipulating every situation he's in--incidentally affirming the stereotypes against his people by doing so.

Ratio puts a physical wall of plaster between himself and others, but the plaster bust actually doesn't have anything on the mental and emotional gymnastics he's engaged in to justify his isolation from the world, doing everything in his power to convince himself that he's isolated by choice, that it's perfectly logical for Veritas Ratio to have nowhere to truly belong, no one to truly belong with. He's so mundane after all. Of course the geniuses don't want him, that's just commonsense. But everyone else is so... different, so foolish, so illogical... It just wouldn't be reasonable of him to try to become one of them either, to be their friend instead of their distant educator. (You know, if you never try to integrate with others, then they can't reject you. Ratio has learned his lesson.)

Somehow, Aventurine and Ratio are two of the most competent and successful people in Star Rail's entire universe and simultaneously also two of the most misfit, reject, dysfunctional messes in the game. Like... Blade has a better support network than Aventurine and Ratio combined. The 7000-pound murderous mech with a disabled, genetically-modified war veteran who never got to live a normal human life hiding inside it is more capable of making friends than Aventurine and Dr. Ratio.

Which is why I love that the devs decided to make their canon backstory: "Some absolute treasures in the IPC and the Intelligentsia Guild had the galaxy-brained idea of pairing Ratio and Aventurine as strategic partners." The game's writing really said: "These two characters are so socially stunted, they have to be assigned a relationship like it's homework."

They may not have it all figured out yet, but the fans see the design: Now that Ratio and Aventurine have each other, they're not alone anymore. I have never seen two characters better fit the "Is anyone going to match my freak?" meme only for the actual answer to be "Yes."

Ratio is "plays chess with himself" levels of loner weird? No problem--Aventurine is "Wanna take bets on who's going to die today?" weirder. Ratio wears a plaster bust to ward off idiots? Aventurine transforms into a monster on command, which is pretty much guaranteed to achieve the same effect.

Ratio wasn't chosen by Nous? That's fine, Aventurine's one job as a "chosen one" was to save his people and now they're all dead. Nobody can keep up with Ratio in conversation? Watch a single comment from Aventurine turn him into a fumbling mess on live television.

Ratio's inability to relate to the experiences and development of any peers his own age have left him extremely isolated and with a permanently scarred sense of self-worth? Wow, I wonder if Aventurine knows exactly what that feels like.

They just... fit.

And, changing focus a little here at the end: While I personally think that recovery from trauma requires internal motivation and self-kindness foremost, I also think that Ratio and Aventurine's relationship should be considered from the perspective of how they help to fill each other's gaps.

Unlike any connection at the Genius Society who will always evoke unpleasant memories of Nous's rejection, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel intellectually inferior. Aventurine has nothing but good things to say about Ratio's intelligence, and it's even apparent that Ratio felt comfortable enough to at least mention his Genius Society woes to Aventurine, something he explicitly does not do with anyone else.

Even when it comes to social interactions, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel inadequate, because honestly? Aventurine's almost as bad at them as Ratio. Aventurine is much better at faking it socially, but when it actually counts? When he's trying to be real with others? A solid 70% of the people who meet Aventurine still end up wanting to strangle him. The guy tried to apologize for threatening to detonate the Trailblazer like a bomb by buying them a model train...

Then there's this:

Aventurine is the only character explicitly called Ratio's equal in game, and more than just treating him respectfully as an equal, Aventurine also exhibits one extreme appeal that no one else in game has ever shown to Ratio: Aventurine makes Ratio feel needed. For Aventurine, Ratio is not a forgettable after-thought as he is to Herta and most of the other geniuses. He's not just "some weird guy who scolds me about school" like he is to the Trailblazer. Ratio's intellect and skill were integral to Aventurine's plan from step one to the very end. Ratio has a place in Aventurine's plots. For a character who directly assesses worth by how beneficial a person can be to others, the fact that Aventurine can make Ratio feel wanted and valued probably produced some of the strongest personal fulfillment Ratio has had in years.

On the opposite side, Ratio's in a unique position. Out of every relevant character in Aventurine's story, Ratio is the only one who has nothing to lose by choosing Kakavasha over "Aventurine." Ratio doesn't profit off Aventurine or take any expensive gifts from him, like the Trailblazer does. He doesn't need Aventurine's luck for anything at all. He'd be able to work for the IPC even if Aventurine wasn't in it. Ratio certainly doesn't want the glitz and glamour of a shallow gambling hustler persona. His work doesn't require Aventurine's continued involvement like Topaz's and Jade's does. He'd probably prefer not to know any Stonehearts at all, thank you for asking.

Outside of deliberate-acting insults about Sigonians for Sunday's sake, we're not told that Ratio has any connections to--and therefore has no preconceived biases against--Sigonians. Being a person who values self-determination and a refusal to live in mediocrity above all else, he would have nothing but esteem for how far Aventurine has managed to come despite the harsh circumstances of his life. Ratio probably wouldn't even think Aventurine's belief in Gaiathra is that strange; one of Ratio's doctorates is actually in theology.

Unlike literally everyone else in the universe who needs "Aventurine," we have every indication that Ratio's respect and admiration will only grow when he finally gets to meet "Kakavasha."

Loneliness, rejection, betrayal, a lack of understanding from others--all of these can leave wounds that only genuine, deep bonds with others can heal.

On death's doorway, in the darkest shadow, when Aventurine had to make the choice between passing on to be with the family that loved him and choosing to return to a reality without them... Ratio's letter was there, telling Aventurine the exact thing he needed to hear to choose life: Someone is waiting for you to come home.

If the resounding rejection of Star Rail's Nihility is belief in humanity's power to make meaning in our own lives through our connections to others, then the ultimate message of Ratio and Aventurine's arc in Penacony is that no one needs to be alone. The world is not as empty as you fear.

And that is a message that Ratio and Aventurine can learn best through each other.

(I just... love them so much...)

[theemporium]

this is a wee blurb because I keep seeing that orange peel theory video with the shitty boyfriend and I just know my boys wouldn’t be the same! and it’s a wee post exam/hiatus treat so enjoy!🫶🏽

series masterlist

.

“Baby?”

Charles let out a hum, tearing his eyes away from his laptop to where you were sitting by the kitchen counter. From his angle on the couch, he couldn’t see the way you had set your phone up against a pile of aimless files and data you had been reading over. Nor had he realised the way you were trying to hold back your smiles.

“I really feel like an orange,” you continued once you had his attention.

His brows furrowed together as he perked up a bit. “Oh, do we not have any more? I thought we bought some the other day.”

“No, we do,” you said with a wistful sigh as you reached over to the fruit bowl to grab an orange. “But…”

Charles frowned a little as he moved to stand up. He still didn’t seem to notice your phone, his eyes and attention fully on you. He made his way towards the counter, leaning over the other side as he noted the way you looked down at the orange.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He murmured, his voice sweet and soft.

You turned to him, holding the orange in one hand. “Peel it for me?”

Charles looked down at the orange before his face broke out into a grin as he took the orange from you. He didn’t even hesitate as he began to peel it, his fingers working aimlessly before the fruit was peeled completely. With a proud look on his face, he handed you the orange.

“You didn’t even question why I asked you,” you mused as you took it from him, not hesitating to tear the orange in half before handing him a piece.

“You asked me so I did it,” he said with a shrug before popping a piece of orange in his mouth. “Why is that so shocking?”

You shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“If I ask you to peel an orange, would you peel it for me?” He asked, a cheeky smile on his face almost like he expected you to scoff and roll your eyes.

“I would,” you replied with a soft smile, and his expression brightened.

“Oh,” Charles grinned. “So we both passed?”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“The test,” he said like that explained everything. “The orange one. We both passed, right?”

“I—” Your lips parted as you stared at him in shock. “You knew?”

Charles giggled as he rounded the counter, his arms winding around your waist. “Of course I do, baby, I saw it on TikTok weeks ago.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

He snorted as he leaned down, pecking the corner of your mouth before placing a kiss on your lips too. “Max is rubbing off on you too much, you should actually watch the things I send you,” he muttered, amused.

“I do,” you replied weakly, but you both grinned in response.

“I’ll peel as many oranges as you need me to peel,” he murmured against your lips, enjoying the way your cheeks heated beneath his touch.

“That could be a lot of oranges,” you replied, though you’d come to enjoy the way Charles made your heart pound.

“They’d be worth it for you, amor,” he stated simply in response before leaning down to kiss you again, the bittersweet taste of oranges on both your tongues.

.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Thanks for the ticket Author's Notes: okay so the next four are kinda like fun (nothing fun about them really) one shots. They are building up to something... Warnings: MDNI, Angst

Kyle feels horrible for what's happening. He sees the confusion all over your face. He can see yourself questioning your abilities, your self-worth. He hates it. He hates that the team is hurting you. That he's hurting you.

But, to his relief, it seemed like the tension between the guys eased up a bit after that last mission. Maybe the rest of them got over their little crush on you. If the competition was over, then that meant the problem was over. If no one else wanted you (which the sergeant thought was dumb on their parts), then no one should have a problem when he swoops in.

So after a week of scouting all over the internet, Kyle managed to get two tickets to that concert you've been wanting to go. You had vented to Gaz when you weren't able to get tickets for your favorite artist. He remembers comforting you and even listening to a few songs with you. But now, instead of listening to music in his office, you and him were going to listen to that artist live... tonight.

Kyle's heart was racing as y’all’s tickets sat on his screen. As badly as he wanted to rush in to your office and show you himself, he decided to be discreet about it. He was pretty sure that the rest of the guys were over their little infatuation with you, but just in case, he decides to email them to you. Maybe, you'll let out a little scream, rush into his office, and ask him if they're what you think they are.

As he hovers over your email in the dropdown bar, he feels butterflies in his stomach. This was his way in. This was his way to make things right and maybe the first step in wooing you.

However, before he can click your name, he hears someone call his name. It's Price and he’s getting closer and closer to this office. Kyle fumbles over his mouse, clicking things, frantically trying to hide the tickets. As they fly off his screen, Price appears at his doorway, letting him know that the intel meeting was about to start.

The meeting starts and Gaz is simmering in anticipation. He decides that after the meeting, he'll go up to you and show you the tickets on his phone. He didn't care if the rest of the guys saw. So what if Soap whines or Price complains later? What if Ghost... wait... why was Ghost staring at him?

Gaz looks over and sees his Lieutenant glaring at him. Kyle nods his head towards him, asking what’s his deal. Ghost pulls out his phone and types on it. Within seconds, Gaz feels his own phone buzz. Curious, Kyle reads his Lieutenant's message and his stomach sinks.

Ghost: Really think you can just get the upper hand on us like that?

Kyle rushes to his emails and realizes his mistake. He accidentally sent the tickets to Ghost. He looks back at Ghost. Ghost’s stare doesn’t waver. This motherfucker was trying to intimidate him. Gaz couldn’t believe it. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Gaz wasn’t going to let Ghost get under his skin.

As the meeting comes to a close, you see Kyle shoot up from his seat. He must have something pressing to do. You feel your heart race when he starts walking toward you. You try to suppress your excitement. He probably just needs some report from you or something. You see Gaz open his mouth but before he can speak, Ghost calls his name.

"Gaz, thanks for the tickets. Real excited for the concert tonight," he booms out. Soap and Price continue packing, not paying much attention to the conversation that was happening. You, however, are now tuned in.

"Oo, that's fun. What concert are you going to?" you ask. They never ask what you were doing as of lately, but maybe they will if you sparked the conversation up first.

"I actually don't know. Gaz just invited me," Ghost lies. "Who are we going to see, Kyle?" Ghost turns to the sergeant, taunting him.

Gaz knew exactly what Ghost was doing. There were two options here, either Kyle concedes and lets Ghost win or he tells Ghost to fuck off and whisks you off your feet. He glares at Ghost, set on following through on his plan before turning to you.

However, when he sees your curious eyes, he remembers what's at risk. Ghost isn't going to go down without a fight. If Kyle starts, the infighting will start up again, meaning that you'd be gone the minute Price catches a whiff of it.

You see Kyle waver a bit before he says the name of your favorite artist. You're in disbelief. You didn't think Gaz even listened to them like that. Fuck, you showed them to him a few weeks ago when you complained to him about not getting tickets. But now here he was with tickets, taking Ghost to see your favorite artist. Sure he didn’t have to take you but you literally shared with him how much this artist meant to you. He listened to you, comforted you, and reassured you that one day it’ll happen.

Kyle doesn't miss the betrayal that flashes before your eyes or the way your smile wobbles.

"Oh," you let out, "I hope you guys have fun." You leave the room, your chest stinging with betrayal.

That night, when Ghost drags Kyle to the concert, Kyle's throat tightens when your favorite song starts to play.

Word Count: 927

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[lov3rmir]

LOVE SIGN !

CONTENT INVOLVE

✦ — summary: domestic moment with genshin men. al-haitham / kinich / neuvillette. ✦ — cw: mention of injuries (kinich) ⁞ suggestive (neuvillette) ⁞ ajaw being an opp ⁞ mentions of intimacy but nothing nsfw (neuvillette) ⁞ 1.3k wc ⁞ just testing some layouts ⁞ not proof read we die like tingyun ⁞ a ref to a manhwa (neuvillette).

AL-HAITHAM — SLEEPING IN.

The morning’s sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains. Two sleeping figures were tangled in a mess of blankets. 

Al-haitham’s arms encircled around your waist, pressing your back further in his chest. Soft snores coming off you as he sleepily admires you. Your eyelashes resting on your cheeks, fluttering just the slightest as you begin to awake. 

He only continues to stare, his eyes often glancing down at your lips. He leans in closer, until your lips ghostly touch his. He presses a kiss in the corner of your lips, moving up to your cheeks. All while you stir and struggle to wake up. 

“G’morning love”, he whispers against your skin. His hands kneading at your hips, drawing odd shapes and pinching you when you start to fall back asleep. 

You groan, shifting to face him. He lets you, loosening his grips until you comfortably hide yourself in the crook of his collarbone. “Mornin’...” you groggily greet. Your own hands pushing him back into you. He was comfortable.

Al-haitham chuckles, adoring you even more. “You’re adorable.” 

You enjoy these moments. 

Moments where you get to experience the softer side of Al-haitham. The side which only you are privileged to see. Contrary to the usual snarky remarks his mouth breathes, soft words laced with un-denying love and affections spill out whenever you are in the privacy of your home.

