#so she asks if the universe is lonely NOT if it’d be lonely in the universe (she kinda already knows the answer)

[chikoyama]

Had a dream about Ziggy showing Chiyori the Universe, or part of it at least. They were holding hands, floating through the continuum of cosmos and space. It’s hollow, it’s dark. The sight of just how vast the Universe is leaves a profound impression on Chiyori. It’s all too quiet out here. It’s a heavy feeling. So dark, yet so beautiful. It’s eerie.

Space is filled with so much emptiness, she can’t help but wonder: “Do you think the Universe is… lonely?” And Ziggy turns to her. She squeezes his hand. It’s not something he's considered before. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t understand. He smiles. “I don’t know." Then he guides her to the nearest star, a white dwarf that had already reached the endpoint of its life.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[ma1dita]

I think I’d be sort of interesting if, for like an alternate ending where Luke is alive and doesn’t betray camp, Luke when he’s older decides to visit his mother but with diyonius reader

the house on a hill

a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

alternate universe masterpost

words: 663

summary: alternate universe - driving up to mom’s for the weekend & some sweet domesticity - luke castellan x dionysus!reader 

a/n: this was a cute lil way to clear my head! send more luke x trouble asks??

(posted 1/28/23 unbetad)

written in reference to this blurb

—

Your head bumps against the car window as you jolt awake.

“About time that you woke up, babe,” Luke grins, his eyes still on the road. Blinking slowly, you look around at the trees blurring together as you stare out the window, recognizing where you are. The two of you were driving up from your apartment in Brooklyn, finally going to see his mom for the weekend. With graduation steadily approaching in the next few months, there was a lot to think about.

“How long was I out?” you groan, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The sun is setting now, and a blue “Welcome to Connecticut! We’re Full of Surprises!” sign whizzes past the passenger window.

“Just an hour, but I got a little lonely,” Luke hums, rubbing circles on your thigh while his other hand is on the wheel. You lace your fingers with his own, watching him yawn. You can tell he needs this, and with all the time your dad drags you back to Montauk for ‘consults’, it’d be nice to get a dose of normal for once.

“Poor baby.”

Laughter spills out of you like a melody as you crack open the still-cold redbull in the cupholder, and he can’t help but admire your side profile as you take big sips. He’s so in love with you, and this weekend will be perfect. It has to be.

“Mmm, want some?”

Your boyfriend takes a sip, smiling when he hears you singing along to a Taylor Swift song. As you hold up an imaginary microphone for him to warble into, the distance to his childhood home gets smaller and smaller, until you spot the white picket fence of the property and squeal in excitement.

“Hurry up, I wanna see your mom!” you giggle, stomping your feet onto the car floor as he drives up the grassy path and honks loudly.

“Hey, I thought I was your favorite Castellan, trouble…” Luke says and his voice trails off when he sees his mom peeking through the kitchen window, waving at you.

“Whatever you say, angelface.”

You almost hop out of the car and run up the steps to hug her, gentle hands pulling you into a feeling of comfort only mothers can give.

“Hi Ms. Castellan!”

“Oh honey, I told you May is fine, or Mom. You’re already my favorite kid!” she grins, her smile exactly like her son’s, and the both of you turn to hear Luke grumbling as he pops the trunk to get your bags.

“Hi mommy,” Luke chuckles, bumping your hip to push you into the house as he kisses May’s cheek, “Stop being so obvious, you’re gonna spoil my surprise!” His hands fumble with the bags as he props a knee up to readjust his hold on your backpack and May’s hands reach out to help him.

“No, it’s okay, I got it, I got it…”

May catches the ring box that falls out of Luke’s back pocket, holding it to her chest with a knowing smile.

“You’re always gonna need some help, whether you admit it or not, my love.” She tucks the box into the pocket of his flannel shirt, patting it before she pinches his cheek.

“Luckily, you have a woman like her. Bless her heart for what you’ll put her through,” May says laughing at his scrunched-up expression.

“Guess I’m just scared she’ll say no.”

Luke sighs, looking at her like she holds the answers to the world.

“She’ll be crazy if she says no,” she reasons, and they both listen to you setting the table in the dining room.

“No, she’ll be crazy if she says yes. That’s why I want to marry her,” he snorts, bringing the bags in through the doorway.

“Um, mom? I think the cookies are burning!” you call out, sounding panicked.

The weight of the box in his pocket feels heavy, but his heart has never felt so light and sure of what’s to come. 

—

(pictures are not representative of reader's appearance and gender, simply added visuals for funsies)

luke taglist (struck out won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @targaryenluvs @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @b0ok-lover

[seaslugfanclub]

Yayyyy, asks are open! So anyways, I remember in the favorite villain request that Jafar mentioned about helping Reader with unsavory guests, can we get a scenario of Reader dealing with those kinds of guests? You can use any villains you’d like lol

Losers, Creeps, and Weirdos

TW: Creepy park guest being gross!

It was a good day. Pleasant temperatures, manageable crowds, and full staff. (Y/N) thought that it’d be one of those rare occasions where they’d be able to go home early.

Of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor.

It was halfway through (Y/N)’s shift, and they’d been scheduled to walk around Magic Kingdom, helping guests with directions and keeping a general eye on things. And from afar everything seemed normal, a couple Disney characters walking around and interacting with guests, but (Y/N) noticed after a while that a lone male park guest was constantly trailing behind Princess Aurora.

(Y/N) tried to brush it off at first, thinking that the guy was a little socially inept, just wanting an autograph. But the way the man was just… looking at the increasingly uncomfortable princess made (Y/N) feel nauseated. It was when the man got Aurora near a park bench somewhat out of sight that (Y/N) began to speed walk towards the two. (Y/N) got there right when the man began to reach his hand out towards the girl, Aurora looking near to tears.

(Y/N) immediately got between the two, making sure Princess Aurora was out of sight behind them as the man looked shocked. And that was the moment the scene began.

“I’m telling you now, man. If you don’t back off right now I’m going to call park security. I swear to god I’ll do it.”

“Are you serious right now!? It’s just a park attraction, your acting like it’s a real person!”

The man was incessant, unable to just walk away. His face was red and (Y/N) was slowly reaching towards their walkie talkie, ready to call security.

“I’m not going to stay here and teach you the basics of human decency, she is a 16 year old girl. Either you leave yourself or by force.” (Y/N) remained stone-faced, arms still protecting Aurora behind them, who was now clinging to their tennis shirt.

“Wha- do you know how expensive it is to get into here!? JUST LET ME-“ He started to move towards (Y/N), about to grab them when a slender hand stopped him.

“-excuse yourself from the premises and never return.. Yes, I do believe that’s the best course of action.”

(Y/N) and Aurora turned towards Jafar, who had his scepter raised and the man’s hand in a vice like grip. The cobra scepter gleamed red as the man’s face went slack, eyes becoming a cloudy red.

“yeah… i should… i should leave…” the man slurred, Jafar letting go of the unnamed guests hand as he began to walk away, his movement’s unnaturally stiff, only for Jafar to grasp the man’s shoulders again, his face twisted in disgust.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, why don’t you take a quick dip in the lake? I’m sure Medusas crocodiles would… appreciate the company.” He crooned as he lightly shoved the man away, for good this time.

The group watched as the man lumbered off, disappearing into the crowd. After a beat of silence Jafar turned around to the shocked (Y/N) and Princess Aurora.

“And I think that we should report this to management, don’t you think (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) straightened out a bit, nodding in agreement, “Yeah… let’s go”

————————————————————————

Upper management was naturally disturbed at the days events, taking aside everyone to get their own accounts of the story. After a report was filed, and both park security and police set off to find the man, the group was dismissed.

Princess Aurora was taken off the schedule for the next few days, and a one of (Y/N)’s colleagues was called to chaperone the princess back to where all the “Good Guys” resided. But not before giving a tearful ‘thank you’ and a quick peck on (Y/N)’s cheek as gratitude. Princess Aurora, bless her heart, even gave Jafar a timid yet heartfelt thanks, before departing with the park attendant. (Y/N) and Jafar now alone in the empty workroom.

….