You hum, almost melting into him. 

Until he ruined the moment, “You need to get up, you have work, remember?”

“Al-haitham!! Who cares, I’ll call in sick and spend the day with you in bed.”

“Seems like a good plan.”

Even though he will never admit it, Al-haitham loves moments like these. Maybe skipping work is worth it if it means he gets to hold you more.

KINICH — COOKING TOGETHER.

“Ingredients?” hands on your hips, you smiled at Kinich. 

“There.” He jabbed his thumb towards the row of ingredients.  “Did you go blind when you woke up?” Always the extra comment with Ajaw.

“Aprons?” Ignoring the flying pixels, you continued on with your checklist. Kinich looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the ‘Kiss the cook’ apron you were currently wearing. “Check.” 

“No it’s not! You aren’t wearing yours!” turning around you reached for the bright pink apron resting on the counter. And just as you walked closer to Kinich, the latter took a step back. This continued on until he was back to back with the wall. 

An obvious displeased expression could be seen. He eyed the apron as though it just killed his family. “No.” 

“Come on, it'll be funny! ” you pushed the apron on his face. Giving him your best convincing smile. “Pretty please?” batting your eyelashes at him, trying to muster up a kicked-puppy look that will push him to wear the apron. 

Kinich groaned as he took the apron from your hands, looking between it and your pleading eyes. And with a defeated sigh, he put it on. 

You had to admit it clashed on him. Suppressing your laugh, you regretted not bringing a kamera to capture the moment. 

“Simp!” Ajaw wheezed at the sight of Kinich's serious face clashing with the bright pink apron. His pixelated body was twirling as he couldn't stop the laughs from escaping him. “You look so dumb! Maybe you should add a frilly hat and say in a cutesy tone ‘of course master!’ C’mon say it with me! Of course mas—” Ajaw didn’t have the time to finish his sentence before he was shoved into the oven, Kinich turning on the heat.

“Hey wait, you aren’t actually going to cook him?”

Kinich only stared dead in the eye, “I always wanted to taste dragon's meat. Do you think it will have a trash type of taste? Considering this dragon I won’t be surprised.” 

With no hesitation, Kinich slowly turned up the heat in the oven. “You ungrateful scum! How dare you do this to your almighty dragon! Hey– Kinich! Let me out, it’s getting hotter!” 

The distress calls were muffled, but you could hear Ajaw clearly. (with his normal volume, you bet you could still hear him even from miles away.) Exasperated, you sighed. Placing your hands on Kinich’s shoulder, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, let him out, I’m sure he learned his lesson.” 

“Another.” he muttered, “Huh?” What did he want? More of what?. “Another kiss and I’ll let him out.” blinking twice, a giggle erupted. You held his face in your hands, bringing him closer to you. Your lips finally on his. Kinich savored the moment. Ignoring the distant cries of the annoying pixel.

He already turned off the oven, it’s fine if you stayed like this for a while. No?

NEUVILLETTE — BATHING & GOSSIP.

The Ludex has many duties. Some leave him with a heavy burden to carry. Many times has the Ludex questioned the very foundation of justice. Many times Neuvillette wished the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale would deliver a different judgment. 

Neuvillette was convinced if he didn’t have you by his side, archons knew how crazy he would have turned. 

But he had you. He had you to sooth his cries in the midst of the night, he had your sweet voice whispering words of love— lulling him back to sleep. Neuvillette had you to anchor him. And he will forever be grateful to have met you.

Another way you used to relax him, was coaxing him into taking a bath together. 

He had been intimate with you many times. But somehow, taking a bath with you felt more. . .emotional. 

Not the sexual intimacy you often experienced whenever the mood was right, no. This was more.

And his belief was reinforced as your fingers combs through his hair. Shampoo being gently massaged on his scalp. The Hydro dragon caught himself falling asleep too much he had lost count. 

But could anyone blame him? Neuvillette was smitten by you.

“Enjoying yourself, handsome?” Has he mentioned how sweet your voice was? Neuvillette feels as though he mentioned it too little. Leaning into your touch, the man hummed, “I would die before I ever not enjoy your touch my love.” 

“Ever the charmer, maybe you could give a few tips to Maxwell.” you giggled, recounting about Maxwell who sucked at flirting with his crush. Neuvillette could recite every rumor that circled around in society in the past months. 

You always kept him updated, sometimes barging in his office during working hours (he never minds. He actually thanked you for giving him a breathing moment to forget about all the paperwork and trials.) retelling how you overheard a couple recently broke up due to one of the partners cheating and taking all the money their partner gained through hard labor.

(“You might want to expect a case about this! And promise me when you do, give me ALL the details!”) 

Neuvillette finds himself indulging your little hobby. Giving you small details from cases and moments during trials. 

(“About the cheating scandal from last week, apparently the one he cheated on with was the step-sister of his girlfriend. And what more, the step-mother was the one behind the money stealing.”

“No way!! Poor girl, I hope she is better now..”

“Oh she is. I checked up on her earlier this week and she had found a better man. Black hair and red eyes. As for her family and partner, the step-sister is currently working as a maid and the step-mother was charged with murder of her deceased husband and attempted murder of her step-daughter. ”

“Gasp! Oh you have to tell me everything that went down!”)

Neuvillette was content with indulging you, but he was happier to listen to your sweet voice. 

“Love, could you tell me more about your day? Or just anything will do. I would like to hear your voice more.” you chuckled quickly agreeing and going on a tangent. 

The Ludex was lucky to have you. 

©— lov3rmir. 2024

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next (Intermission) / Beginning

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [Before I knew it, Vanessa began to carve out a space in my life. It was such a comforting, familiar feeling, as if the space for her was already there. All she had to do was fill the void she had left behind]

Malcolm: Hey Auntie V, are you coming to our Christmas Eve party?

Jonathan: Yeah! You should come! We have all the good desserts and daddy let’s us open one gift each too.

Malcolm: Well, I open two when everyone goes to bed!

Vanessa: Sounds like a bitchin’ good time. I’m in.

Nancy Narrates: [I was beginning to feel there weren’t enough hours in the day to spend alone together. There wasn’t enough time to learn all the ways she’s changed, all those intimate little details I craved to know. Apart of me still feared she would leave me again. Maybe that’s why I craved more of her]

Nancy: I want to build you a home right here, in Brindleton Bay. I’d like you to be close to me- to the boys. They’ve taken a liking to you.

Vanessa: [smiles] Oh, just the boys, huh?

Nancy: [blushes] I could start right away. I can even make sure you have a little reading nook. Do you still like to read?

Vanessa: I do. I’ll need a big ass closet for my heels alone.

Nancy: Anything you like.

Jonathan: Mom! Auntie V! Are you watching? Mom!

Nancy: Yes, I’m watching!

Vanessa: A large kitchen with a window view of the ocean.

Nancy: A spacious backyard, for a garden.

Vanessa: A big, deep bathtub to soak in, with a view of the bedroom, of the bed.

Vanessa: You could visit me. Come and go as you please.

Nancy: Well. I’m sure you’d have...suitors there. Women...

Vanessa: In the house you built for me? You better be the only woman I see there.

Bob: [chuckles] Those two, am I right? Some things never change.

Geoffrey: Yeah. It’s like stepping into a time machine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that close to anyone before. She’s been happier lately.

Bob: Like I’ve said, female friendships are intense. Hey, you uh, ever talked to her about what you told me?

Geoffrey: I never really had the time. She’s always off somewhere with Vanessa, or Vanessa is always there. Maybe it’s not worth mentioning.. it’s not like I ever saw it again.

Bob: It get it, it’s a tough conversation. Just don’t let it sit and rot, you know?

Geoffrey: Right..

-

[collective chatter]

[collective chatter]

Nancy Narrates: [I hate that it bothered me; the thought of her with other women. She’s single. She’s beautiful. Of course she has. I’m sure she will continue to]

Nancy Narrates: [Why does it matter anyway? We are just friends, after all]

Eliza: [chuckles] Why are you out of breath?

Geoffrey: I’ve been chasing after the boys all night. The photographer is here to get a family photo for the Foundation’s newsletter. Haven’t seen Nancy either.

Bob: 100 bucks she’s wherever Vanessa’s at.

Geoffrey: Yeah, I figured as much. Haven’t seen Vanessa either.

Bob: Probably wherever Nancy’s at [laughs].

Eliza: Bobby, please. Ignore him Geoffrey, it’s the eggnog. I’m pretty sure I saw Nancy go into the barroom.

Vanessa: [tsks softly] You’re not hiding from me, are you?

Nancy: No, of course not.

Nancy: Sipping champagne wasn’t hard enough. I guess I wanted to think about something else other than the other questions I want to ask you.

Vanessa: Hmm, I thought I answered them all. Like what?

Nancy: What do you do for work that makes you travel so often? You still haven’t told me.

Vanessa: It’s nothing to rave about, really. Boring stuff. Besides, is that what you really want to know?

Nancy: What’s in that little box you’re holding? I was hoping our no gift rule had no expiration date.

Vanessa: I never got a chance to get you gift back then, so you owe me this. Besides, you’ll like this one.

Nancy: [laughs] A brooch? You actually got me a brooch?

Vanessa: [giggles] What? It was ‘really, really expensive’.

Nancy: This is the world’s longest joke, you know that?

Vanessa: If there’s one thing I’ll do, it’s commit to the bit. Now stop wiggling or I’ll poke you. Do you like it?

Nancy: I love it. Thank you.

Vanessa: It looks good on you. I had it custom made, just for you.

Vanessa: Emeralds, like the color of your eyes.

Nancy: [inhales sharply]

Nancy: Have you been with other women?

Vanessa: A few. Have you?

Nancy: O-of course not..

Vanessa: [hums thoughtfully]

Vanessa: Don’t be mad at me for saying but, I’ve thought of you when I was with them. I guess I do have a thing for blondes.

Nancy: [trembles]

Vanessa: Hey. Today’s our anniversary. Our first kiss? It happened on Christmas Eve. Do you remember?

Nancy: ...Yes. Yes, I remember.

Vanessa: [sighs softly]

[both panting heavily]

[door creaks open]

Nancy: [voice cracks] Y-yes?

Geoffrey: The photographer is here.

Nancy: [clears throat] Right.

[silence]

Vanessa: I should get going.

Nancy: What? No, you don’t have to spend the holiday alone.

Vanessa: I’ll be alright. Besides, what’s another year?

Nancy: [murmurs] I can come with you. I can grab my purse and-

Vanessa: [smirks] It’s fine, Nancy. Enjoy your party. Enjoy your family. There’s always tomorrow. I promise.

Geoffrey: It’s uh, it’s nice having Vanessa around, isn’t it?

Nancy: [smiles weakly] Yes. Yes, it is. Would you like a drink? I think I’ll need two before dealing with the press.

Geoffrey: Sure. Yeah. A drink is nice.

[jolalibrary]

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

♥︎Pick a picture: 🍊🧡Channeled letter from your person🧡🍊

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🧡If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🧡

🍊Masterlist🍊

🍨Pile 1:

"Hello, dear, I hope you are doing well. I am actually feeling a little more cheerful today, although there is always a void without your company. It is amazing how our moods can vary, don't you think? I woke up this morning with a smile, perhaps influenced by the beautiful weather around us. You know how much we love to enjoy the sunshine, the flowers that bloom; today is one of those days that seems straight out of a dream. I would love for you to be here by my side, because your presence transforms everything around me. Life feels more bearable and joyful when you are with me, and that is something I value immensely. I want you to know how important you are to me; sometimes words fail to express the depth of my feelings, but I love you more than you can imagine.

Although there are those who fail to see how wonderful you are, I am lucky to know your true worth. Always listen to your heart and trust your intuition, because it will lead you to what really matters in life. Remember that I will always be here to support you in every step you take.

I love you with all my being..."

🍎Pile 2:

"Hi, I hope you are well. I am sure you are, because you have always been the brightest one in our relationship ;). I want you to know how proud I am of everything you have achieved so far. Sometimes, it can be difficult to see our own successes, especially when we face challenges, but you have overcome so many barriers that this little stumble should not discourage you at all.

It is important to remain confident in yourself and that you never forget how valuable you are. You do not need to depend on anyone or anything to achieve your dreams, and time should not be a source of anxiety. Take the time you need to reflect and move forward at your own pace. Remember that one mistake does not define your path, and it is essential that you enjoy every step of the process.

Take care of yourself and see you soon... will always be here to support you and remind you how amazing you are. I love you with all my heart and I wish you to continue to shine with all your light. Your ability to overcome obstacles and move forward is admirable, and I am here to accompany you every step of your journey.

Your person..."

🫐Pile 3:

"Hello again! Sometimes, in those moments when you seem to not notice me, I am the one who sends you signals. I know it may sound strange, but I want you to know that I am here to support you on your path throughout this life. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will not hesitate to do so, because your well-being is very important to me.

Do not worry, I am working so that we can meet soon, and I know that you are also looking forward to it. What you have achieved in your healing process is truly admirable. Putting your needs before those of others, even if it is a challenge, is a great step that you have taken. I am very proud of you for having made that decision, as it shows a strength and self-love that are essential for personal growth.

You may not believe it, but it is those small changes and achievements that bring us closer and closer to truly knowing ourselves. I'm sure you can feel my presence around you, can't you? I want you to know that I appreciate you deeply and I'm looking forward to the moment when we can see each other.

Take care of yourself and see you soon..."

🧡🍊Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated 🍊🧡

[evagaetinosgirl]

not over, never over | a.putellas x reader

summary: you and alexia broke up but that doesn't mean everything is over.

author notes: sorry to the blonde british woman fans 💔 alexia won so i had to pull this out. i actually been wanting to write smt for alexia for so long! hope you guys enjoy this 😋

contains: ex!alexia x reader, no toxicity just pure misunderstanding and love in these parts, angst but it's worth it, from lovers to exes to lovers trope, lesbians lesbian-ing, badly translated spanish sorry spanish speaking community 🗣️, inspiration is lyssa & dijonai look at wnba lesbian drama influencing people outside of the league, slow build up.. just vibe

playing let em' know by bryson tiller 🎵

"if that's how you really feel then i'm done!" is the last thing you said to alexia before leaving her apartment. not only her apartment, but the three year long relationship that has been a stable figure in your life since it started. you aren't even sure how the argument that led up to the break-up even started; alexia and you ended up in her apartment after a intense training session. she was irritated, you were irritated. all it took was one wrong move where you complained that there was a lack of warm water after alexia's shower and you two were suddenly spilling out all of the problems going on in-between you two.

how sometimes the spaniard doesn't communicate in the healthiest way, opting to hold everything in until her emotions explode. how you overthink about every little action she does which leads to you misreading the situation and being distant towards her. it was both of yours faults but at the same time no body's fault. everything just happened at the wrong time, on the wrong day, in the wrong moment and the end result is a break-up that neither of you wanted but both of you refuse to take back.

the first few days without alexia feels like pure hell. going into practice and seeing her face everyday is not helping your emotional state. you want to be angry with her but at the same time you feel so apologetic that you can't bring yourself to entirely blame her for the break-up. she may have started the argument, but you continued it and was the one to end it in such a castophic way so you were also apart of the problem.

the other barcelona girls don't notice right away what happened. alexia and you would act friendly with eachother, a little avoidant but friendly. at the end of the day, when you two are on the pitch, feelings need to be pushed aside and football needs to take priority. she's still professional and you are too but there is a sense of distance that even others soon notice.

mapi is the first to say something about it. alexia is over mapi and ingrid's shared apartment, laying on her couch while watching some old euros matches. rewatching the euros from last year before the tournament for this year happens is a tradition mapi and alexia pride themselves on. however, there is a bit of sadness hanging over the usually fun hangout.

"is spain losing again or what? you have hardly smiled since you got here," the tattooed woman says, coming out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. she makes alexia adjust so that she can also sit down on the couch. the way alexia takes a short moment to reply is already worrying mapi.

"what? no, i.." alexia shakes her head before glancing at her friend. she doesn't know what excuse to use; should she just say she doesn't feel well or say it's a family issue? neither would do, mapi can read alexia like the back of her hand. the only person mapi knows better is ingrid which is expected.

before alexia can say anything else, mapi places her free hand on the older woman's shoulder. a knowing smile on her lips as she looks at alexia. there is of course the constant warmth that mapi brings around with her everywhere, in everything. that warmth makes alexia perk up a little. mapi is her bestfriend; venting to her wouldn't be so bad. it wouldn't be bad at all. mapi is not the type to judge, anyone can see that based off her tattoos alone.

"is it about y/n? the last time i saw you two leave practice together was nearly a week ago and that's a long time for you two," mapi says gently, knowing how alexia sometimes needs coaxing to speak her mind.

it's something about hearing your name and mapi's tone and just being near her bestfriend that makes alexia blurt out, "she broke up with me!"

immediately she quietens down, hopefully none of mapi's neighbors cared about or heard that little outburst.

"i mean.. we had an argument then she left my apartment. she said she's done," the blonde sighs. letting out a small laugh at how mapi shifts to pull her into a hug. she accepts it easily, there's no point of rejecting it when mapi already knows what's wrong.

"it's okay, alexia. well.. it's not okay but you know what i mean," mapi says, "sabes que ella te ama."

"por supuesto que lo sé," alexia pulls away from the embrace. she lets out a tired sigh, leaning back into the couch to match the exhaustion in her mind. she could play practice for hours on end without feeling tired but days without you leaves her feeling aimless. three straight years of having you for herself and now you're gone, in that way at least.

"but still she said she's done. i feel horrible for how quick i was to lash out at her.." alexia continues to tell mapi about what happened. how the littlest thing set her off and she just couldn't stop. the argument wasn't even about the shower, alexia had been pent up with emotions for a long while that day. they all just spilled out the moment a tiny conflict happened. the remorse in the blonde is obvious just by her words, but it's not just her tone or what she says. alexia's whole body looks defeated like when she loses a big game.

it's a sorry sight truly. mapi gives her opinion once alexia is finished. saying, "just sounds like you need to communicate better. i think you can work it out with her. muéstrale que lo que pasó fue un error. uno del que te arrepientes."

alexia glances at mapi before looking at the tv screen across from them. the match is nearly over, with spain still losing. she can't even focus on how her nation's men team is being absolute shit when everytime she closes her eyelids, she sees your face. she sees the hurt expression you had when she snapped at you. the way she could see how you tensed up and immediately got defensive but there was this split second where you just looked so hurt. nobody would have caught that slight expression change before you yelled back, but she did, of course she did. she has spent so much time studying your face and your habits and just you that she could describe you so easily, like there is some textbook out there with your name on it. in a way there is; it's sitting all pretty inside of alexia's head.

if only she wasn't such an asshole, maybe all those things she knew about you wouldn't go to waste.

mapi doesn't try to make alexia speak again. instead she just chews on her popcorn and watches the match on screen. alexia would open back up soon enough, when she felt like it.

everyone else figured out what happened when weeks passed and you two weren't acting like y'all usually do. no obviously affectionate teasing or kisses you two think everyone else doesn't see. mapi of course haven't told anyone except for ingrid who isn't the type to gossip, but coming to the conclusion that you two were broken up was easy to get just from your actions.

walking into the locker room knowing everyone knew was driving your anxiety up a wall. would someone say something about it? or would they just ignore it? there isn't some tension between alexia and you.. at least you don't believe it to be. even though you can hardly look at her for more than five minutes before looking away. she wasn't doing any better. yeah, no tension.

you decide to just act like you were unbothered by the break-up. going into the locker room like any other day and just doing what you usually do; and nothing happens. everyone talks to you like normal. you thought someone would point out what happened but then you realized your teammates, your friends are better than that. all the questioning would probably happen later outside of practice.

everybody could see how affected alexia was even though she tried to hide it. she isn't as good at acting nonchalant as she thinks she is. in reality, the other barcelona girls could tell something was wrong with how distant she's being. keeping to herself more, being one of the first to head for the locker room once practice ended and one of the last to arrive. of course nothing affected her performance on the pitch. like always alexia was a force to be reckoned with.

meanwhile anyone who didn't know you. didn't know how deep the relationship between alexia and you ran would think you didn't care about what happened; the furthest thing from the truth. you just carry the hurt around, keeping it to yourself.

"hola hermosa. ¿cómo estás?" you hear from behind you when going to your car after practice. you turn to see salma. the tall girl smiles at you, quick to come closer and sling her arm over your shoulder. pulling you close as she says, "don't answer that. i already know how you're feeling. how are you handling the breakup is a better question."

one moment you were confused on who was talking to you and the next you are in salma's arms. you blame her long legs for how quick everything happened or maybe it's due to how spaced out you were being.

"how do you know i'm dealing with a break-up is the actual question," you say even though you already knew everyone else figured out what happened.

"c'mon, everyone can tell. we just didn't want to make things awkward at practice but aitana sent me to come check up on you," she smiles at you, "it isn't hard to figure out if anyone looks at you and alexia for more than two minutes. i can see it in your eyes."

was it that obvious? of course it was. you have always been thankful for how good your teammates were at figuring things out but right now you really wished you didn't so you could just deal with this on your own.

"alright, whatever. i'm not handling it well at all. i didn't think i would be single right now.." you let out a long sigh and another sigh when you saw the look of sympathy salma was giving you.

"awe, y/n," salma pulls you into a hug. you happily accept it, you have been needing a hug for a while now since you weren't getting any hugs from alexia anymore. it's a little embarrassing to hug in the middle of the parking lot, but whatever.

"can i come over? you can vent all you want. maybe get tipsy, nobody has to know," she says when she pulls away from the hug after a long moment.

you go silent as you think then you nod, "okay."

and that's how you end up on your couch, way more than a little tipsy (you only had two glasses of wine), crying to salma.

"i just don't get it. why wouldn't she stop me from leaving? why wouldn't she reach out afterwards? i didn't mean what i said!" your words are irrational and you know that but the alcohol in your system is just fueling your thoughts. salma is holding you in her arms. she's unsure if she should just outright tell you that it's obvious alexia wants you back or would it be better to just tell you to reach out instead. she goes with the latter; giving you the truth right now about how alexia is low-key miserable without you doesn't seem like the best option. maybe when you aren't tipsy off some wine.

"why don't you reach out? why didn't you? the break-up sounds so out of the blue, i wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the fact you and alexia are being all weird around each other," salma says.

"we aren't being weird around eachother."

"alexia scored in our last match and you didn't go to hug her like everyone else. you just gave her a high five before we got back to playing. if this was a few weeks ago, you would have been the first to hug her."

salma's accurate reasoning makes you want to roll your eyes and deny, but it's true. alexia and you are at a weird point. haven't not talked once outside of something football related. no texting either, just pure distance. that night when you left you have hoped she would call or text or even talk to you the next day at practice, but that didn't happen. just silence and distance and a "friendly" demeanor that definitely had something underneath. just because you two didn't talk didn't mean there wasn't still chemistry there.

you shrug, looking up at the taller girl, "i might. just nervous, what if she officially wants to be done and never to look back? i just walked out on her." the anxiety in your mind was building back up; the alcohol was not helping.

"she might be, actually, i know she's hurt but that doesn't mean she wouldn't hear you out. it's you we're talking about here," salma looks down at you. seeing the obvious sadness and regret in your eyes makes her frown. it wasn't like you to be so down, your personality wasn't like that.

the emphasis on know makes you feel a little more confident. if salma is so sure and she's looking from the outside in, no emotions clouding her judgement, then it must be true right? the least you could do was try.

"alright, i'll talk to her. i swear." salma smiles at your words, quick to grab your glass and put a small amount of wine in it.

then she smirks at you, "one last drink? it's celebratory."

the last match of the season was an obvious success, an easy win against valencia. all of the barcelona players decided to go out clubbing to celebrate the end of the season despite the fact you all would be heading to mexico soon enough; that doesn't mean y'all couldn't get a little drunk though.

it has been a solid few days since you had that venting session with salma and still you haven't done what you said. it wasn't your fault really, with the season almost coming to a close, you didn't want to have that conversation and possibly make the locker room a weird environment if alexia didn't take you back. salma (and aitana who salma had reported everything you said back to) were against your thinking. firmly pushing for you to just talk to her and figure everything out.

"the environment in the locker room is already weird because we are used to seeing you guys together," is what aitana said when you told her your reasoning, "ella te quiere de vuelta, todos lo pueden decir."

hearing that from aitana had put more confidence in you than before. it couldn't be a lie if salma and aitana believed it, right?

back to the clubbing, you are getting ready at your apartment. everyone has gone back to their own homes after celebrating in the locker room, so they could freshen up and change. you spend way more time on finding an outfit than you usually do; tonight was the night you planned to talk to alexia. having this long needed conversation when you both were sober and not high off of a good season would be best but everyone needs some liquid courage sometimes to pull through, to get what they want.

it's slowly been getting too long since you two last spoke outside of football, the last time you two interacted on social media, and fans were slowly noticing it.

it wasn't a hard task to spot the tension and lack of celebrating on the pitch in-between you two. you vividly remember going on twitter to so many fanpages wondering what's going on between alexia and you. scrolling past each one made you just want to throw away your rational thinking and text alexia right away, but no. you waited until the season ended so here you are putting on a pink halter top and a short skirt that you knew alexia loved, she bought it after all. when it came to jewelry you put on the necklace she left over at your place.

you haven't gone over to her place to get your things and she hasn't either. you noticed that she kept wearing the gold promise ring you bought her, seeing that made your heart flutter every time. you weren't any different, you still wore your promise ring as well and you have been sleeping in the shirts she left over your place every single night without fail.

you take a short while to finish your makeup, just in time as you hear a car honk outside. already knowing it was aitana, you were planning to get drunk tonight or just a little tipsy so driving your car to the club wasn't an option. you grab your purse, making sure you had your phone, before leaving out of your apartment. smiling as aitana waves at you from her car. she giggles when you get in the passenger seat, smile on your lips.

"ready to get your girl back?" she glances at you.

you gasp before laughing, "we're going to the club to celebrate how amazing we were all season. not for some get her back plot."

"it's okay to tell the truth," aitana gives you a teasing smile before focusing her attention on getting out of your apartment complex parking lot and on the street.

"you have been around mapi way too much."

the club is bustling with people as aitana and you step inside. she pulls you towards where the tables all the other barcelona players are at. immediately your eyes land on alexia, she's sitting at a table with mapi, ingrid, marta, and caro. two couples at the table and it would be three if you were over there, if you two were still together.

she's wearing a red tube top and denim shorts that show off her legs. she looks beautiful like always and you can't, don't, stop your thoughts from wandering.

"we're finally here! y/n was taking forever," aitana smiles as you two stop at the table with ona, lucy, and keira. you spot salma sitting with patri and claudia, all of them already having drinks.

"of course she was. we shouldn't expect less from her," lucy laughs as you scoff. sitting down next to aitana, you lean your body slightly on the table. "i bet ona takes longer," you say.

"what did i do?" everyone at the table laughs at ona offended expression. conversation flows freely between you all. nobody has gotten rowdy just yet, with the team still waiting on frido, jana, and a few others to come to the club. your mind strays away from the fact alexia is at the table next to you as you engage in a heated debate with lucy about who is going to win the euros this year.

"don't act like england is a bad team!" lucy says, looking at keira for back-up. the younger woman rolls her eyes, turning to continue to talk to aitana.

"i never said that but they just aren't beating spain this year," you say back. ona immediately jumps in to defend your point, "she's right. i bet spain is going to crush it this year."

"babe, you're supposed to be on my side."

"i am on your side, just not your country's side."

ona and lucy's little back and forth is cut short as everybody else arrives. now it's really time to let loose and party. aitana immediately sends you to the bar to get everyone at the table drinks, you pass by patri and claudia who got up to dance the moment everyone was here. you know a few of your other teammates are dancing right now; frido didn't even sit down before going to the dance floor.

when you left for the bar, you didn't notice the mischievous smile on aitana's lips or how she looked over at mapi who had a mischievous look in her eye. you also didn't notice how alexia wasn't at her table anymore either.

you reach the bar, leaning against it as you wait for the bartender to come over since he's busy with someone else right now. when you look to your right, you have to do a double take because it's a pretty blonde with a red tube top and denim shorts on right next to you; alexia.

she's acting like she doesn't notice that you are right next to her but she could spot you from a mile away. should she say something? her internal monologue was basically full of just "duh of course" and "what if she doesn't even want to talk to you"

both are annoying the shit out of her, so when the bottle of tequila comes she opens it. pouring herself a shot and downs it right away.