“I can’t believe it…What you did today was..nice.” (Y/N) looked up at Jafar in awe, a crooked smile stretching across their face.

Jafar shuddered, waving his hand in dismissal, “Oh please, you know better. I was simply going about by business when I saw that… altercation. I couldn’t have such troglodyte ruin a peaceful day for me. You know as well as I do that the only ones that can bother you are us.”

“I know, but you could’ve found another park staff to help, instead you went out of your way to help us. Thank you.” (Y/N) chuckled, laughing even more at Jafar’s disgusted expression.

“Yes, yes, I’m amazing. Just don’t go blabbering about this to the others, Allah knows what’s going to happen to my reputation when that princess inevitably tells her little friends about today’s events. Ugh- I’m never going to live down..” He muttered under his breath, rubbing the space between his eyes.

(Y/N) hummed, dusting themselves off as they began to leave,

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul. I owe you one, Jafar— oh!”

Before Jafar could react, (Y/N) spun around- reached up and kissed the ex-viziers cheek,

“-As an extension of my gratitude. See ya!” They whispered, before quickly pulling back and rushing out of the room, leaving the flustered sorcerer behind, gently touching his cheek.

“Hmm… mabye it wouldn’t hurt to help them more often…”

————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed! I hope I wrote Jafar not too OOC 😅 It’s a shame that a lot of people forget that virtually all the Disney Princesses are children, the amount of mature content I’ve seen of them is super uncomfortable.

Oh, and the other Villians totally caught wind of what Jafar did, now they’re all ragging on him.

[juceynightmare]

lost and found (18+) part 1 - mjf x reader

my masterlist

lost and found (18+) masterlist

pairing(s): mjf x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, age gap (reader is 21, max is 27), max is an asshole

genre(s): soulmate!au, slow burn, angst

summary:  in which the items that you lose end up in the possession of your soulmate. max misplaces his aew world heavyweight championship title belt and it magically appears in y/n’s room. when her soulmate finally calls her to get his title back before the next show, y/n learns the hard way why her soulmate never responded whenever she’d lose an item that had her number written on it.

|| next part ||

the sound of her phone blaring beside her head made y/n shoot up to a sitting position in her bed with a jolt. she groaned, falling back against the mattress and reaching for her phone, declining the call and shutting her eyes so she could fall back asleep. almost immediately, her phone started ringing again, and with a groan she picked it up and held it against her ear after answering. “hello?” she asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

“where do you live?” came an unfamiliar voice. with her eyes still squeezed shut, y/n‘s eyebrows furrowed.

“sorry, who is this?” she asked, going through the list of men she knew to try and put a face to the voice.

“i need the belt. where do you live?” he asked again, ignoring her question. it was evident in his voice that the man’s patience was wearing thin.

“what fucking belt? dude, you must have the wrong number or something.” she groaned, finally pulling the phone away from her ear and opening her eyes to glance at the number on the screen. she just needed to check the contact, but when she saw it was an unsaved number, y/n knew that the person calling was no one notable.

just as she was about to end the call, the man’s angry voice came from over the speaker, “i don’t have the wrong number, y/n.”

her eyes widened and she sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. she pressed her phone back to her ear and asked, “how do you know my name?”

“i know your name because just yesterday lost another meaningless item with your number and name written on it. it’s shocking how many lone socks appear in my possession.” he scoffed, and y/n can practically hear the man roll his eyes. “now, tell me where you live. i’ll either send someone to get the belt or you’re going to have to mail it to an address i give you.”

she felt her heart jump in her chest at the realization that the voice of the man that was currently calling her was her soulmate.

soulmates were people who the universe decided belonged together - they were made to be each other's life partners. any item your soulmate lost would appear in your possession and with modern technology, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. y/n had spent her entire life romanticizing the day she'd finally be contacted by her soulmate and meet who the universe had hand-made just to love her.

ever since she got her own phone, y/n had made it a point to write her name, her phone number, and her social media handles on everything she owned. this was supposed to make it easier to find out who her soulmate was because it’d give them a way to contact her.

of course, his items would appear in her possession. however, there wasn’t anything like his number or social media for her to contact.

clothing, pencils, and even a 3ds, had all appeared in her possession. the most information she got was from the 3ds that had a pokemon game in it.

max.

that was the name of the playable character and ever since then she assumed that her soulmate’s name is max. even after losing his 3ds with his unfinished pokemon game, y/n still never got in contact with him. that didn’t mean that she had stopped trying though.

she just didn’t think it’d be until she was 21 that he’d finally contact her. especially in the modern era where kids were 11 years old and already in contact with their soulmates because of the inventions of phones.

“max?” she asked, hoping that it was the man’s name.

there was a pause on the other end of the line, before max finally spoke up. “how the fuck do you know my name? i’ve never written anything on my shit.”

“your 3ds. it had pokemon in it.” she answered, and feeling her heart drop when she heard the man groan on the other side.

“god, i guess it’s inevitable. the belt does have my name on it. now, are you going to answer the question? i need it by wednesday.” max sighed, his patience wearing impossibly thin as the conversation went on.

“uh, let me look for it first. i just woke up.” she admitted softly, getting out of bed and walking over to her lightswitch.

“isn’t your area code on the east coast too? it’s fucking 2 in the afternoon.” the man’s judgmental tone was hard to miss.

he was right. the sun was peeking through the blinds of her room and that was the only light that had seeped into her dark room.

“i just finished up midterms and it’s the weekend. let a woman rest, max.” she groaned, walking over to her light switch and flicking on her lights. with her room illuminated, she was able to make out the very big, very shiny title belt that was on her desk.

“midterms?” max asked, and y/n could make out the shock that was in his voice. “how old are you?”

“21, you?” she asked, walking over to her desk and admiring the belt.

“just use google. not like i’m here to get to know you better, after all i wasn’t expecting my supposed soulmate to be on the younger side. i just need my fucking belt back and then we can go back to living our separate lives.” he grunted.

she frowned at the man’s answer, clearly not wanting to go back to not knowing who her soulmate is. she certainly hadn’t expected this to be their first conversation, and she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the nameplate on the belt.

maxwell jacob friedman.

she made a mental note to do as the man said and google his name later on.

“well, you already know i’m on east coast.” she hummed, trying to keep the conversation going so that she could keep her soulmate on the phone. she had been dreaming of this day for years, and y/n wasn’t about to let it end so hastily.

“hurry up and just tell me where you live so we can get this over with.” he huffed.

she sighed, finally giving in and telling the man her address. his sour mood had seemed to have finally seeped through the phone speakers and into y/n’s bones to the point where she was also beginning to feel irritated. although, y/n knew she was irritated at the fact that it sounded as though her soulmate wished he never had to call her.

“of course you‘d be from around here.” she heard him mumble. his voice was so low that y/n wondered if she was meant to hear it. “guess it makes it easy though since i can just have caster come over. look, toots, after i get what i need, don’t bother contacting me, alright?”

y/n was taken aback by how certain her soulmate had sounded. “i’m sorry? i’m your fucking soulmate, you know. i’ve been waiting my whole life to finally talk to you and you took so fucking long to reach out to me. i at least want to get to know you better since the universe thinks we should be together.” she huffed, finally reaching her breaking point with her soulmate.

“and it hasn’t come across your mind once that maybe i don’t want to ever meet you?” he asked.

the words had made y/n feel as though the man had taken a sword and stabbed her right through her heart. her hand had clenched at her chest right above where her heart was and it was then that y/n realized that she was physically hurting from his words.

“my... coworker... is coming over to pick up the belt. he’ll be there in 10. his name’s max caster, and he looks like a geek. don’t even bother denying giving him the belt because that belt is very important and worth a lot of money and i’m certain you don’t want a lawsuit on your record for stealing a title belt.” max huffed over the phone.

she stayed silent, blinking away the tears that had welled in her eyes without her even knowing.

“alright, how about we settle then. we only call whenever we lose something that we desperately need back. i’m not answering if you’re calling about losing a sock.” max huffed, ignoring the way he felt as though he had to come to some sort of trade off with her.

“okay.” she responded in a whisper.