"you're eager, huh?" you want to slap your hand over your lips. you weren't planning to speak to her just yet, later on when you had some type of alcohol in your system was the plan.

alexia glances at you. a mix of uncertainty and fondness in her eyes.

she chuckles, "yeah. why don't you get some drinks so you can join me? you did so well during the season.. you deserve it."

the praise makes you feel all warm. way too warm in a club packed with people. you feel hesitant, nervous, unsure of how this would continue. would you two actually talk about what happened or just act like it didn't happen the entire night?

"you did well too," you say before turning to call for the bartender. after you order the drinks, you look over to the spot next to you where alexia was and find that she's gone. you give a quick glance behind you at the tables where the team was at. she's sitting down next to aitana now, half of her table was gone as mapi and ingrid are up somewhere.

"thanks," you say to the bartender. grabbing the drinks before walking back over to your table. alexia smiles at you when you sit down. you smile back.

ona and lucy take their drinks, ona pulling lucy up to go to dance and keira gestures to aitana to get up.

"gracias por las bebidas. ya volvemos, yendo al baño," aitana says, getting up. you give her a weird look; one of pleading for her to stay and not leave you alone with alexia. the blonde gives aitana a weird look of her own.

aitana and keira leave, ignoring you both. you can easily see they aren't even going to the bathroom, but neither alexia and you object.

the table falls into an awkward silence. alexia sips on her drink, this time it isn't a shot but an actual glass. you let your eyes wander before landing on your drink; alexia knows you're trying to avoid her gaze and it's really starting to annoy her. mapi had drilled into her head (it took so many times because alexia is too stubborn for her own good) that you want her back, that y'all are meant to be. the alcohol in her system is really messing with her right now and all she wants to do is to be against you, feeling your warmth.

and you weren't faring much better mentally. you came here to celebrate but to also get alexia back or at least talk about what happened but you can't even muster up the courage to mention it. you have hardly spoken to her.

she's looking at you though, you can feel it.

"i'm going to dance. you should too, bonita," she says before standing up. you don't answer her but you watch her walk away; she can feel your eyes on her.

if this was just a week ago, alexia would be way too nervous to call you that but the alcohol is fueling her confidence and your eyes on her settle any nerves that she had left. however the spanish player was going to let you approach her, so whatever is about to happen can go at your pace; she respects you like that. also she doesn't want to scare you off or piss you off. she just hopes you don't take long because one more drink and she might just take things into her own hands.

you sit at the table, sipping on your drink but you can only watch everybody dance for so long until you get up yourself. remembering how alexia called you bonita makes you finish off your drink, determined to at least try to get her back tonight.

when you go onto the dancefloor you don't go straight for her but decide to dance with salma. somehow she hasn't tired herself out and she happily pulls you close.

"pensé que ibas a estar ocupado hablando con tu novia. ¿cuál es el problema?" she shouts close to your ear, trying to make you hear her over the music. you shake your head, "i'm going to.. i just need more time!"

"bueno, parece que la reina se está impacientando," the tall girl laughs, "she's looking over here at you."

a look of confusion crosses your face before you turn slightly to look behind you and spot her right away. she's dancing with frido but her eyes are focused on you; the spaniard's gaze is intense, calling out to you.

"i'm going to talk to her," you turn to look at salma, "and don't get too drunk, okay? drink some water!" then you move away from her. you barely catch the "okay!" shouted towards you (which you know is a lie) as you make your way off of the dancefloor and towards the bathroom. you need to prepare yourself before approaching alexia.

you step into the bathroom, thankful that it's empty. straight away you go to the sink to look at yourself. what should you say? should you just apologize? you aren't able to go too deep into your pondering as you hear the bathroom door open then close.

"you just keep walking out on me, huh?" the voice of alexia makes you look at the door. there she is, arms crossed across her chest as she looks at you. same intense look from earlier.

"i wouldn't call this instance walking out. i was going to come and talk to you," you say. this isn't how you imagined having a conversation with her, but it's happening so you'll just have to deal with it.

"bueno lo haré. me viste... mirándote y ni siquiera te acercaste a mí," the spaniard walks closer to you and you don't step away, "everyone is telling me that you want me back. are they lying?"

you shake your head, some confidence and a lot of determination flows into your conscience, "people keep telling me that you want me back. are they lying?"

alexia chuckles, "no, of course not. i'm just frustrated. we both came to this club knowing that we want each other but it feels like you are playing games with me."

"games? i'm not. i didn't want to just come over to you and be like be my girlfriend again. i wasn't sure how you felt exactly, just that you wanted me back. i didn't want to rush it," you are quick to say. the words would sound rational to a less drunk version of alexia but all she could think about is that she wished you two talked about this way earlier.

"that's sweet, but i can't wait any longer. i only want one thing."

"what?"

"to be yours."

author notes: this didn't come out like how i expected it to but i don't hate it. hopefully y'all liked it and i wrote alexia okay enough. also this fic is so long, so like cliffhanger or part two?

© THINKINGABOUTJAEDYN

[ticklishfiend]

Distracted

Lee!Viktor x Ler!Jayce

Word Count : 4761

Summary : Jayce can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to tickle Viktor. When they get tipsy together one night, he doesn’t have to imagine anymore.

a/n : i love them. sm. also, two things: 1) this is lowkey an out of character fic but i realized that it’s kinda hard to write a tkl fic with lee!viktor and it not be a lil ooc so bear with me LMAO, and 2) i said i was working on a lee!jayce fic, and i still am, but it’s a little longer and more thought out than this one so again. BEAR WITH ME! okok love yall hope u enjoy

this is a tickle fic! not nsfw, but don’t like don’t read 😝

…

It’d be so easy. Almost too easy. Viktor would kill him for it, probably yell at him for 45 minutes for breaking his concentration with something so stupid and childish. But it would be worth it just to hear the cute sound Viktor would make when Jayce finally dug his fingers in sides, crawling up to his ribs and playing them like a piano, maybe even drill his thumbs into his hips just to hear him cry–

“What about this one?”

Viktor’s voice broke through his concentration, and Jayce nearly jumped. The slim man looked over his shoulder at Jayce, bringing his arm down from the top of the black board. Viktor has been writing near the top of it for a few minutes now, working on an equation as he mumbled under his breath. His arm had been outstretched over his head so he could reach, and with his whole side exposed like that, his ribs and underarms were on beautiful display for Jayce to stare and daydream.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Jayce had only been thinking those thoughts instead of acting on them, with the way his fingers itched and curled into the leg of his pants just looking at Viktor like that.

Shit, he should probably focus now. Jayce did a quick once over of the equation, making sure he’d have something of substance to say in response. “Uh, yeah it–it looks fine.” Ah yes, a very substantial addition, Jayce Talis. ‘Idiot.’

Viktor quirked a brow. “Just…fine?”

“Yeah I mean it’s…” Jayce cleared his throat, looking over it once again and finally taking in what Viktor was actually doing. “I don’t see anything wrong with it. And once we get it fitted into our earlier calculations, it should be ready to rock-and-roll.” Jayce cringed internally, ‘Oh my god shut up.’

Viktor still looked suspicious, as Jayce rarely seemed caught off guard like that. He turned back to the blackboard, “Well I think it could still use some touch-ups. You should come and help me, my brain is frying from staring at it for too long.”

Jayce swallowed. Dammit. He’d been perfectly content to watch from behind, it was easier to hide his self-made fluster at that angle. But…right fucking next to him? Where it’d be even easier to reach out, pinch a bottom rib, make Viktor squirm and laugh and—

“Jayce. Any day now would be preferable,” Viktor deadpanned, not even sparing a glance as he continued to look at his equation. 

“Right, right,” Jayce hopped to Viktor’s side, really trying not to be any sort of distraction in his state. Now next to Viktor, watching through his peripheral, he saw Viktor once again reach up and make a few scribbles with chalk. Above his head. Exposed.

Jayce bit the inside of his cheek, snatching a piece of chalk himself just to have something to hold onto. Why was this hitting him so hard right now? Usually, moods like this were so much easier to suppress, easier to forget about when he finally got himself lost in their work. But right now, their work was more mundane, small touch-ups on calculations they’d been meaning to get to for ages. It had been a very dull day in terms of their work, but inside Jayce’s head, a boring work day meant more time to think about Viktor. 

Whether Viktor was…sensitive. Ticklish. What kind of laugh he’d have. Would he giggle? Voice light and breathy, gently squirming and batting at Jayce’s hands while his face flushed at the feeling. Or would he cackle? His body shaking through the force of his laughter, having to clutch onto his own stomach like his reactions were being ripped from him. Maybe he’d beg Jayce to stop, maybe he’d be laughing so hard he’d be unable to even form words around his giggling, maybe he’d wail—

“Jayce, are you quite alright?” Viktor asked, his brow pinched in suspicion as he gave Jayce the one-over. “You’ve been…very distracted today. Not that I don’t appreciate the reprieve from your usual yapping, but your behavior does seem a bit unusual this evening.”

Viktor had taken to leaning against the board instead now, which was a lot easier on Jayce’s overwhelmed mind to take in. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess,” Jayce gave his nothing-answer and turned back to the board to make a few marks, hoping Viktor would brush it off like he normally does. Or at least, like he used to do. 

He’d been more inquisitive of Jayce lately, actually asking personal questions and even answering some of Jayce’s own. They’d gotten to know each other a lot better because of it, which was great, but it was also coming to bite Jayce in the ass right now since Viktor was able to notice that something was so off with him.

Viktor turned toward the lab’s window, his gaze on the moon shining bright through the glass. There was no telling when it had gotten dark outside, they both tended to very purposefully not look at the clock when they were at work. 

Jayce heard him sigh. “It’s late,” Viktor droned, rubbing a tired hand down his face. “I wouldn’t mind taking a break if you’re also interested?”

Jayce’s brows raised in surprise, a little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re asking me if we can take a break? Where’s my partner and what have you done with him?”

Viktor gave a small blink-and-you-miss-it grin, “He’s off drowning himself in a river. His brain turned to mush after staring at one equation for nearly 3 hours.” He grabbed his cane that had been leaning against the board, before pointing a finger at himself, “New Viktor, however, just remembered the alcohol he stored in the kitchen months ago for dull days like this. And he’s inviting you to share a drink.” Viktor poked Jayce in the chest, before turning toward the kitchen.

Jayce smiled brightly. “New Viktor’s got some good ideas.”

—

They ended up drinking just a bit more than either had expected to. They weren’t drunk, per se, but their combined buzz had them talking a lot more open than usual. Their conversations felt so easy tonight, and Jayce was starting to wonder why they didn’t drink together more often.

“And the next thing I knew, I had a kitten stuffed down my shirt and a crazy lady passed out on the floor behind me,��� Viktor chuckled around the rim of his glass, taking a small sip before continuing, “Little moments like that make me glad I got out of the Undercity when I did.”

Jayce snickered openly, clutching at his glass through the laughter. “I don’t know Vik, that sounds like a great time to me.”

“That’s just because you're a Piltie with minimal Undercity experience. Trust me, a kitten down my shirt was the least of my worries.”

Jayce’s laughter simmered, but his grin never left. He gestured with his glass, “So, what’d you do with it? The kitten.”

Viktor shrugged. “I carried it in my shirt all the way home. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it with that woman, even at my young age,” He said, before giving a little chuckle at the new memory. “Actually, it was hell getting it back home. I didn’t take it out of the shirt because, before she collapsed, she said she had guys that’d be after me for it. I was naive to believe anyone would recognize the kitten on my walk, but I was young so I’ll give myself that grace.”

Viktor shook his head through a smile, taking another small sip. “But my god, if that thing didn’t tickle me the entire walk home. I must’ve looked insane. Some–hehe–some crippled kid with a lump in his chest, giggling to himself, ” Viktor couldn’t hold back his own snickers at the thought, but of course still scolded Jayce nonetheless. “Stop laughing, this was serious to me at the time.”

When that word, that one word he’d been thinking of all day, rolled out of Viktors mouth, Jayce felt his heart leap. His skin nearly prickled. And now he’s tipsy, and there was no way he could hold back on making sure they stayed on that topic for as long as he could hold it. “So what I’m hearing is, Boy Genius is too ticklish to handle a little kitten in his shirt.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I was a child. And I doubt you’d fare any better in that circumstance, even at your grown age.”

Jayce held his hands in surrender. “I never said I’d do any better. But it sounds like you think you aren’t ticklish anymore, which I think is total bullshit.” Jayce couldn’t hold back his smirk if he tried. “Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve just given me a way to get whatever I want in the lab. Maybe I should thank you?”

Viktor pointed at Jayce with the hand he held his glass, a small bit spilling onto the couch between them. “If you dare try something like that, I’ll go back and convince the counselors to have you arrested again.”

Jayce laughed, “Arrested for what? Tickling you?”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched upward, “For a hate crime. You can’t just take advantage of a cripple like that and get away with it.” Viktor claimed teasingly, before growing suspicious of Jayce’s wandering glare. He was staring hard at the glass Viktor held between them, a little smirk on his face. “What? What are you looking at?”

Jayce clicked his tongue, “Hold on, can I just—” He interrupted himself reaching his hand towards the glass, and Viktor was so caught off guard by the action (and a little slower to thinking now, thanks to their couple of drinks) that he let Jayce take the glass from him without any protest.

Jayce took one long swig of the drink, sighing hard as he set it down on the table next to them. 

Viktor’s brow furrowed hard. “What the hell was that?!”

“That was me getting your glass out of the way,” Jayce’s smile was wide and his eyes alight with mischief, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So I could test out a little theory.”

Viktor’s mind was working slow, but not that slow.

“Oh nonono , Jayce—Jayce, whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it.”

“Why?” Jayce wiggled his fingers as he scooted closer to Viktor, who cornered himself against the arm of the couch. “Nervous you’ll get caught lying?”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor said, “But I cannot promise you won’t get hit.”

“Ohoh that is a price I am more than willing to pay,” Jayce chuckled, before darting a hand out to sneak a quick pinch to Viktor’s side. The reaction was immediate. His partner choked on a sound in the back of his throat as he arched away from the fingers.

“Jayce I swear on everything—”

“C’mon, I never get to see you laugh. If it hurts, I’ll stop?” Jayce offered, and Viktor would appreciate the kind thoughtfulness of that statement had he not been too busy trying to push Jayce’s hands away from his torso. Unfortunately, the nervous smile on Viktor’s face during the entire tussle really took away any bite he tried to muster in his words.