“he’s heading over now. don’t lose something important immediately after i end this call because i won’t be as nice as i am now.” he responded before the sound of the call being dropped rang in her ear.

maxwell jacob friedman.

how could the universe be so cruel to give her such a soulmate like him?

|| next part ||

[romanoffsbish]

Kate Bishop 4 . “I can’t believe that the world had infinite chances to find me a soulmate, and I lucked out and hit the absolute jackpot with you.”

Kate Bishop x Reader

A lil blurb ❤️

Kate simply couldn’t take her eyes off of you, even though her alarm that had gone off thirty minutes ago was an indicator for her to get up and start her day. Clint’s incessant texts went ignored as well. The young archer was busy.

It’d been months since she last got to hold you like this, to feel as your warm breaths fanned across her skin. To intimately cradle your body against her very own without the blanket of sleep keeping her from seeing you. This was a nice break from her more bleak reality.

——

Kate was missing you like crazy with the nonstop flow of missions with Clint and the skilled Widows, him and Natasha were ready to pass on their mantles. Yelena seemed ready, but neither OG Avenger would leave the other hanging, and Clint wasn’t done with Kate yet.

Kate understood, Clint had a family, and Wanda and Natasha were jonesing to start their own. But she also had you to think about. Just a year ago you two were college seniors, wildly in love; now you are an official business woman, and she’s an Avenger, with no time for romance.

It saddened her to ask you to have to accept this life, but she loved you too much to have broken it off, and you were incredibly patient.

“Kate?” You whispered her name in disbelief, “You’re still here?” The sound of your voice made the woman’s heart flutter with a mix of love and guilt. It’d been weeks since you’d been able to feel her arms around you, so she felt the way you instinctively nuzzled further into her, but it was also obvious to her that the only reason you’re up at 6am is her buzzing phone that was just out of her reach. “Yeah, I’m here. I think I’m just going to blow off Clint today.”

You untangled from her grasp, against her groans of protests to sit up and face her. Kate saw the worry on your face, and just as she went to cup your cheek you reached to touch her forehead with the back of your hand. The woman stifled her giggle as best she could.

“Baby, I’m not sick, I just think life requires a little balance, and I’ve weighed the scales to find that you’re not being given your fair share.”

“It’s okay Kit-Kat, I get it, you are a superhero.” You shrugged nonchalantly, but with your eyes locked with hers she could see the toll her absence had been having on you. “You are fighting the evil of the world, it would be selfish of me to expect you to be around that much.”

“You deserve an attentive partner,” she fiercely challenged and you smiled softly. “I have one.”

Kate frowned, “Y/N/N, I’m hardly ever here.”

“Yet I’m never lonely,” you teased, “Every morning I find a smoothie in the fridge with my name on it. When I get to work there’s almost always something waiting for me, whether that be a bouquet of flowers, or my go to take out order arriving around lunch time. You never miss our six o’clock dinners or movie nights.”

You watched her eyes gloss over. “I still don’t think it’s enough my love, you deserve more.”

You shook your head, and straddled her lap with a loving smile. “What more could I need Kit-Kat?” In a show of dramatics you threw your arms up to emphasize the question, as if the universe would answer, then you smiled as she looked at you with a pout that you promptly kissed away. “You,” you paused to peck her lips again, “Returning home to me safe and holding me close is all I’ll ever want or need.”

Kate tackled you into a hug, her body crushing yours as she placed kisses all over your neck. “I can’t believe that the world had infinite chances to find me a soulmate, and I lucked out and hit the absolute jackpot with you.”

“I’m far from a prize Kit-Kat,” you managed to giggle out, though her unrelenting attack of your upper body with kisses was making you a bit too giddy to remain aware. “You’re insane, you my dear, are the best prize of them all.”

“I love you with all of my heart Y/N.” You smiled and cupped her cheeks as she was hovering above you, her flexed arm muscles on display. As if it was no effort to remain upright. “I love you too, which is why I can’t keep you home.”

Kate grumbled, “Which is why I’m doing it.”

“What was on today’s agenda?” You pressed, and she groaned, “More strength training.” Kate rolled her eyes when she saw your smirk. “We could go together, I can be moral support.”

“You’re a pervert,” she groaned, but it was playful. She herself was looking forward to taking a nice, long shower with you today. This really just afforded her the opportunity. “But that’s what I love about you, you’re a freak.”

You snorted softly, “Glad to know that of all my wonderful attributes that’s what you cherish.”

“You keep me young,” she said with a shrug, and you laughed harder, “You’re literally 22.”

“I know, my back is starting to kill me,” she teased, then she placed a chaste kiss to your lips before disappearing into the closet to talk to the angry, elder archer about her faulty alarm while you got ready for a day full of adventure.

[ikarakie]

 Hi! I really love your interpretation of scollace in your ”OBJECTIVE: DATE WALLACE WELLS” series! 

 I was wondering if, in that universe, Wallace had ever dated Mobile prior to dating Scott. (Mainly since these fics seem to take place after an alternate version of Scott defeating Gideon. And by that time Wallace would have been dating Mobile.)

 Maybe Wallace never got into a relationship because Scott never moved out in this universe?

 But I think it would be interesting, if Wallace had dated Mobile, how Scott would react to him if he ever saw him again. Especially since they both didn’t really exactly get along when they met in canon. 

Also, maybe Mobile in this universe left Wallace because he was clearly still thinking about Scott when they were dating. Which could work since Wallace in the comics kept trying to find excuses to buy food for Scott, once even writing that he wanted to have dinner AND breakfast with him when they were both dating other people.(makes me wonder if he felt lonely without Scott.) And then there’s the fact that he canonly continued to send “mash notes”(which are supposed to be seen as romantic in nature) when drunk to Scott. Which again, makes me wonder if he hadn't gotten over Scott even after entering a stable relationship.

Also! I’d love to see your interpretation of how Wallace would interact with Envy with him now dating Scott in these works. (I already love the detail you added in the 2nd fic where Scott had momentarily forgotten Envy’s existence due to how happy he is now in this relationship. I love how dumb he is…)

(Sorry this ask is so long fhfghfghf)

i do think about mobile a LOT when thinking about scollace! mainly because it’s strange for me to have something where a character has a canon relationship and go: nah, this one instead. especially when it’s a queer one, so i like to think about it

and i had thoughts along the same lines! i think mobile and wallace, IN A UNIVERSE WHERE WALLACE AND SCOTT ARE ENDGAME (!!!), would have a friendly mutual breakup where mobile basically goes: “you are in love with scott pilgrim.” and wallace goes: “yeah. i’m sorry”

i don’t think it’d be drama at all tho, and i like to think they’d stay very good friends :> i think mobile would be smart enough to know the risks of entering a relationship with someone like wallace and is the kind of practical guy to make peace with that before getting into anything with him? i hope that makes sense

i think for wallace scott is his first real LOVE. the first time he had feelings for someone vs. just a baseline attraction to them, and i don’t think he’d ever quite get past that feeling

he feels similarly for mobile, and i reckon had he put all his energy into that relationship it could work, but for wallace? he’s not really ready to give up on the way that first love feels, how different it felt to anything he’d ever felt before. he LIKES liking scott, and he doesn’t want to stop, so he quietly nurtures his crush (probably subconsciously) even while in relationships with other people

as for wallace and envy, ive actually got a fic in mind/in the works where they have a sort of rivalry in college. where wallace liking scott is a point of tension in her relationship with scott (her insisting wallace likes him, and scott claiming there’s NO WAY!!! and wallace standing in the corner like :D kill me now)

wallace at this point has given up any hope really of scott liking him back, and just likes poking envy’s buttons, because he thinks she sucks and doesn’t deserve scott. envy sees him as a legitimate threat, and treats scott worse as a result, and scott (despite how in love he is) feels a little put off by her animosity towards wallace

but those are just my thoughts ;) thank u for the ask i love longer ones so don’t apologise <33

[elderflowergin]

why atty jung woo-jin is so important to me (alt title: why I hope the titular good partner includes jung woo-jin too, alt title @haraxvati apologies for workplace romance talk)

If you were in fandom spaces during Sherlock, you know that people went crazy for the deductions, for how they were delivered by Sherlock on the show. Who is a terrible person to most of the people around him! The surface admiration fans feel is for the way he works and not what he does for his friends (we’re talking normal human reciprocity and not lifesaving sorts of things).