“If it hurts, I’ll k-kill you,” Viktor’s voice wavered on the word as Jayce pushed a hand through and pinched his rib, latching on tight but not yet actually tickling. He just…held it there.

Viktor gripped onto the wrist at his ribs, pushing and pulling and trying everything to avoid his own humiliating downfall. He was already struggling to keep anticipatory giggles at bay, and Jayce was beaming at the reaction.

“You ready?”

“No, nonono, Jayce—”

“Three.”

“I’ll throw all your patents into the river!”

“Twoooooo.”

“Consider all your hard work a gross, soggy mush!”

“One!”

“Jayce, no-! aUgchk—n-nohohoho!”

Jayce finally put his fingers to work, gently pinching at that bottom rib incessantly. Viktor did exactly what Jayce thought he would. He giggled hard, arching in a way that curled his body around Jayce’s hand, and slapped at his wrist like it’d do anything to push him off.

“Y-You—You idiohohot-!” Viktor’s words faded seamlessly into another bout of laughter as Jayce brought his other hand around to squeeze nicely at Viktor’s side. Viktor squirmed in his hold, and Jayce thought he was going to melt.

Viktor looked so cute like this. Flushed from alcohol and laughter, smiling wide and desperate, squirming in Jayce’s hold like his every touch was causing a new reaction. Just cute cute cute.

“Nohot cute you freheak!” Viktor said around his giggles, making Jayce flush himself. Did I say that out loud? 

Well. Might as well double down, right? “Only thing to make this any cuter would be a kitten popping outta your shirt, huh?”

Viktor visibly blushed a tinge darker, “Okahay okahay! Stohop! I cahaha-ahahah!” He couldn’t even finish his sentences. Jayce was hooked.

But he was also merciful. At his command, Jayce declawed from Viktor’s ribcage and hovered above as he watched Viktor pant and come down from his giggle fit. When Viktor caught his eye (and that doting look he got when Viktor did just about anything these days), he shoved Jayce’s face away playfully with an all too smiley groan. “I hope you got what you needed from that study, because you are never gonna try that again.”

Jayce snickered, leaning back to his spot on the couch. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says the guy who’ll stick a cane up your ass if you try it,” Viktor leaned against his own respective arm of the couch. 

Jayce grinned back. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

—

Hooked couldn’t begin to describe the feeling. Jayce was enthralled. Enamoured. He couldn’t stop thinking about that night, brief as it may have been. He didn’t want to go overboard with Viktor, of course, the man was weird about touch as it is. Jayce was lucky he’d been able to get his hands on him at all. But that hardly mattered. Because Jayce got to hear what Viktor sounded like when he felt ticklish, and now that he knows that sound, it might as well be on a record scratch repeat in his brain at all times.

Jayce’s leg shook anxiously under the desk. He wasn’t nervous, more just…unfocused, at the moment. Yes, partly from all of that, but mainly from the chaos of notes and blueprints and paperwork littered in front of him. That boring night must’ve just been the calm before the storm, because once they were able to get all those equations pieced together, the workload became fucking endless.

And of course Jayce loves their work, all the passion and hours they both devote to creating what is essentially their whole future. It’s a beautiful thing what happens in their lab. Astonishing. Awe-inspiring.

…and also ridiculously stressful. 

Jayce must’ve been working for nearly 24 hours at this point. His legs felt like lead, and his shoulders ached from the past few hours of leaning over this desk and working working working. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’s had to stretch his hand out from all the notes he’s written. 

He’s fucking exhausted.

And what’s worse? Jayce knows that Viktor’s somehow been awake for even longer than him.

Jayce cleared his throat. “So uh…it’s gettin’ late, Vik. Wanna call it a night?”

Viktor was hunched over his own desk, goggles on as he meticulously worked over their project. Jayce knew if those goggles were off, he’d be able to see Viktor’s eyes trying their damndest not to slip shut from exhaustion. “Not now. This needs a few touch-ups.”

“And it can’t wait til tomorrow because…?”

“Because if I break my concentration, I may forget where I was in my progress by tomorrow,” Viktor said, before waving Jayce off. “Go, get some rest. You deserve it.”

“And you don’t?” Jayce could hear his voice get defensive, on Viktor’s behalf no less. The guy never gave himself a break, it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d been the one to suggest their break just two weeks ago. Jayce sighed, “I miss ‘New Viktor.’”

At that, Viktor paused. Lifting his goggles to his forehead and throwing Jayce an incredulous look. “Seriously, Jayce?”

Jayce pouted with a shrug, leaning against the back of his chair. “Yeah. New Viktor would’ve had a drink with me hours ago and then gone to bed at an appropriate time,” Jayce grinned. He gave an exaggerated, almost theatre-like sigh, “I guess this Viktor just isn’t as fun.”

Viktor pursed his lips at Jayce, clearly holding back a little smile at the banter. “I’m plenty of fun. This is fun,” he pointed to the contraption on his desk he’d been fiddling with.

But Jayce stayed with the bit, humming dreamily. “Ohh, New Viktor, how I miss him. He drank with me. We shared funny stories and laughed together,” Jayce smirked, getting a fun little idea. “Yeah, I remember him laughing a lot that night, actually. And it wasn’t just from the jokes he was telling.”

Viktor scoffed a half-laugh, shaking his head. “You sound sleep-deprived.”

“Noooo, my head’s pretty clear right now, actually. I remember it so clearly. Gah, New Viktor was such a riot,” Jayce sat his elbow against the desk and propped his head against his hand, giving Viktor the cheekiest grin. “He even let me tickle him. Can you believe that?”

“I did not let you do anything, don’t go twisting the narrative,” Viktor pointed at Jayce, his face losing the battle against the smile he’s been fighting. “You probably have 100 pounds on me, you practically assaulted a disabled man against his will.”

Jayce ignored him. “If I remember correctly–”

“You don’t remember a thing.”

“-he was very ticklish, even though he tried denying it at first. How silly is that? If you deny it, you know someone’s just gonna try it out and prove you wrong anyway,” Jayce said, before humming in fake contemplation, squinting and tilting his head. “Huh. Are you ticklish, Viktor?”

Viktor tapped his finger against the desk in a steady rhythm, now avoiding eye contact with Jayce. “You are ridiculous. We are grown, and I need to work.”

“Actually, you need to stop working and go to bed,” Jayce stood from his seat and walked to Viktor’s desk (who still refused to meet his gaze), leaning an arm against the top and towering over Viktor. From the new angle, he could see a little blush over Viktor’s face and ears, how he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling anymore. Cute. “You gonna do that, or am I gonna have to answer my own question since you avoided it.”

Viktor glanced at Jayce with a side-eye. “You know the answer. And you’re being childish. If I wish to work, you cannot force me to stop.”

“Actually,” Jayce grinned, before hooking his fingers under Viktor’s arms (which were so conveniently sat atop the desk, leaving his underarms open and exposed) and digging in, getting an immediate reaction from Viktor who flung his back against the chair and choked down a laugh with the funniest sound. “I think I totally can.”

Viktor squirmed, his good leg digging its heel into the ground as his arms shook against their spot glued tight to his sides. His head was ducked down to hide his face, but he kept making these choked off little sounds like he was trying his hardest not to laugh (even though they both knew how ticklish he was, it was such a useless battle that Jayce’s heart burned in adoration).

“Viktorrrrr,” Jayce sung, his fingertips travelling just a tinge lower to Viktor’s upper ribs, and that’s what did the scientist in. Viktor let out a laugh that sounded like it surprised even himself, before tittering helplessly and falling into a giggle fit he couldn’t fight if he tried. 

“Nohoho! Not again, Jahahayce–!” Viktor shook his head against his laughter, slapping at Jayce’s arm as deeper belly laughs started escaping him. Jayce could almost hear in Viktor’s laughter how he started to feel the helplessness take over, how he couldn’t get out of this if he tried. “Why?!”

“Because I care about you. You need sleep even more than I do, Vik, and you aren’t gonna do it unless I make you,” Jayce said, like he wasn’t tearing Viktor apart beneath him, like Viktor wasn’t coming undone under his fingers and squirming like a worm on a hook. 

Viktor laughed harder at his words, “Cruel!”

Jayce couldn’t help but snicker himself. “Cruel? I’m helping you here. Just tell me you’re gonna go to bed and this is all over!” 

Viktor shook his head, “Let me work! Evil fucking–ggahahaha shihit!” He lost his words as Jayce found his lower ribs right above his sides, Viktor’s hands grasping onto Jayce’s wrists like a lifeline. 

“You are so stubborn,” Jayce chuckled. “I can go all night, y’know. You aren’t winning this.”

“Jdi do píči!” Viktor cursed in his native tongue around his giggles, and Jayce felt himself blush at the sound. Oh, Viktor’s gonna be the death of him.

“Gonna assume none of those words were ‘Yes, Jayce! Of course I’ll go get some well-deserved rest, thank you for helping me!’ Would I be right?”

Viktor didn’t respond, only laughing harder as Jayce slipped his fingers back up into his armpits. His head was thrown back now, and Jayce could see his Adam's apple bobbing through this laughter. His cheeks were flushed, eyes shut tight from the smile searing his face, and god the crinkles his eyes were making just made Jayce’s brain glitch. “C’mon, Vik. I know this is tiring you out.”

“You don’t know shit!” Viktor cackled, clearly confident he could withstand this. Well, at least before Jayce slipped one hand out and started tickling the side of Viktor’s neck and ear. Viktor seemed to stumble over his own laughter, his brain fuzzing around the new sensation as he slipped in and out of belly-laughter and high-pitched giggling. The side of his head slammed against his shoulder to block the sensation, but Jayce’s fingers were already at work, scribbling and scraping against those horribly sensitive spots that Viktor clearly couldn’t stand, if his incessant cursing in another language wasn’t enough to prove it.

“Oh? This a good spot?” Jayce teased, now bringing his other hand into the mix on Viktor’s other side. Viktor’s shoulders completely hunched up, his body so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do with himself. He doubled over, clutching one arm over his aching belly while the other continued its useless slapping at Jayce’s arm. Jayce chuckled, “What? Does this tickle or something?”

“F-Fucker!” Viktor’s voice wavered, high-pitched and bubbly, before he finally resigned to his fate. “Okay! Okahahay! Bed–! I'll sleheheep!”

“Okaaay, I’ll trust you this time,” Jayce grinned. He stopped the wiggling of his fingers, but poised the tips of his indexes right at the curve of Viktor’s ear. It was a threat, and one that made Viktor titter and squirm and pull at Jayce’s wrists uselessly. “But next time I catch you without sleep for nearly two days like this, I’m not going easy on you.”

Finally, Jayce pulled his hands away, and Viktor slumped against the back of the chair with an exhausted sigh. “Have I ever told you how much I don’t like you.”

Jayce snickered, “Yeah. And I didn’t believe you then either.”

Viktor grinned, wiping a hand down his face. “I knew you’d do that eventually. I couldn’t expect you to find out something like that and not use it against me at some point,” He stood up on wobbly knees, and Jayce quickly handed him the cane that had fallen on the ground during Viktor’s squirming. “Just didn’t expect you to be so cruel about it.”

“Hey I wasn’t cruel–”

“Oh? You weren’t? Torturing a disabled man when he’s running off no sleep for over 48 hours isn’t what you’d call cruel?” Viktor teased, gathering things off his desk to bring home in his bag. 

“Torture?” Jayce’s voice tilted up his grin. “You never even told me to stop.”

Viktor’s hands fumbled and he dropped a few pens. Jayce laughed as he bent down to retrieve them, their hands brushing as he gave them back. Viktor looked like a pouty cat, lips thin in a tight line with squinted eyes. Best of all, his ears were burning.

“It's a little hard to speak when you’re being forced to laugh.”

“But not hard enough you can’t slip in a few curses, right?”

Viktor had no rebuttal to that, merely scoffing like he had no clue what Jayce was talking about as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Jayce.”

Jayce watched as Viktor walked toward the door, completely satisfied with himself. He did it. And…it didn’t seem like Viktor even minded that much. In fact…hm. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. There’s no way Viktor liked it as much as Jayce. That’d be crazy.

“And um…” Viktor had the lab door pushed halfway open, stopping himself with his back turned to Jayce as he spoke. “Thank you.”

Jayce just could not help himself. “For tickling you?”

Viktor laughed at Jayce’s gall, “For making me get rest, you bastard,” He glanced over his shoulder to Jayce, who looked over the moon at Viktor’s honesty. “I know I need this, despite how I fight against it. So…though your methods are horrible, and undignified, and childish and stupid, and really show how odd your personality is—”

“Let’s get to thanks, yeah?”

Viktor smiled as he turned back around from Jayce. “...Thank you for looking out for me. I do appreciate the care.”

Jayce wanted to hug Viktor so tight their bodies melded together. Instead, he said, “Anytime. You know that.”

—

Viktor fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jayce was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d lied when he said it was only two days without sleep. It was probably closer to four. Jayce just didn’t know that because the last time Viktor went home, he’d taken some of their projects and papers with him to work on in his own personal study.

So yes. His rest was needed, or whatever. And he did sleep really, really good. Almost 14 hours completely uninterrupted as he snoozed warm and cozy under the covers.

Only problem was…his mind ran a little rampant in his sleep that night. The events of the night before, with Jayce, and Jayce’s hands, and Jayce’s fingers, and Jayce teasing him so close to his ear he could feel his skin prickle with Jayce’s breath on his neck. All those thoughts that made his belly warm and fluttery were what he fell asleep to that night.

Which led to some…interesting dreams to think about when he woke up that morning.

“Does it tickle worse here? Orrrr here?” 

“Jahahayce! No plehehease!”

“Answer the question, Vik. Your thighs or your hips?”

Jayce’s fingers were pressed deep into both spots, one hand tickling deep into his thigh first, before pausing so his other hand could wreak a similar havoc against Viktor’s hip. The feeling was overwhelming, and Viktor squirmed hard against the weight of Jayce pressed on top of him on the lab couch. Viktor was fully pinned under Jayce, unable to move and only allowed to squirm because Jayce thought it looked pretty when he did it.

“Hihips! Jayce, hips, plehehease!” Viktor wailed, and when Jayce paused, Viktor inhaled like he hadn’t had a good breath in years. His breath was labored, shaky, laced with leftover giggling from Jayce’s attack. 

And Jayce just looked down at him like Viktor hung the moon that lit their lab through the window.

“I love your laugh.”

Viktor squirmed at the praise, shoving Jayce’s face. “Stop.”