So little of romance is devoted to the opposite - women who are good at tough, unsympathetic jobs and are unapologetic about it. If you were ever a woman in law enforcement, litigation or any other job coded to be aggressive or dominant, you’d find no shortage of gatekeeping men telling you how to do your job right, and there is no pleasing anyone in this.

How to speak, how to lower your pitch, what to wear, what NOT to wear, what sort of concessions you should give to the boys in club if you want to be in the club, what sort NOT to give so you don’t look like a chump. Maybe it’s better now than it used to be. Maybe some spaces are better than others. But the outcome was the same - you never win, and someone always shifts the goalposts when you’re done. You’re too sexy, you’re not sexy enough, your voice is annoying, you’re mousy, you’re loud, you’re fancy, you’re too articulate, you’re no fun, you’re a little too much and God forbid you get angry, because no one likes an angry woman.

We don’t see this sort of criticism on the show, because Cha Eun-gyeong is successful, but it’s never far from the minds of small men, be it her boss or the lawyer her husband seeks out. And we don’t have to see more of it - her husband, who by all rights should be proud of her achievements and hard-earned reputation, weaponises her work as the reason she is no longer a mother or a woman in his eyes. Who needs to hear from a shitty colleague when the call’s coming from inside the house? He hates her success, he hates that he owes his own success to her in part at least. It’s no surprise that his girlfriend is not a fellow doctor or someone from an allied or parallel position to him - she is in an admin position subordinate to Eun-gyeong. I don’t say this to denigrate admin positions, but to point out the predictability of men like him, whose anger at not being the centre of a woman’s universe is never far from the surface.

But then there’s Jung Woo-jin, who admires Atty Cha because of all the traits that make her a good lawyer. He points out to Han Yuri that she started out doing a tough job in a time few women took it on, that she took risks and was courageous in her representation of her clients. He admires her and yes, he loves her all the more for it.

If you’re asking me why it matters what a man feels about Atty Cha’s job, frankly I don’t think it does! She’s the fulcrum of her own universe. She’s never needed anyone’s approval to do what she felt was right. But I think it bears pointing out that this is a lonely job. Clients need to be handled and protected, opposing counsel are to be suspected, and judges are to be feared. There’s at least three fronts of conflict, and here is Cha Eun-gyeong, handling it all with infinite grace. And it’s great that she can do it all, but it’d also be great if the narrative could be different, for once; if she could have friends, even lovers, potentially, who love her for all of who she is, and not just the pieces of her that are useful. It’s a fantasy, yes, but a type so specific and so underserved that it had to have been written by a woman in corporate, if not a woman in litigation.

Cha Eun-gyeong is a very good lawyer, a woman who at partner level is still working her ass off to stay at the top, and Jung Woo-jin sees that; he sees HER, and the things that make her a good lawyer are indivisible from her as a person, because they are for Cha Eun-gyeong. Which is why his admiration for her is also indivisible from his love, and it’s also why he thinks nothing of it and Han Yuri catches on immediately. Because he can’t see it, but everyone else can.

But beyond that, for me it’s the moment he bodily puts himself between the CEO (yet another man waiting for her to fail) and Cha Eun-gyeong. I think it’s easy to convey admiration privately, because you don’t lose capital from that. It’s another thing to stand up for a colleague publicly. To your CEO no less, and in front of all your other colleagues, at a time of great personal crisis for Cha Eun-gyeong. (To your CEO who is also your father, no less!). It’s telling that this unassuming man who tends to smooth ruffled feathers does not appeal to his father-boss’s ego or supplicate to secure a temporary detente; what he makes is a threat that the words being uttered are defamatory, a polite suggestion that there will be consequences for careless words, and his father absolutely picks up on it. He may pay a price for it yet, going by the conversation he has later with his father.

I don’t know why this fantasy appeals more than the other, but I think it’s in the instinctive nature of it on both sides. It’s in the way Cha Eun-gyeong - who actively distances him from her feelings, who does not open up to him by design - allows him to act as her vanguard in a deeply vulnerable moment, which in itself is an entitlement she has. It’s food for thought, a glimpse into this bond that has outlasted her marriage.

[jennay]

I Wrote A Song

Request: Ok so I have an idea for a fluffy fic?? What if Noah’s gf is a musician too, and they’re on tour together 😭 and she writes a song about him, doesn’t release it til the day of this particular concert. but he doesn’t think anything of it til the middle of the song and his heart bursts out of his chest with love and cuteness😭 I just love fluff ok. You don’t have to! Just throwing it out there! Thought it’d be so fun.

Noah Sebastian x Reader

An: I rewrote this several times and than had siri read it back to me which was so confusing because she kept saying Noelle instead of Noah. Anyways enjoy! If you have more requests I'll just keep adding them to the list.

Also! Lyrics are not mine its a song by Ipravail- My Heart I Surrender. It's so good.

Noah Master List

Noah loved having you in his bunk with him. He cherished every moment he got to spend with you on this tour. He felt so lucky to share this adventure, see the world, and make music with you. You were his partner, his best friend, his soulmate.

Last year, you two were apart for so long, touring with different bands and barely seeing each other. You missed each other terribly, which took a toll on your relationship. You tried to stay in touch, but it was hard to find time and connection.

You felt lonely and frustrated and sometimes wondered if it was worth it. It wasn't because you stopped loving each other or anything terrible happened.

It was just that missing someone so much was too hard to bear, and you wondered if it would be easier if you let go. Would the ache in your heart fade away? The answer was no. It only hurt more when you tried to act like friends, knowing he still loved you with all his soul, and you felt the same way.

You and Noah could never be just friends. You had a bond that was deeper than friendship, stronger than distance, and more powerful than anything.

You realized you couldn't live without each other and decided to give your relationship another chance. You promised to make it work, no matter what. And you did.

Noah loved being by your side, supporting, encouraging, and making you laugh. He loved holding you in his arms, kissing you, making love to you. He loved everything about you.

Noah shifted his weight as he turned on his side, pulling your sleeping body closer to his. He watched you breathe softly and admired your peaceful face.

You looked so beautiful in the dim light of the bunk, so innocent and sweet. He still thanked the universe daily for you being here with him and choosing him.

His tattooed hand caressed your cheek and smiled while kissing the tip of your nose. You made a cute noise, snuggling into the warmth of his hand. Your eyes fluttered open to meet Noah's brown eyes, filled with love and adoration.

"What time is it?" You whispered while closing your tired eyes again.

He brushed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, "It's only midnight. Go back to bed."

You cuddled closer to his chest, feeling the cold air from the guys having their windows open on the other side of the bus.

Noah didn't hesitate to wrap you in his arms and hold you tightly, sharing his body heat with the person he loved more than anything.

He gently ran his fingers through your hair and lulled you back to sleep, whispering I love you.

He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, feeling content and happy. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of you.

"You haven't told him yet?" Ally, your guitarist, asks you with a teasing grin.

You bite your lip, feeling nervousness and excitement. You've been working on a particular song for Noah.

You've told your bandmates that you'll surprise him with it at the show's end, but he has no idea what's coming.

You and Noah have been through a lot together. You met when you were both starting out in the music scene, and you instantly clicked. You fell in love. You had some success but also some struggles.

When you broke up last year, you felt like you lost a part of yourself, a part that only he could fill. You poured your heart into your music, writing dozens of songs about him. Some were angry, some were sad, some were hopeful. This song was the one that made you realize that you couldn't live without him. It was your masterpiece, and you wanted to share it with him in front of everyone.

You wanted to tell him how you felt, still think and always will feel.

"I just asked him to come toward the end of the set, and he said yes." You smile, thinking of how loyal and supportive he is. "He didn't ask any questions, so I didn't have to explain anything."

"That man." Ally laughs as you walk towards the stage. "He's so devoted to you. He'd do anything you ask him to." She shakes her head, "My boyfriend could learn a thing or two from him."

James and Charlie follow behind you, ready to rock the crowd. James is your bassist, and he's always in his own world. Charlie is your drummer, and he's always late for everything. But they're your friends, and they're part of your band. And today, they're going to help you make history.