“That’s the first time you told me to stop. What, am I embarrassing you?”

“Stop!” Viktor whined, shoving both hands over Jayce’s eyes so he couldn’t look at him in this flustered state. 

But Jayce only chuckled, grabbing Viktor’s wrists and hoisting them up over his head to pin them against the arm of the couch.

“But you like it, don’t you?”

Viktor woke up with a jolt, his eyes wide and breath uneven. 

Shit. Was he actually into this? What the fuck did Jayce do to him.

...

hope u enjoyed! pls consider reblogging if you did <3

[dragon-chica]

Cryptid Hunting - Eddie & Venom x Reader

Fandom: Marvel / Venom

Dear gods it's been a long time since I wrote but this duo? marry me.

You have a love for monsters and stories, folklore and cryptozoology especially the more interesting creatures, in particular.

Eddie once had asked you if you really believe in all those stories, legends and cryptids and folklore. He found them interesting and entertaining, especially some of your favorites you shared with him, but didn't consider a lot on the subject.

"Babe, your body contains an alien slime that cured your cancer and eats your ass. This is just a cursed child that flew out a chimney and haunts New Jersey. No offense, Venom, honey."

"NONE TAKEN."

"That's fair."

You had always wanted to try cryptid hunting just for fun, but could never convince anyone to join you for a night of tomfuckery in a creepy area with legends and rumors.

Eddie though, had no excuse.

Your reasoning was, he's a journalist, he should investigate this story, spinning your laptop around with an article on a chosen cryptid for him to look at while you also read about it from one of your cryptozoology and folklore books.

Your second reason was, he's your boyfriend and "Please, please, please, please baby?"

Which of course he could never say no to, not that it helps that Venom is also now pleading along with you.

"YES EDDIE, PRETTY PLEASE? WE CAN FIND IT AND EAT IT. AN EXOTIC SNACK, AND WE WILL IMPRESS THEM."

Both his lovers pleading for him to do something? He's a lovestruck sucker as is, even if it is walking around like a couple of dumbasses in the dark. He's done weirder.

You honestly didn't actually expect him to agree though, and are ecstatic that he does.

Your excitement and the big kiss on his cheek is already worth it he thinks.

"SEE EDDIE? WE ARE AMAZING PARTNERS. MORE CRYPTIDS AND MORE KISSES."

You make a day out of it, a roadtrip.

With snacks. Lots of snacks, and one guy at a gas station that was just awful. "HE DIDN'T TASTE VERY GOOD EITHER."

All in all, Eddie was having a good day. Time off spent with his favorite beings, a scenic drive, wearing shoes. Not really expecting much of the "cryptid hunt" besides walking around in the dark and talking to the woods like ghosthunters.

But you and Venom were hyped, as soon as you parked in a secluded area and geared up with flashlights and a video camera, he didn't know who was more excited.

Venom was hovering over his shoulder, head whipping around so much he was spinning Eddie as he went, following you "to a good spot."

You sat in the woods for awhile together waiting for it to get dark, wrapped in a cozy hoodie and leaning against Eddie while reading to him different stories from one of your cryptid books.

When darkness settled around you and something could be heard walking through the brush, you flashlight spun toward it.

"DO NOT WORRY MORSEL, WE ARE THE LETHAL PROTECTOR. YOU ARE SAFE."

Eddie did not expect, at the sound of something moving closer in the woods, for Venom to jump out of him, and into you. Backing up with black good around your hand now shaking with the beam towards it.

"What the hell V?" he whisper shouted while your other hand covered your mouth trying to hide a snicker.

"THAT'S ENOUGH HUNTING FOR TONIGHT."

A weird trilling sound came for the forest and Venom encased you, going full form and grabbing Eddie over your shoulder before sprinting back to the card and tossing him inside.

Your flashlights, heavy duty and bought just for this, were long forgotten while multiple tentacles rummaged around Eddie before finding the keys and slamming them in the ignition.

"What's wrong V? i thought you wanted to eat a cryptid for me?"

You try to soothe and pet him while Eddie gets his bearings again.

"NOT HUNGRY. THE UGLY MAN GAVE US INDIGESTION. BESIDES, EDDIE WAS SCARED."

"HEY!"

Eventually, against Venom's protests on Eddie being a chicken and too scared to continue, Eddie trekked back to retrieve your gear, Venom back with him and switching from full cowl to hiding inside him again while you waited in the car.

[daycourtofficial]

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 8k | Warnings: blood, gore, violence, death

Summary: in the immediate aftermath of your arrival in Autumn, Eris moves forward with his plans to overthrow Beron and secure the throne for himself

Note: this is a part of my gingerfucker series and is a companion piece to ‘Chains around my demons, wool to brave the season’ but can be read by itself

Author’s note: Happy day 3 @erisweekofficial !!! The second I saw the betrayal prompt I knew EXACTLY where to go with it. I wanna give a big shout out to @mybestfriendmademe because they actually commented on my first gingerfucker fic about writing Eris killing Beron and it's always just been floating around in my head and now it’s here!!! Also need to thank @basketoffish - this fic wouldn't be half as good without her input/editing/brainstorming.

Beron Vanserra was going to die come sunset.

On the other side of the window, the trees shook from the wind, bending to their will. The branches occasionally scraped the window, calling for the male inside.

Eris laid in bed, gazing toward the closed window, his mate tucked into his arms. He never slept with the window open - it was a vulnerability, an opening, a way in. He watched the closed window, irritation creeping in at the persistence of the trees, their scratchy call grating on him.

You hadn’t been in Autumn for more than a few hours, but Eris could feel the tides changing. He couldn’t tell if your sudden arrival made the trees louder, their calls more insistent, or if he was more receptive to their pleas. 

He felt the call deep within him.

Eris has had centuries to contemplate the many, many ways one can kill their own father. Wrapping his fingers around Beron’s throat, applying more and more pressure until he felt the life seep from his body. Tying weights to his ankles and pushing him into the nearby lake. A dagger to the heart. A sword slicing across his neck. A hunting ‘accident’ that saw Beron caught in a bear trap laced with faebane, a sacrifice to the animals nearby that his father’s flesh was worth more as a meal than as a father.

Eris had imagined it all, each scenario becoming more and more detailed and gory than the last. None seemed foolproof enough to kill his father.

All except one.

It was dark as he moved about the room, though no less loud as he continued to ignore the shaking windows, the frenzied tapping of the trees as they tried calling out to him. He knew what they wanted, wanted it himself, but pretended to avoid it - his destiny - for as long as possible. Their calls followed him as he moved about the room, steps silent as he outlined his plan internally, going through every step as he placed plates of armor on his limbs. The clay colored metal fit like a second skin, that layer of protection doing little to slow him. He ran through every minute detail, everything that has to work out in his favor for a positive outcome.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice stops him cold, halting his movements. He hesitates before he turns around to face you - he hadn’t heard you stir, hadn’t felt the twinge in his chest at you waking - had no time to prepare for this reckoning,

“Going for a stroll.”

You blinked, making a show of running your eyes over his partially armored body, clearly in disbelief. He could kiss you for not scoffing in question, cry because the understanding feels worse. He sighed in defeat, leaving his things on the bed before moving toward you. He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, mouth opening and closing, the words not coming, but you waited.

“Please.”

It came out more like a sigh. He could have said more. He probably should have. Your soft gaze hardened his resolve even further, determination further settling in his bones as his shoulders straightened. The bond picked up in his chest, the duet between your souls a familiar song. As the sun would rise on this day, the melody that was so familiar to him would be played with trepidation, tempo increasing as the day continued, as if the string connecting your souls had no idea the outcome the day would provide, the Mother herself plucking the string in anticipation.

He took in the planes of your face and he could feel the lightest touch of your powers deep in his chest.

Resolve.

Determination.

Love.

He could hold you, tell you how he had to do this. How he couldn’t stomach the thought of you in Autumn with Beron just around the corner. How his world shifted with the mating bond, as if he had been walking through life at an angle but could now stand straight. Instead, he watched your breathing, eyes roaming across your face. His thumb brushed your lip, taking in the shape of your lips, the slope of your nose.

“My mate.”

It conveyed all of his thoughts and more. His thumb caught your jaw, holding it in his grasp just enough to keep you from turning away. As if you would ever look away.

“Stay with my mother. Please.”

His tone was urgent. A final instruction he had to share or else he’d be unable to leave. You must’ve seen the urgency, the plea in his eyes - protests and questions swallowed as you nodded. This was his fight. A meticulous plan he had cultivated over a century of scheming and bargaining and debating. The abruptness of his plan being put into motion wouldn’t stop him from keeping out any unknown players.

Especially you.

He looked to the window, finally acknowledging the call from the trees, allowing their song to entice him and coax him from his place of comfort. 

Gods, he hated leaving you. Hated every part of it. Years later, when he would think about this day, mull over all of the impossibles that happened, he would tell his children that the hardest part of the day was when he gave one final kiss before departing without looking back.

His hands itched to hold you longer, his palms burning with the feeling of you as he winnowed outside the Forest House, landing not too far from the exit. He had considered winnowing directly, however he had to be careful to reserve his magic for the day to come. He only winnowed outside the house so he would be seen by as few people as possible. 

Eyes and ears were everywhere inside.

Eris moved through the forest, the wind through the trees a familiar song as he looked to the moon, asking for the first time in centuries for some entity to look over him. A century of unanswered prayers led him to not bother to ask for much, but tonight it was more than his life on the line.

Eris followed the beaten path to the stables, long legs leading him through the stalls, until he finally came to a stop before Cameron, his red friesian, and his preferred mount of many years. She had been a young foal much too small to hold his weight when Eris first met her but he'd been patient and encouraging, feeding her sugar cubes as he watched her grow into her gangly limbs. He was rewarded by the now sure footed beast with gentleness and docility, even as the stable hands fought to land in her good graces.

Cameron had been a young foal when Eris met her, much too young and small to handle his weight. He had enjoyed watching the young beast grow, feeding her sugar cubes as she went from gangly limbs to a sure footed force to be reckoned with, docile and gentle for eris even as the stablehands fought to land in her good graces, but she was always docile and gentle for Eris.

He walked her out of the stall after providing a saddle for himself, closing it behind him, leaving as little evidence he was here as possible. Once out of the stall, he mounted her, swinging one leg over her back before she took off, the Forest House disappearing behind him quickly.

Eris tries not to think of the day ahead as he goes through the motions of saddling Cameron. Doesn’t want to think of the many lives on the line for him nor about how he would rather not involve Cameron or his brothers in this. He closed the door, double checking the stalls to make sure he's left as little evidence as possible. He cannot afford to count his regrets now. He will have an eternity to repent, as hellion or High Lord. Once out he mounted her with practiced ease, swinging a leg over her back mid stride, the Forest House a speck in the distance before he's fully seated.

The landscape changed as Cameron galloped beneath him, her hooves leaving impressions in the mud in their wake as they rode north, the trees leading Cameron with their song. Once the song got loud enough, he pulled the reins, stopping in a clear field. HIs pull urged Cameron to stop before dismounting and tying her reins to a nearby tree. He gently stroked her mane, the horse unsettled at Eris’s destination. He spoke softly, telling her he wouldn’t be long. It had a slight effect on the mare, her hooves staying planted as Eris turned from her.

The leaves crunching beneath his boots got louder as he approached the exact spot he’s thought about every day for the past century. Mapping out the exact route in his head thousands of times. The leaves sounded like the bones of the fallen beneath him, a walk through the graveyard of his father’s reparations.

He could feel the thrumming in his chest as he got closer, a rhythmic pulsing mirroring his own heart. It sounded nothing like the song of the mating bond inside him, the tones deeper and more primitive. Almost like the drums of fire night, calling to him from deep within his soul. The call to fire night is one of claiming a body. This call was the same, but the call asked for violence, not eroticism.

The drums became louder as he walked in circles, trying to pinpoint where the sound was loudest. If the sound grew softer, he marked a line in the dirt with his boots before turning around until eventually he had made a circle of marks about three feet in diameter.

Eris considered turning around, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, but the wind pushed him forward. He sunk his knees into the earth, his fingers breaking the topsoil. Dirt clung beneath his nails as he clawed through the soil, moving mound after mound toward him. The dirt began caving back into the hole, causing him to start pushing the dirt away from him.

He felt more and more rabid the further he dug, as if he should have brought his hound Clover to do this instead, her paws much more efficient and adept at digging than his fingers.

But he didn’t want Clover here, or any other living creature for that matter.

He hardly wanted Cameron here, but he needed her. Too far to travel by foot, and he didn’t want to waste his magic by winnowing everywhere.

The song in his ears had gotten louder as he dug, a chorus of long gone heartbeats drowning out all noise. The song was deafening now, uncertain he’d ever be able to hear any other song again.

His nails made a toe curling sound as they scratched across a metal box, his ears twitching at the sound. He dug around until he could see the entirety of the box, his hands moving to pull the box from the earth. He inspected the long box, the metal exterior having no cracks or screws keeping it in place. After finding none, he took a deep breath before placing his hand on the top side of the box, pushing heat from the palm of his hand onto the surface of the box, the dark gray metal glowing orange from the heat. 

His fingers gripped the hot metal, his skin unflinching from the heat as he curled his fingers into the metal, forging his own opening. The contents glittered through the hole he created, his eyes full of reflected light as his fingers wrapped tightly around the jewel encrusted hilt that turned into branches.

The hilt was magnificent - a sword truly made for slaying a beast. The song in his ears was louder, the heart beats racing as he unsheathed the sword from the prison it had been confined to for over five centuries. A legendary sword - one of the few magic imbued items in the Autumn Court.

The Spine of Autumn.

A name unspoken for centuries, millenia perhaps. Beron had spent a long time ensuring the few who had known about it were quickly taken care of, never to be seen again.

The light hit the metal as he pulled the sword out, the blade glistening in the sun. The sword was harsh on his senses - the glint of the hilt nearly blinding, the song in his ears deafening. 

The only thing keeping him grounded was the cool touch of the sword against his palms.

He placed the sword into the sheath he brought with him, the long blade covered in cracks of lava hidden once more. 

He placed its old sheath back into the box before he reburied it, the efforts much quicker than unearthing the blade. With the box in the ground once more, Eris turned his back on the mound of disturbed soil. His steps were quick as he reached Cameron, mounting her quickly before taking off once more, the handle of his sword gleaming in the sun.

The sun rose higher as Cameron ran through Autumn, her chestnut braided mane glowing in the morning light. Both of his stops were kept to a strict itinerary- entering his younger brother’s separate homes, Alastor and Cormac, telling them that they knew exactly what to do and to begin their work.

He didn’t linger - hardly spent enough time in their home for his scent to linger for long before departing onto the next brother. He hadn’t bothered planning for Flint, knowing it would be in vain. It was more likely that Flint would turn him into Beron for his treason than even consider helping, so he stuck to the brothers he knew would provide some aid.

The long journeys between his brothers gave him large chunks of time devoted to praying to the Mother that things were going as they should in the Forest House.

There was, unfortunately, one place Eris had to winnow to. Too far to reach in time by horse, once he had made it a few miles from the barracks, he had dismounted from Cameron before tying her reins to a tree once again.

“I shouldn’t be long, Cam.”

He stroked her mane slowly, trying to reassure the mare that he would be fine. There was a nip in the air as Eris strolled into the human lands, the early morning fog hovering just above the wet grass as he approached the manor. 

Swift knocks twinged with urgency met the wood. He could hear movement from behind the door, hushed voices coming from behind it before it swung open, a dark skinned woman with bright red hair looking up at him. Her eyes looked Eris up and down, an eyebrow raised as she quickly shut the door, steps quick as she went further back into the house, before a moment later the door swung open again, Lucien’s tan skin greeting Eris instead. Lucien’s hair shone against his dark chest, his fingers fumbling with the tie of his breeches.

“Lulu.”

Lucien met Eris’s tone with an eyeroll and a quiet fuck you before his fingers moved to shut the door, but Eris quickly placed his foot in the doorjam. Lucien sighed out of his nose, turning on his heel inside the house knowing Eris would follow. The inside of the manor was covered in gray walls, gold ornate furniture, and, much to Eris’s amusement, a bright pink couch he walked towards as Lucien sat opposite him in a red and gold armchair.

“What do I owe the displeasure?”

Eirs took in the room - a handful of landscape paintings on the walls, the two humans Lucien lived with down the hall listening. Lucien’s scent wasn’t very strong, meaning he likely got back into the moral lands not long before Eris’s arrival.

“There used to be a time when you were delighted to be in my company, sunshine.” 

“Anything is preferable to the company of our other brothers.”

The ruse grated on Eris. He had half a mind to come clean, uncaring of the two humans listening down the hall. But this was Lucien’s life. The choices he made were his to tell, and if Lucien wanted to continue the ruse, then so be it.

“I see your choice in decor has become rather flamboyant with time.”

“My time in Spring made me quite fond of hues of pink.”

The two brothers stared at one another, not letting many words pass between them, an almost awkward silence stifling the room. Eris had turned to the one common ground that always remained between them, like a second language only they knew.

“Have you heard about the birds of Night? The one so precious to Rhysand and the other bats?”

Lucien’s eyes widen if just for a second before returning to an unamused look.

“Yes, I’ve kept my ear to the ground and heard rumblings.”

I know about you two.

Eris reoriented himself, fixing his posture. “The flightless birds have left outside of their normal migratory patterns.”

She’s left Night unexpectedly.

Lucien shifted in his seat, and Eris knew he understood.

“And where have they gone?” Lucien was giving Eris his full attention, and it panged in Eris’s chest that the only reason for that was the subject matter.

“They’ve begun crossing the border, making it past Winter into Autumn, either forgetting or not caring about the predators that lurk there.”

“And why are you here?” An almost accusatory tone, one he has become accustomed to hearing from his youngest brother.

“I know you’re quite fond of these birds and I’m sure we can come up with some plot to protect them.”

Please help.

Lucien’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes cast to the door Vassa and Jurien stood behind with bated breath.

“Yes, I’m sure we can. Did you have something in mind?”

Eris nodded without speaking. Lucien nodded quickly before rising, running a hand through his long hair.

“Allow me to change into more appropriate attire and I shall accompany you.”

After several moments, Lucien reappeared in light armor that had their family crest on the chest, but he could see black leathers peeking out from beneath the metal plating. Eris’s throat went dry at the sight, not knowing Lucien had such armor, much less kept it for whatever purpose.

“Don’t look so surprised. Mother brought it some time ago.”

Of all the reasons for Lucien to be wearing Autumn armor, that was certainly not one of them. Before he could ask, Lucien clarified further.

“She dropped them by one evening quickly because the last time we had met, I had told her an interesting story about a bird and a fox.”

His mother had known for quite some time - but Eris had never indulged her in details past the night he discovered his mate. “And how did the story end?”

Lucien shrugged, attempting to seem unbothered, but his eye betrayed him. The golden thing whirred in its socket, making the hair on Eris’s arms raise. “It hasn’t yet.”

Eris waited as Lucien changed and the two brothers winnowed directly into the barracks, Lucien groaning at the site of Alastor and Cormac before him. 

“You failed to mention the likes of these two were involved in your harebrained schemes.”

“Don’t be a fool, Lucien. Everyone save for Flint is involved.”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak once more, but Eris’s raised finger stopped him.

“When all of this is done, the three of you may fight for a century for all I care. We don’t have to like each other, we just have to be in agreement as to the real threat.”

No one spoke his name. A habit since childhood, as if the utterance would summon him.

Eris breathed in through his nose, preparing himself to share parts of his grand plan.

“The three of you will be a part of my army.” Their voices started up again, but his raised voice immediately silenced them. “The three of you will blend into my army, seizing the Forest House. I will be meeting with him this afternoon, and the three of you will work with my guard to take control of the house once I’m inside. Once we have control, he will fall shortly after.”

“What of the advisors?” Cormac’s thick accented voice cuts through, interrupting Eris.

“Don’t worry about them. They are being dealt with now.”

That raised more questions than it answered, but Eris didn’t have the time to walk his brothers through his plans.

“I have to go, but I am entrusting this to you three. Having a stronghold in the Forest House is key to this plot, otherwise it will all fall apart and we will all be executed for treason.”

His eyes looked at each of his brothers, taking a few seconds to remember their faces. None of the relationships within the Vanserra family tree were ever simple and clearcut. His brothers all hated him for various reasons, and he them. The only thing truly connecting them other than blood was pure hatred directed toward their father.

On any other subject, he knew having his brothers involved would be a risk. But the three looking at him now would do anything to see Beron disposed of, no matter the cost. Petty squabbles can come later. His ears rang again with the drums, his fingers annoyed at every surface he touched that wasn’t the hilt of the sword.

He spent several minutes going over the layout of the house with them, which strategies would work best for taking it as a stronghold. It was mostly for Lucien’s benefit, Beron having changed a few things around since his youngest brother was ran out of Autumn.

“You all know what to do.”

He didn’t have the ability to convey any of his feelings towards them. How he felt like he failed them by allowing Beron’s corruption to turn their hearts. How he should have killed Beron centuries ago.

But he doesn’t. Instead he turned, walking through the barracks before finding Cameron once more and riding through the trails of Autumn toward the Forest House.

Upon Eris’s arrival into the Forest House, the house moved about in a sense of normalcy. Servants fluttered about, avoiding his eyes as they went about their duties. He made his way to the throne room, where Beron preferred their private meetings to be held. He pushed open the double doors to find Beron already sitting at the throne, waiting expectantly. Eris walked forward before stopping halfway between the door and Beron to kneel.

Over the years, Eris had allowed himself to seem sloppy for this moment. He spent the mornings and afternoons training his soldiers, his armor more like a second skin. 

The first time had been a mere accident. He had forgotten to shed his armor, not thinking about the rules and expectations Beron sets upon his family. Instead of the issue they had planned to discuss, Beron had forced Eris to shed his chest plate, spending the hour-long meeting whipping his back instead.

When Eris had returned to his training, the pain from the wounds on his back gave him an idea. He didn’t do it frequently enough for Beron to punish him outside of these perceived wrongdoings, but just enough so a small pattern would form. Eris just needed the right moment, just needed Beron to be comfortable enough so he could move things into motion.

But it never came.

Beron’s voice filled the hall, the room entirely empty save the dais decorated with one throne.

“Any male in a position of power will always wonder how he will fall. He will try to see thousands of possibilities.”

Eris remained kneeling, not having been dismissed or even acknowledged when Beron began speaking.

“It is always on your mind - who is an ally and who is a foe?”

Screaming could be heard through the halls, the unmistakable sound of fighting coming through the crack beneath the door. Beron didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the sounds beyond the door. Somehow he knew this was coming.

Eris kept his head down, gritting his teeth in annoyance that someone tipped off his father, but his jaw fell slightly at the sounds of barking beyond the door.

It was Clover, he was sure of it. He had told Alastor to put armor on his hounds and release them, wanting them to act as an alert system to those inside the house that more soldiers were approaching. He didn’t expect them to be in the middle of the battle.

He could hear their growls and the shrieks of those they dug their jaws into.

He had been training the hounds for years on who to attack. Any advisors who happened to pass the kennels and were received less than kindly, Eris chalked it up to his hounds being bitches. The real truth was he spent decades gathering the scents of those advisors, guards he couldn’t sway, anyone who would stand in his way, using the clothing or fabric whenever he would be training his hounds on aggressive tactics. Getting them used to their targets.

But they still weren’t supposed to be here.

Thousands of hearts were beating in Eris’s ears, uncertain which was his own. He was sweating now, trying to keep the sword unsheathed for as long as possible.

Beron’s smile was feline as he took in the sounds of chaos. “Beautiful sound, isn’t it? I always loved the echo of treason in the afternoon.”

Beron breathed in deeply through his nose, straightening as he stood. Eris finally stood before he unsheathed the Spine of Autumn, the sword glowing all on its own. The molten lava in the metal practically crackling with heat. Beron laughed at the sight of it.

“You wield the power of things you don’t understand, boy. Give it to me.”

Berin held out his hands, fully expecting Eris to blindly obey his command. 

“No.”

Beron’s eyes crackled with anger. He never responded well to any defiance from any of his sons. In a fit of rage, Eris struck first. The first deviation from his plan. His sword sliced through the air, Beron quickly unsheathing his own to block. Beron’s counter attack was expected, Eris able to block with his hilt quickly. 

Several moments passed as the two swapped blows back and forth. Eris was sweating profusely, the roar of the sword growing louder in his ears, now silently chanting kill, kill, kill. Their combat consisted of matched hits, the room a sweltering heat between the two of them. Eris rolled from Beron’s blade, maneuvering through the room, trying to use anything in the bare room to get any form of leverage against his father. He walked up the steps of the dais, blocking each of Beron’s blows as he walked backward up to the throne.

The doors shook, he could make out occasional shouts and yells from his brothers from the other side, their voices desperate to get in. Each time he swung the blade, he could practically feel the rage of his last act of betrayal through the doors as he could hear them fighting off any more of Beron’s guard.

“I always wondered which one of you fools would try to overthrow me. Delightful to find out all of you participated in the coup.” Eris swung once more, his centuries of training his body into a weapon needed for this very moment. 

“Eris.”

His name was a hiss from his father.

“You are playing games you do not understand.”

The only other noise in the room was the clanging of their swords, the air heavy with dreams on both sides. One wanting a successful coup, the other wanting to prove time and again his strength and brutality.

“I understand well enough, father.” Beron tsked as if admonishing a schoolboy, his mouth sneering into a smile. “No, you don’t.”

Eris’s limbs ached as he bore the brunt of Beron’s full strength with each block and each attempted attack, the throne room devoid of any way to tell the passage of time. Was this purgatory, an in between life for those the Mother deemed unworthy of rebirth?

“A month before you were born, the stakes with Hybern were rising steadily. I found a witch and had a curse placed on myself.” 

The drumming in his ears made his father’s words next to impossible to make out, but somehow his mind knew what he was saying even if his ears couldn’t pick them out.

“Whoever kills me, kills themselves in the process.”

His father’s words did little to stop his movements, his attacks using more and more of his strength. The doors rattled once more, an echo of broken promises added to Eris’s neverending list of lies and betrayals.

He knew he was lying to his brothers when he said they would have a chance at Beron. The lie had rolled off his tongue, a means to get them here no matter what. Every plan he had had to get to this moment with their involvement in one way or another. Vengeance was always at the forefront of their minds and he gave them a taste for it. All he can do now is hope they will see this through.

His father having a debt for his soul, a life for a life, was not surprising to Eris. He was certain there was some cosmic debt for killing his father. Everything he worked for in this life came at a cost, why should that stop now in his final act?

If this was the end, he’d do all he could to ensure he had slain the dragon.

Eris mustered the last of his strength. The male who calculated every move, every breath he had taken over the past five centuries. 

It was the last move to make. The last time he’d deviate from the plan.

A life he’d dreamt of so close if he outstretched his arms his fingertips could ghost over it.

He thought of whispered promises, midnight declarations of love.

And he erupted.

The sword was bright and covered in blue flames as it met Beron’s sword once more, the clanging metal echoing through the air. Every slash, every hit was countered perfectly. 

A battle of wills.

Eris tapped into the well of rage within him, using that to push himself forward. To keep striking, even as Beron matched every hit. Eris felt his father having to use the well of power within him, and he was certain if he could just wear the bastard down he would have a shot.

Beron was powerful, a magic so deep and vast it wasn’t unheard of for new High Lords to drown in it. But Eris was ravenous, a hunger for that power so deep his bones were malnourished.

After what felt like centuries, Eris was finally able to thrust under Beron’s guard, the point of his sword nicking Beron in the neck. His father acted quickly, his counter parry catching Eris in the side, the heat from the blade slicing through the metal of his armor. Beron stomped forward, his sword raised over his head and Eris just barely blocked with his hilt in time. Eris pushed forward, using his legs to push Beron off of him to allow himself some breathing room. 

Beron took Eris’s expectation and used all his force to swipe his sword through the air, causing the Spine of Autumn to slip through Eris’s grasp.

Beron used the advantage to hit Eris in the torso, the reverberations from his armor causing his chest to vibrate. He took two more hits before his knees fell, the armor digging into his skin as he panted for breath.

“You stupid, stupid boy.” The words crashed into Eris as Beron’s sword hit him in the side.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see the greed in your brothers’ eyes? Expect your wretched softness to stray your mind?” 

Another clang, this one to his thigh. His limbs were roaring in pain, the heat of the room sweltering.

“You think I’d make my father’s mistake and let his runt of a son take his crown? No, my dear.” His tone was softer, as if he were imitating Eris’s mother, the sound causing Eris’s stomach to churn. 