You feel a knot in your stomach as the concert reaches its climax. You glance at the side of the stage, hoping to see Noah's familiar face.

You've been waiting for him to show up, to witness the song you wrote for him. But he's nowhere to be seen.

You try not to let it affect your performance, but you can't help feeling disappointed.

The song ends, and you hear Ally's voice in your earpiece. She knows what you're planning and wants to help you stall for time.

"So, this next song is very special," You say into the mic, "I wrote it-"

"About a boy," Ally interrupts, winking at you. "A boy who is running late." She laughs, and the crowd joins in.

You smile, playing along. "Yeah, where are you, Noooooah Sebastian?" You shout his name, hoping he'll hear you somehow.

You sit on the stage, pretending to be tired and out of breath. You're running out of excuses to delay the song.

When you hear Ally's voice again, you're about to give up and start singing.

"Look who finally made it!" She exclaims, pointing to the side of the stage. You jump up, feeling a rush of adrenaline hit you.

There he is, Noah, looking sheepish and apologetic. He waves at you, and the crowd goes wild.

"Better late than never," You tease him as you approach him.

He pulls you into his arms and kisses you passionately. He whispers in your ear, "I'm sorry I'm late. I love you, go kick ass."

You nod, feeling your heart melt. He doesn't know it yet but inspires most of your music. He's humble and modest and never assumes anything about him. But this song is about him, and you want him to know it.

"This song is called My Heart I Surrender." You go back to the front of the stage, hearing a soft acoustic rhythm pick up; you lightly bop your head, waiting for your queue to start.

You take in a deep breath and start softly sing, "I'm a ghost in your eyes, a shadow you can't seem to recognize..." and as you close your eyes, you breathe deep, trying to match the tune of the guitar, "I have a thought of you for every star in the sky but I'm scared, I'll never cross your mind."

You're eyes open as the melody gets louder, filling you with the utmost passion, feeling every beat in your chest. You're no longer nervous as you sing, "Will our stars ever align? Will two hearts be in time? These words you should always remember: to you my heart, I surrender. Chasing a love that could never be mine, maybe one day you'll realize these words you should always remember: to you my heart, I surrender."

You pause for a moment, feeling the music in your veins. You look at Noah, who is beaming with love.

He can't believe you wrote this song for him, that you wanted him to be here for this particular moment.

He feels admiration for you, your talent, and your courage. He knows how hard it is to share your feelings with the world, and he's honored that you chose him as your muse.

He watches you with awe and pride as you move around the stage with grace and energy. You're a star, and he's your biggest fan.

You keep looking back at him, making eye contact, smiling, waving, and singing to him.

You make him feel like he's the only person in the world, the center of your universe. The connection he feels with you transcends words and time.

He feels that much closer to you. His heart skips a beat when he hears you sing the chorus. To you, my heart, I surrender.

Emotions wash over him as he realizes how much you mean to him. You're his everything, his reason for waking up in the morning, his soulmate.

He wants to run up to the stage, hug you, kiss you, and tell you how much he loves you. But he knows this is your moment and doesn't want to ruin it. He just wants to enjoy it with you and let you know he feels the same way. To you, his heart he surrenders.

He holds his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat in sync with yours. He smiles at you, sending you a silent message of love and support.

Noah can't wait to see you after the show, hold you in his arms, and whisper in your ear how proud he is of you.

When the song ends, you smile at the crowd, you tell them how much you appreciate them, how much they inspire you, how much you love them. You couldn't have done it without them.

You drop your microphone on the stand and run towards Noah, who is still in shock and awe. He has his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his huge smile.

You leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist, holding him tight. You kiss him all over his face, making him laugh. "Surprise!" You say, nuzzling his shoulder. "Did you like it?"

"What kind of question is that?" He pulls back gently, his brown eyes glowing with pride. "You're so fucking amazing! I don't know how I got so lucky." He kisses your neck, making you giggle, and carries you off the stage, holding you close.

When the two of you get down the stairs, he realizes you need to speak with your fans, and he lets you stand on your feet as you walk by the gates, signing autographs and taking pictures.

Noah never gets tired of you. It's impossible. He can't imagine a day without you by his side, and thankfully, he'll never have to.

You've made your choice, and it's him. He's the one you love, the one you want, the one you need.

[rowanaelinn]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter Fourty-Seven

Masterlist

A/N: I know it’s been a while I’m so sorry!!! But even if you hate me after this chapter, can you wish me luck? I’m taking my third driver test tomorrow and I would really like to pass this time LMAOO

Warnings: general dose of angst | Word Count: 6,000

December 24th,

Aelin threw herself on the bed she was sharing with her cousin, finally wrapped her in her warm pajamas, and let out the longest breath known to mankind. Aedion was sitting the same way she did, staring at the wall.

“I had sex with Rowan,” she said, feeling like in a confessional. Except that instead of a priest, she confessed to her cousin. Some people could find it weird, but this thing felt too heavy to keep to herself, and she was sure something was also bothering him.

He didn’t even look at her. He only said, “I kissed Fenrys.” Her head shot to the side, her eyes the size of flying saucers. But he kept his gaze on the wall, then kept going, “And then I told him to never speak to me again.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

Was she in the place to ask any questions? He hadn’t for her, she would allow him the same courtesy.

She thought she understood. He’d been broken once. And even if she was sure Fenrys would never hurt him the way Lysandra had… She had never thought Lysandra capable of doing what she did either. In the end, they never knew who someone really was.

Fuck, Aelin was just figuring herself out.

“We’re fucked,” she said.

“Yep,” he nodded. “We are.”

“Maybe it’s our genes,” she said. “There must be something bad about those Ashryver genes, because there’s no way so many shitty things happen to us at random.”

He snorted. “So it’s either you die, you end up being a cunt like your mother or life screws you over and over again. Wyrd help us, the eyes aren’t worth all this shit.”

And she couldn’t help it, she laughed. Loudly. Because that was true, the pretty eyes weren’t worth all that pain.

----

March 7th,

“This one, maybe?” Helia pointed out toward the ugliest dog Aelin had ever seen. Truly, she felt mean to say it, but it was the truth. She was sure this dog was very nice, but it was old. She was sure that with a little brushing it’d be prettier, but one look at its age was enough for Aelin to shake her head and grab Helia’s hand to walk away. Aelin’s heart squeezed in her chest at the idea of leaving any dog behind… If she had more money, if she didn’t live in an apartment, she would adopt them all.

But she’d already struggled to have Aedion accept to adopt one little beast, she wouldn’t push her luck.

If there was one good side of being heartbroken, it was how lonely both cousins felt. Sure, they had each other to rely on, but there was just so much physical contact she could take with that brute. She’d always wanted a dog, but her mother had always refused to adopt one. In university it would have been impossible to have a dog on campus, and now… Well, now felt like a good moment to make a permanent decision.

It was either that or a tattoo, and Helia was a little too young to get tattooed with her, so adopting a dog it was. It was her weekend with the little girl, and she really had wanted her to choose with her. It felt like a decision to make with Helia. Aedion was trailing behind them, eying the animals warily. “I don’t get why you don’t want a cat, it’s more independent.”

She rolled her eyes, “That’s the point, Aed. I want cuddles, lots of cuddles.”

“Cuddles!” Helia screamed excitedly, clapping in her hands. “I love cuddles.”

“You do?” Aelin asked, surprised. “I never would have guessed that. You never hug me.”

Helia’s eyes widened. “No! Not true!” But for good measure, the girl threw her arms around Aelin’s leg, hugging her so strongly that Aelin couldn’t move anymore. Aedion caught up to their side, chuckling at the little girl. Though it squeezed something in Aelin’s chest as she saw how much Helia had grown up in more than a year. Fuck, it’s been than a year since she met the girl. More than a year since she…

No, she wouldn’t go down that train of thought. Not now.

“We have a few dogs waiting outside if you’d like,” an employee smiled at them. They’d chosen to go to a refuge which didn’t keep dogs or cats or other animals in cages. It was sort of a house, with two dogs sharing each room. Apparently, there were activities in the garden as well. “Yes!” Helia jumped away from Aelin’s legs.

“We’d love to,” Aelin confirmed.

“I’ll show you,” the woman said.

Aelin went to grab Helia’s hand, but the little girl already had her arms in the air, her eyes pleading as she silently asked Aelin to pick her up. She was tired, Aelin should have expected that. They’d been out for a while, having grabbed an ice-cream on the way there. “Mommy?”

Aelin’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest, but she smiled at Helia and turned around, lowering so Helia could jump on her back. Aelin wasn’t strong enough to hold her in another way. When she stood, there was something strange in Aedion’s eyes. Something like worry, and maybe some hints of pity. She’d told him about her infertility. He’d been there for her when she got her eggs frozen, even if she still had chosen Fenrys as a doctor. Aedion had ignored him, much to Fenrys’ dismay. But he’d been there for her, offering her his support. It meant a lot more than he knew.

She winked at him and smiled, reassuring him. Helia still called her mommy sometimes, even if Aelin thought it would stop now that they didn’t see each other as much as they used to.

Helia had her arms wrapped around her neck and she rested her head on her shoulder, as Aelin admired how pretty that house’s garden was. She loved her apartment, it started to somewhat feel like home, but she missed running in Rowan’s garden, playing hide-and-seek with Helia.

There were indeed three dogs playing with a man, the three of them with dark fur. But the dog that caught her eyes was the little golden pup, eyeing the three other dogs as if it wished to join in the fun, without ever daring. “What about this one?” Aelin asked to the woman.

“Oh! She’s a little lost. She’s relatively new here, but she seems to be afraid of the others. It makes her integration somewhat complicated.”

The eyes of that dog… Gods, they seemed so sad. “Can we pet her?”

The woman’s face lightened. “Of course! She would love that. Usually, when people see an unsociable dog, they don’t want to get anywhere near it.”

“Assholes,” Aedion grunted from her side, and the woman nodded though she made no comments.

Carefully and instructing Helia to control how loud her voice was, they approached the dog. She was sitting near a tree, and made no attempt to move before Aelin kneeled in front of her, Helia landing on her feet. Aelin held up her hand for the dog to sniff, and after it did just that, Aelin let out a surprised yelp as the dog licked her stand, stood and nuzzled her hand away so she could nearly jump onto her.

Aelin laughed as she sat, the dog licking her face as Aelin petted her.

“She loves you,” the woman laughed, kneeling near Helia to instruct her how to pet the dog.

She wasn’t too big, that was a good point. And she seemed very affectionate. Aelin couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t developed a soft spot for the dog the moment she heard her story. “I love her, too.”

Even Aedion kneeled on the other side, and he scratched the golden pup behind her ear. He nodded at Aelin, and her smile turned big. “What do you think, Lia? Do we like her?”

Helia’s big, doe-like green eyes were shining with joy. Aelin felt complete when she saw the girl so happy, especially when it was thanks to her help. She nodded, “I love her!” She repeated what Aelin had just said. “What’s her name?”

The woman from the refuge smiled sadly. “We have no idea, we found her lost in a forest. I’ve called her willow, but we decided to let her new owner choose.”

“Any ideas?” Aelin asked Helia. Willow was a pretty name, but if the girl had a specific name in mind…

Her toothless smile was to cute not to mirror it. “Can we name her Fleetfoot?”

Alright… That was something for sure but… Aedion ruffled the girl’s hair, “Fleetfoot it is.”

---

May 4th,

Aelin’s head was pounding, or maybe it was a fist on the door. But as she opened her eyes, she quickly realized that it was both. Her vision was blurry, and yet she still stood and walked to the door. Shit, the apartment was a mess. They had partied a little too hard last night. Fenrys was asleep on the first couch, with his head resting on Aedion’s stomach, who was also laid on the couch. She didn’t remember what happened last night, but the mark on Fenrys’s neck told her that she didn’t want to know.

Aelin herself had slept against Dorian’s shoulder, the two of them sharing the second couch. Dorian spent more and more time here lately, ever since he also quit med school and broke up with his girlfriend, Manon. She didn’t really know why, just that the woman wasn’t ready for commitment.

And while they’d been breaking their backs sleeping on couches, the two couples had slept in the bedrooms. Elide and Lorcan in Aelin’s, and Connall and Vaughan in Aedion’s.

She hadn’t known they’d be there last night; she’d come home ready to cry herself to sleep, but when she opened her door… Well, that had been a good way to change her mind. And now, for two years in a row, she hadn’t been sad for her birthday. That was quite an accomplishment. Though when she remembered where she’d been a year before… She shook her head, opening the door, only for her heart to nearly stop.

Her father was standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. With a tentative smile, he said, “Happy late birthday, princess.”

“Dad,” she breathed, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way she was dressed. The shirt was pretty long, but still, maybe she should have put pants on. “What are you doing here?”

He looked as embarrassed as she felt, and he eyed her apartment warily. That really was the worst time for a visit. “I wanted to visit yesterday, but Aedion told me not to,” he chuckled then. “I understand why, now.”

“What are you doing here?” She repeated, still a bit confused.

“It was your birthday. I-I wanted to be there, so maybe we could spend some time together. But if you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No,” she rushed to say. “I’d love to.” It was nice, she thought, to see him there. To know he thought about her.

He smiled, letting out a little relieved sighed. “Good, would you like to go walk somewhere?”

“Sure,” she smiled. “Just, let me get dressed. And can I bring my dog?” Fleetfoot loved to go out and walk with Aelin. The once very small, tiny dog she’d adopted is now huge, always stealing Aedion’s bed.

“You have a--,” he stopped himself. “Sure, Aelin. Take your time.”

She gave him a small, shy smile and let him in. He looked scared at the state of her apartment, and it somehow made her smile, reminding her of all the times he came back home to a very messy house when she was a teenager. His eyebrows shot up at Aedion and Fenrys, and Aelin said, “Don’t frown at the state of your doctors, they’re not working.”

He chuckled, “I can see that.”

---

Aelin was feeling emotional and held back her tears as she walked through the park where her father used to take her and Celaena when they were kids. He used to drive all the way there just so they could throw bread at the ducks. Aelin was watching Fleetfoot run while she sat on a bench, her father next to her.

“I didn’t know you were having a party,” he said. “I mean, you didn’t have to tell me.”

“I didn’t know, either,” she told him. “Aedion surprised me.”

“I am happy that you have him,” he said, laying a hand on her knee, then squeezing. “He treats you well.”

“He really told you to not come yesterday?”

“He said that you had plans, and that you might not be up for a visit from me on that day.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s always a hard day.”

“You don’t need to explain,” he smiled. “It’s the reason why I asked Aedion beforehand, I want to do things on your terms now.”

She nodded, fighting the tears even more. They weren’t bad tears; she was just feeling a lot. The meds she’d been prescribed didn’t help, either. They helped her get out of bed every morning, but they also made her feel more sensitive. “What did you do yesterday?”

There was a flash of silver in his brown eyes, and he said, “I flew to Terrasen. I wanted to be with Celaena a little. I have… I have been doing this quite a lot lately, if I must be honest.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Her sister hadn’t been alone yesterday, then. That was good. “Does it help you?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I keep telling her how sorry I am, honestly, I just sound like a broken record there, but… I will never say it enough.” He winced, then said, “I wanted to move her. To Doranelle, so she could be with the whole family. It wasn’t my decision to leave her there, but your mother she’s been…”

“Celaena will be in Doranelle?” Aelin breathed.

Something in his face shattered. “They need the authorization of both parents, and your mother is—”

“A bitch,” she snapped, her tempter rising. “She’s just a cruel bitch.”

He didn’t say anything else other than, “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. She’d asked him once, when she’d picked up the phone in his many attempts to call her, how the divorce was going. He said that her mother made it hard, that she was trying to take everything from him. She hadn’t lost her job at the hospital, she had no idea how, but she wasn’t at the top of the hierarchy anymore. That’s all she knew, and all she wanted to know.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” he said.

She played with her fingers as she said, “I understand how you pulled away after Celaena died. I did, too. We all grieve differently, and I’m pasted that. But… But you knew how Evalin was cruel with me. And I believe you when you say that you love me, so why have you never done anything?”