Eris saw the sword glint in the moonlight, and he watched a hand cover the light from it. Beron smiled, his teeth covered in blood, making him appear more animal than fae.

“All of my idiot sons working against me. I should be proud to produce such heretics.”

Beron turned his sword, using the hilt to hit Eris square in the chest, causing him to fall onto his back, the clang of the armor echoing through the throne room. His father stalked toward him - a predator at the end of the hunt. His teeth gleamed in hunger.

“Perhaps your little coup would have worked if you had just one more of your brothers aiding you.”

Flint stepped out of the shadows, appearing from behind the High Lord. Flint was only a few years younger than Eris, but he had gladly taken on the personality that Beron wanted him to have. His long, practically maroon-colored hair covered parts of his face, but he made no move to fix it.

Eris was the only son to live permanently in the Forest House, all the others were scattered across Autumn in the hopes to keep more of the population in line. Flint had been sent to the furthest reaches of Autumn because he so resembled Beron with his cruelties that the High Lord wished for the farthest communities to feel his power.

Flint carried with him an air of unease, the scars on his face making him seem far more sinister than the legends that surrounded him could. He kept his words far and few between, preferring to keep any disagreements in the physical sense.

“Do not fret, I’m sure your mother and brothers can learn some very valuable lessons from your folly, even if you’re too charred to do the teaching.”

Beron gleamed with wicked delight as he heard Flint pick up the sword, his steps growing nearer. His father stayed rooted as his brother moved closer, dragging the sword behind him, the drag creating a terrible high-pitched noise.

Eris’s eyes were calculating as he looked to the sword, trying to gather any semblance of strength to move, to pick himself up. He just needed a speck of energy, to hold out long enough for the magic of the new High Lord to heal him.

But he was stuck. He couldn’t move. Forced to observe his own failed assassination. Ruminate on the life spent to get to this moment just to fall short.

Flint heated the sword, his flame dancing around the metal, turning into a redhot coloring.

His thoughts flicked through the hundreds of people he brought with him today, the fighting in the hallways, the banging on the throne room doors. It all faded to nothing, the only sound in his ears the tune of the mating bond deep on his chest.

It was a beautiful thing, even if it was only real for a glimmer of time.

Flint handled the sword, checking the weight of it as Beron looked to his oldest son, his eyes full of eagerness at the possibility of spilt blood.

Eris’s breathing was labored as Flint lifted the hilt high over his head before he quickly turned and sliced the sword through Beron’s neck, his blood flowing across the front of his body. The heated sword sliced easily through the High Lord, a squelching sound coming from him as Beron’s face remained with the sneer he held before it fell from his neck, his body following suit. Beron’s head rolled a few feet, his body slumping to the ground in a thump. He watched Beron’s eyes, watching the life seep from them as his head landed a few feet from Eris’s knees.

Beron’s armor clanged throughout the throne room, the last sounds of a tyrant jarring and almost anticlimactic.

The beast was slain, a shocking finale to a tyrant’s life. Eris couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t allow himself to feel anything other than concern at the male that was staggering before him, swaying on his feet.

Eris quickly moved to stand, not bothering to look at his father’s body as he darted forward, just in time to catch Flint. His weight was heavy in Eris’s arms, the deadweight nearly causing both males to collapse. Eris wiped the blood from his own mouth before trying to speak.

“What the Hel were you thinking?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, the deep brown full of sadness as if Eris could watch all of his memories through them. The air was colder now, the rhythmic prose of the sword gone from his ears as his intended target had been slain. The bloodthirst sword had been quenched, but his brother had paid a steep price.

“You told me to strike when they least expect it.”

Autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet, his boots blocking out the chill of the air, his ears full of the sounds of tiny exhalations. He stood, watching the small boy maneuver around the tree, cutting up the bark with each slice.

“You’re too loud.”

Flint moved his head quickly, startled at Eris’s presence.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Eris moved toward his younger brother, easily pulling the sword from his hands.

“That’s because I didn’t want you to.”

He looked at the hilt of the sword - much too heavy for a boy his brother’s size. He huffed as he pulled a small dagger from the lining of his jacket before handing that to Flint, ignoring his brother’s attempts at reaching the sword again.

“Flint, there’s a reason every male worth his weight carries a dagger.”

Flint handled the small blade, flicking it through the air as if fighting an opponent, nearly cutting Eris’s jacket in the process.

“Why?”

“Because daggers allow you to strike when your opponent least expects it.”

His own words echoed back to him, feeling so unfamiliar in Flint’s mouth.

He always had the same eyes. Full of depths Eris could never fathom, a bottomless well of sadness and concession to an unwanted life. Somewhere over the centuries they lost that spark that Eris loved so much. He wondered briefly if to have a child is to watch that spark dull. But then his thoughts wandered to Lucien - the only one who got out, who got their spark back.

“Flint, we’ll get the healer. Mother’s coming, you have to- you have to see her.”

Eris started clawing, tugging with everything in him on the bond in his chest, urging you to come quickly. He needed someone, anyone to come. To see what his brother had done for him, for all of them, for Autumn.

“Eris, I-“

His bloodied hand reached up, shushing Flint. He was growing pale, his cheeks losing the red glow they always had.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll- we’ll be okay.”

Tears fell from Eris, landing directly onto his brother’s chest. He wasn’t sure where it came from - perhaps some pit deep inside of himself still cared for Flint. Their relationship was rife with double and even triple crossing, each conversation a meticulous game of chess that allowed for no winners, only heartbreak.

The blood loss was getting to him, he was sure of it. The room was spinning and the pounding in his ears finally stopped only to be replaced with an incessant ringing. His limbs felt so warm, his body overheating. He wrapped himself around his brother, trying to warm him.

“Flint, I have - I have a mate.”

As he spoke, he heard the doors burst open, and could hear the footsteps as several fae entered the throne room. He didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes on his brother’s. He didn’t know why the admission had come forth, some part of him knowing that his brother was not going to make it through the night. It slipped from his lips, only now realizing this was the first time he had told anyone he had a mate.

His mother had sniffed it on him the night the bond snapped. Lucien - Eris had no idea how Lucien knew. 

But Flint was the first one Eris ever got to tell. And he watched his brother smile, an act more taxing than it should be, his eyes flickered with the life they used to have. Flint’s hand reached up, cupping Eris’s, before he nodded his head.

It was too late for words, but Eris knew what his brother was saying.

Eris looked into that dark brown - the color of soil, chocolate, coffee. Things that give life, things that are worth living for. And he swore he watched the life fade from them slowly, a dull sheen creeping in from the edges.

Traitors don’t get a victor’s life. 

To stab from behind is either cowardice or cunning, depending on which side of the blade you’re on.

He felt the presence of others, but this moment was all consuming: grief, relief, the new influx of emotions and sensations as High Lord.

This was supposed to be his ending. He had accepted that the moment Beron mentioned the curse, having given up any hope of leaving this room alive. He had accepted that Beron would be the last face he saw. A terrible ending to a life unlived.

He looked down at Flint, his eyes still having some life, and he called for his mother, beckoning her near. He didn’t take his eyes from his brother, but he somehow knew she was who Flint would want to see in his last moments. 

“Flint,” Marigold cooed, dropping to her knees next to Eris. He moved Flint’s head into her hands, his brother relaxing at her gentle touch, combing her fingers through his hair. His brother didn’t stir, so Eris jostled his body, desperate to get Flint this final moment with their mother.

“Come on, wake up. You have to tell her.”

Eris jostled him a bit more before his brother opened his eyes, half-lidded looking up at Marigold. Eris’s heart panged for her - another son gone at the hands of a Vanserra. Beron’s cruelty left no survivors, not even for a mother.

“I did it for you, Mother.” His voice was weak, but his words were full of need, as if this were a final confession. Marigold’s face remained soft, a flicker of a memory passing through Eris at being tucked in at night. Her soft voice lulled him to sleep, her serene smile the last thing he saw before he slumbered. Eris hoped death felt safe and warm like that memory. 

“I know, sweetheart.”

Flint coughed, a congested sound that didn’t sound right echoing through the throne room. Eris knew his other brothers littered about the room, but he didn’t dare look away from Flint. For the brother who gave up everything, Eris could devote his full attention in these final moments.

“It was all for you.”

He clutched her other hand tight in his, and she pulled him up to rest his head in the crook of her neck, sliding him from Eris’s grasp.

“I know, I know.”

Marigold did not ask for a healer. She must have known what Beron’s curse entailed. Perhaps having three of her sons killed by other family members was enough penance for her wrongdoings. 

Eris felt the magic surging through him, amplifying his senses, emotions, everything in him. It stitched and healed all the broken skin, the marred flesh. He felt his mate’s presence on his back, gentle touches that screamed I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. But his eyes stayed on his brother, each breath more taxing than the last one. 

It was Lucien who came forward with the ornate crown that looked like an infinite circle of branches with dying leaves and berries in his hands. A crown Eris had spent his whole life imagining how it would feel on his head. His neck didn’t ache with the weight of expectation like he thought it would as Lucien placed it atop his head.

It felt as if the sprigs were nestling onto his head, the crown coming to life to fit him perfectly, to take root with him as if to say you cannot go back.

Choices all led to this moment. Every decision made over the course of five centuries led to the thrumming power in his veins, the powerful family of nine now about to be a dwindled mess of five. 

There was no way back. What even would there be to go back to?

For centuries, Eris had thought he was doing it all alone. Scheming in the dead of night, forced to bloody his own hands. As his mother held Flint, his breaths taking longer pauses in between, his heart slowing in Marigold’s lap, Eris realized that he would never have gotten to this point alone.

A family fractured and wounded by each other for centuries, all coming together for this one moment in time. Nothing was simple in the Vanserra family, no relationship untouched by Beron. No matter how warped and twisted they were, this was still Eris’s family and they all came through when it mattered most.

There was no way to know how the future would unfold for the Vanserras. Millions of cruelties lay between all of them, even his mother was guilty for holding a grudge with him for what he took from her. No one in this room had the joys or naivety of youth.

Flint stopped breathing in his mother’s grasp and once she knew he was gone, she began sobbing into his head. His mother hardly cried. He had watched her deliver all of his brothers and been there in the aftermath. Heard her cries when Beron had first discovered her affair with Helion. These cries were different -like an animal howling at the moon in anguish. An unjust ending for their beloved child. Fire crackled in Eris’s veins, a silent promise that this was the last betrayal on the Vanserra line.

Roots popped up from beneath the tiling, startling Cormac before they wrapped around Beron’s body and severed head and dragged him beneath the surface, uncaring as they broke limbs and skin, the resounding crunch from either the tree or his body. His father’s body was pulled from the surface, a violent burial that left the throne room a disaster.

Outside the doors, Eris could hear the trees and paused at the tune of his mating bond. Despite there being no windows, the song was so loud his brothers could make out the melody. He listened closely, the song had a slow melody that flowed well. It sounded different than before - as if there were a different arrangement of instruments. The melody was the same, but it was less harsh than it was when he left the Forest House this morning. Then it sounded like a march, a call to battle. But now it sounded like he could make grand sweeping movements to it, spinning about a dance floor. It was then he understood. It was a waltz.

He listened once more, hearing the silences of the song that were usually filled in by your presence, only to find the gaps more prominent without your duet. His eyes stung as he realized they were singing a song of him and that it sounded beautiful.

The song of Eris floated through the trees, being carried on the wind throughout the fields of Autumn, telling the land that the evil has been expunged. The fields would bloom quickly, the land becoming more fertile and bursting with the life that had been missing for centuries. 

Across Autumn, the new High Lord’s song would be whispered, a beacon of hope to those long suffering beneath a tyrant. For the first time, the fae would hear Eris’s song and they would dance to it.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Thanks for reading❣️

[yumeka-sxf]

New chapter today, and even though most of it seemed to continue the silly tone from the previous one, the last few pages actually shocked me! 👀

For the first time, ANYA CONFESSED TO SOMEONE THAT SHE CAN READ MINDS! Now this doesn't necessarily mean anything crazy will happen in the series from now on, since Damian doesn't believe her (at first). But proving that you can read minds is easy to do, so the question now becomes, will Anya keep trying to prove it to Damian until he believes her? Or will she regret it later and not try to prove it, and then the plot point isn't touched on again? Regardless, this chapter definitely makes it seem like Damian will be the first person to know about her mind-reading powers.

Then there's the question of why Anya chose to confess this to Damian? I think it's a combination of a few reasons, the main one being that Damian doesn't have any connection to her family, so little risk of him telling them and thus bringing about the fear of abandonment Anya has should they find out. This might also be why she chose to tell him over Becky, since Becky already has somewhat of a relationship with Loid and Yor. The other reason could be that, as time has gone on, she's learned to trust him, at least when it comes to something like this. As hostile as he is towards her, she knows that he's not a double-crosser or a blabbermouth, and deep down he wants to do what's right. And lastly, it was the heat of a moment - her knowledge about him seemed weird so he questioned it, and perhaps at that highlighted moment, when Damian was being genuinely nice to her (since she can read minds, she knows if he's being genuine or not), she wanted to try not lying for once, just to see what happens.

Guess we'll have to wait until next time to see if anything ground-breaking comes from this...will Anya keep pursuing this, will she regret it and let Damian continue to not believe her, or will it just not be mentioned again until later? This reminded me a bit of the Mole Hunt arc where Yuri became suspicious of Loid, but the latter was able to throw him off the track. But the seed of suspicious was planted nonetheless. In this case, even if Damian continues to think Anya was lying, a seed of suspicion may have been planted in him too that could come into play much later on. We'll see!

But besides this big event, a few other notable things in this chapter was super rare soft Damian from the above page. This continues to prove what I've always thought - that Damian acts the way he does to appear "proper" in front of his peers, but when he's alone with Anya, his real feelings seep out. She's a rare person where he doesn't feel the need to put on airs around.

We also got more Henderson x Martha crumbs. Love to see it.

Also loved to see Anya getting cocky and Loid freaking out about it 😅

Overall, even though I'm not as into Damianya as I am Twiyor, I still enjoy seeing their progress, and this chapter was definitely one of the most Damianya-chapters of all~ Despite some of the "dance with Damian" challenges being a bit too silly for my taste (like, how did Emile and Ewen organize all that last minute?) the payoff at the end was worth it! Loid and Yor better get themselves together or their daughter will end up beating them in the romance department 😂