He looked away, as if he was ashamed, before he turned his eyes back on her. “I have no excuses. I hate myself for it, and I don’t deserve forgiveness. But the only explanation I can give you, was that your mother… She wasn’t only cruel to you. The few times I brought it up, she threatened to leave and take you away. And I—I don’t know. It somehow shut me up every time. Again, Aelin, this is on me. I can’t give you excuses that’d be convincing enough.”

The tears escaped her eyes then, and she didn’t wipe them off. She knew that she wouldn’t have liked the answer in anyway. But… “Thank you for being honest. You weren’t the father of the year but deserved better than Evalin. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he said, voice clouded with emotions. “Don’t apologize to me, Aelin.”

“Alright,” she let out a long breath, wiping away the tears. She had to stop crying, for fuck sake.

“It’s okay,” he squeezed her knee again. “Tell me about yesterday, who was there?”

When she told him, he frowned, “No Dr. Whitethorn?”

Her stomach dropped at the name but she shook her head.

“I thought he’d be there, since you’re invol—”

“We haven’t been involved for almost a year, dad. I thought you knew that.”

“Oh,” he breathed. She hadn’t told him, but she thought someone else had. “What happened?”

Her laugh was sad. “He left me, and I’m a child about it because I can’t fucking get over it.”

“When?”

Her side-eyed look was enough for him to understand that she meant the night at her parents’ house. “Aelin,” he breathed. “He had no other choice.”

She shook her head, “You don’t get it.”

“Not everyone is me, Aelin. Not everyone is your mother.”

“Dad—”

“No,” he grabbed her hand. “Look at me.” She did. “I made him run that night. I’m so sorry, but he wanted to stay. The next day he was the one to yell at me, he had a goddamn lawyer ready, Aelin. This is why I thought you were together, because he fought for you.”

“What?” she breathed.

He’d told her. He said that he would have come back after the stalker had been dealt with; but she hadn’t been sure if she believed him. But if he truly had fought for her… Why hadn’t he said it?

She shook her head. “It’s… It’s not only that. I love him too much.”

He frowned, “What is that supposed to mean? There’s no such thing as loving too much.”

She scoffed, calling Fleetfoot so she could have some comfort from the lovely dog. She hadn’t planning on having a heart-to-heart with her father today. Hell, her head was still pounding, her body still feeling like death. The dog laid her head on Aelin, allowing her to pet her.

“There is when you’re me. I solely focus on him, so much that I start neglecting myself. I believe that if he is here then I’ll be fine, that if he is here, I’m protected and nothing can hurt me. I forgot about how you both hurt me for a while when I was with him, until that night. For a while, I just sat in my fucking car, and I realized I had nothing to go back to, dad. I was in a fight with Aedion, I kept so many secrets from my friends that they barely felt like my friends, then one of them betrayed me… I had to go to the house of a man who barely tolerate me, Dad. I just… I can’t love healthily.”

“You’re right,” he said, voice slightly quivering. “You can’t love yourself healthily. Not the others. The love you tell me about, it’s the purest kind of love that exists. It’s the kind of love I wish I’d been able to show you, that I wish I was able to show anyone. The problem isn’t with how you love Rowan,” he said, as if saying his name felt strange on his tongue. It must be. “It’s with yourself, and I know it’s my fault, but stop punishing yourself.”

She shook her head, tears spilling once more. “It’s not as easy.”

“I’m proud of you for looking for a better, healthier love. But, are you happy, princess? I understand pulling away to heal, but are you truly healing if you’re stopping yourself from being with someone you love?”

“I’m messy,” she breathed.

“You’re lovely, and pure, and too good. Start treating yourself with more love, Aelin.”

She wiped her tears away. Maybe he was right. She tried her best. She went to school, she became closer to Fenrys and Dorian and Elide, she took care of Helia… Every day, she fought to get out of bed and make the best out of a good day. But maybe… If she’d let Rowan in again, it would be easier. Maybe she couldn’t forget that night he left, but she could forgive him.

“I’ll call him tonight,” she said, and her father smile.

---

“Aelin!” A high, loud voice squealed the moment she opened the door and faster that she had any right to be, Helia threw herself at Aelin. Surprise hit her as hard as the little girl did, what was she doing here? Aelin had been drunk out of her mind yesterday, but she was positive the little girl hadn’t been there.

Fleetfoot ran into the apartment, going to sniff a very well dressed Loren. He hadn’t been there either… What was going on?

“Buttercup!” Aelin smiled, kneeling at Helias height. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy birthday!” She placed a bit, wet kiss on her cheek, and Aelin felt her heart fill with warmth. Last she heard, the two kids were having a sleepover at Rowan’s last night, and she only understood why when Vaughan and Connall showed up in her living room.

There was as if hope took over the beating of her heart. If they had been at Rowan’s then he must have driven the kids there, right? She stood, grabbing Helia and holding her close. But as she walked in the living room, there was no trace of Rowan. She tried, she really tried to not show her disappointment show, but from the other side of the room, Fenrys’s eyes on her felt heavy.  

Loren rushed to Aelin as well, hugging her legs. Gods, that boy was too cute to be true. She hadn’t seen him for a year, but he was always showing up in the video calls his fathers gave her. “Happy birthday, Aelin,” he squeezed his arms around her legs. “We came to play board games!”

Aelin chuckled, her eyes looking fondly at Aedion, who mouthed happy birthday. She grinned, and then her cousin’s gaze slipped behind her, and then she realized that her father was still there. She set Helia back on her feet, and the two kids ran toward Aelin’s bedroom.

Aelin turned around, looking at her father. He looked really uncomfortable, especially pinned under Lorcan’s gaze. She had no idea what that was about. She didn’t expect Lorcan Salvaterre to take her defense out of everyone. Her father was still holding the bouquet of pink and purple flowers he’d bought her, she’d asked him to as Fleetfoot was quite a handful to deal with.

She grabbed the flowers, walking into the kitchen to fill a pot with flowers, her father on her heels. “I really like them,” she said, filling in the silence between them. The apartment was small, and everyone could hear or see them. She supposed it was a surprise for them to see him there. Maybe Aedion hadn’t told them, or her father hadn’t really warned that he’d come today.

She didn’t fail to notice that the flowers were what used to be hers and Celaena’s favorite color. Her taste had changed… but she appreciated the gesture.

“You could stay, you know,” she said.

He shook his head, giving her a little embarrassed smile. “Enjoy an afternoon with your family, it’s okay.”

In a way, she was happy that he refused. It broke her heart, how he didn’t consider himself part of her family. But maybe she was part of his, and there was still work for him to be part of hers.

He waved at her, on his way to leave, but before he could, “Dad?”

He turned around, facing her with an expression of wonder on his face. She hesitated for a second, until she decided to fuck it all. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging her father for the first time in year. Tears burned her eyes as she said, “Thank you for today.”

“Anytime, princess,” he breathed, hugging her back. They let go of each other after a while, and she gave him a tentative smile.

“Do you think we could do that again someday?”

He smiled at her, “I would love to, Aelin.”

---

After showing the world how much of a sore loser she was, Aelin decided to cook something for everyone before they leave, going back home. Her cooking capacities had somewhat developed, at least enough that she had made Bolognese. And since nobody was spitting what was in their plate, she supposed she hadn’t done such a bad job.

Fenrys was in a vivid tale of how his patient’s husband started hitting on him right in front of his wife, and Aelin’s belly hurt at how much she laughed. Even in her laughter, Aelin couldn’t ignore the looks Fenrys threw toward Aedion, as if making sure he was making him jealous. Compared to how cozy they were that morning, it was almost as if the two of them couldn’t seat far enough for each other. Or more like Aedion couldn’t sit far enough from Fenrys, who made it his job to taunt her cousin.

She wouldn’t even ask what happened the night before, she’d been too busy dancing with Helia and Vaughan—whose hips could move very beautifully—to look at the two of them.

Aelin was sitting with Helia on her lap. She was five now. Older than the three years old she’d met, and yet the girl still wanted to snuggle with Aelin to eat. Maybe it was a little disgusting, but they shared a plate. Less washing to do later, and it wasn’t like Helia ate a lot. She took a big mouthful of pasta, and red sauce was all around her mouth as she chewed. Aelin chuckled, using a napkin to clean her up. Her dramatic self, Helia sighed and let her body fall against Aelin’s torso. “I missed Bolognese.” She could say Bolognese without any problem now, and Aelin wanted to congratulate her on it.

“What do you mean baby, you haven’t eaten that in a while?” She remembered Rowan cooking that once a week, mainly because it was one of Helia’s and Aelin’s favorite.

“No,” the girl shook her head grabbing the big glass of water with her tiny hands.

“How so?” Maybe Rowan got sick of it. Though she couldn’t imagine him deprive Helia from her favorite food just because he didn’t like it anymore. He was… selfless that way. He loved her that much.

Fuck, she missed him.

That convo with her dad really messed her up. She had the urge to grab her phone and call him now but… she wanted peace when she made that call.

“Remelle doesn’t like it, so Daddy doesn’t cook it anymore,” Helia sighed, shrugging a little.

Aelin’s stomach dropped as she heard what Helia said. And as if everyone heard as well, all side-conversation stopped. The silence was deafening, and the two kids were oblivious to it.

“Remelle?” Aelin asked, though her voice was a little too wobbly for her liking. She looked around, and no one dared to look at her, except Aedion who was as confused as her. The only one who dared to look at her was Fenrys, and his eyes… they looked sad.

“Daddy’s friend,” Helia answered, and there was something about her tone Aelin didn’t enjoy. Maybe… dislike? “She sleeps over all the time.”  

She was going to be sick. She looked around, and none of the people who lived in Doranelle dared to make eye contact. They’d known. They’d known and they didn’t tell her.

Aelin’s heart was beating too fast, her vision turned blurry and she felt dizzy. And yet, she did her smile to lean in and kiss Helia’s cheek. “You can have all the Bolognese you want here, baby.”

Aelin didn’t last more than a minute before she stood, helping Helia to seat before she went into her room. It took energy to not slam her door. Instead she sat on her bed, staring into the void.

Remelle.

She remembered now.

Dr. Flores.

Blonde, beautiful. Age appropriate.

He moved on. He moved on with her.

She was truly going to be sick. Just as she thought about rushing to the bin under her desk, her door opened. She thought Aedion would be the one to join her, but she was wrong.

Fenrys was there.

“Get out,” she breathed.

“Aelin,” he said, tentatively, closing the door behind her.

“You knew,” she said, not loudly but with bite. “You didn’t tell me.”

“You were doing good, Lin,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I didn’t know for sure, Rowan isn’t the type to confirm or answer our questions. And you were doing better…”

“How long.” She demanded.

“Aelin.”

“How fucking long, Fenrys?” She snapped.

“We noticed them getting closer around a month ago.”

Her heart missed a beat. A month. He’d kept that from her for a month. And in the meantime, he kept convincing her to take him back. She didn’t know what her feelings were now. If she was angry or sad.

“Call him now,” he urged her. “Call him now and he will ditch her.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Call him now, Aelin. He will, just call him and he will. I know that he will today, but I’m unsure on what he would do in the future. You need to wake up now if you still want him, and we both know you do.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she snapped.

He frowned, his head cocking to the side. “I don’t get you, Aelin. Sometimes, I can’t understand.”

“I’m trying to deal with my emotions, Fenrys, and I can’t do this if you’re here,” she hissed.

“Dealing with your emotions, is that how you call this? You’re just compartmentalizing, entirely ignoring some parts of your problems.”

“Like what?” She shouted, too lost in these waves of distress to care.

“Like the fact that he’s waited for almost a year and you’ve ignored him, but the moment he moves on it seems like a problem,” he snapped back. “You need to choose. You want him or you don’t, because Aelin, if you keep waiting you might lose him.”

Breathing was hard, and it was as it an entire building crumbled onto her as she breathed, “He told me he couldn’t wait anymore. I told him I wouldn’t come back.” Her friend’s face turned sympathetic, and her voice broke as she breathed, “I didn’t believe him. I-I hoped.”

“Call him,” Fenrys said, holding out his phone. “Call him, and tell him.”

She looked at the phone for a second, wondering what would happen. Could she call him, really? Would she call him, ask him to ruin the little happiness he’s found, only so she can bring her mess back into his life?

Then, she shook her head. “I’d like you to leave.”

“Aelin,” he breathed.

She shook her head, “I don’t want to speak to you anymore.” He’d known. He should have told her, no matter how much he wanted to protect her. She was so, so tired of being protected. Of being weak.

He laughed, but the sound was sour. “You want to push me away from your life, too? When will it stop Aelin, when only Aedion’s left, huh?”

She looked away. She didn’t deserve his friendship, didn’t deserve his time. She wasn’t a good person. Wasn’t good for anyone. He shouldn’t have had to protect her.

“You think I don’t know why? You rely on Aedion because he’s as lonely as you. He won’t leave you, and you won’t leave him. You’re using each other as life buoys, and you push away anyone else. You can’t ignore the world outside.”

“Leave,” she said, voice firm. “I don’t want to see anyone,” she slipped under her blanket and didn’t come out of it for an entire weekend.

---

June 10th,

“I had fun, you know,” he said in her ear, helping her put her coat back on. She gave him a shy, timid smile.

“It was a nice evening,” she nodded, taking a deep breath as they stepped out of the restaurant. Even for a month of June, the air was quite cold. Hence, the coat. She usually disliked wearing one, it always ruined an outfit. She rather not get sick, though. So, she put on a goddamn coat.

“Can I walk you back to your car?” He asked.

He was cute. Pretty, even. She’d met him in class, and he’d been the first person to approach her. She’d been wary at first… The last time she befriended someone in class, it hadn’t ended well. For months he did his best to befriend her, and while she didn’t reject him, she wasn’t exactly warm. Then, before Yulemas, he’d asked her on a date. She refused. He did it again a few months later, and she gave him the same excuse. I’m not ready.

He was perfectly content to keep their friendship intact. Until a month ago. She called him, asking if he was still up for a date. She’d never heard Sam’s voice so joyful. He was funny, and a good man.

Now, three dates later, Aelin enjoyed his company. She didn’t love it, and she didn’t crave it so much that she felt as if she needed him. But maybe this was a more realistic kind of relationship for someone as messed up as Aelin.

The walk to her car hadn’t been long, and they stood there. “You look beautiful,” he praised her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she smiled, waiting for a blush to spread in her cheeks but it didn’t happen.

He was standing close to her, and his gaze lowered on her lips. He wetted his own, taking a deep breath, and she knew what he would ask before he even opened his mouth.

“Can I kiss you?”

For someone who had had sex in a bathroom before the first date, and who had grinded on a guy during their first date, it was strangely chaste of her to never having kissed Sam before. Not a single time before or after their first two dates, but she knew she would break this circle today. After all, she had to move on.

She took a deep breath of her own and nodded, and the next second his wet lips were on hers. And she felt… nothing. It would come, she told herself. She rose on her toes, parting her lips for him.

He groaned, pushing her against her car. His hands stayed in appropriate places, on her waist, but she could feel things heat up.

This wasn’t…

She didn’t want to have sex with him. Didn’t want to kiss him. Not now. Was he kissing her? Having sex with her? If he didn’t… Didn’t she have to, as well? She had to move on as well, she had to prove to herself that—

She pushed Sam away, a little breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“Have I hurt you?” He asked, pulling back, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He really liked her and she… She didn’t. It wasn’t fair.

“I don’t think it’s going to—” She was cut off by her phone ring. Great. Amazing. She was trying to communicate, goddamn it. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said as she grabbed her phone from her handbag, frowning at the name showing up.

Fenrys.

They hadn’t been in contact for almost a month. Well, he did try to call. She was the one dodging his calls. Not every good behavior for the new Aelin, but she didn’t care. She was ashamed, and sad, and mad.

She didn’t want to speak to him now. She hung up, and turned her eyes back on Sam. “Sorry, just a friend.” She winced. “I was saying, you’re great and I—”

Her phone rang again, and Fenrys’ name showed up again. Alright, that wasn’t normal. Usually, he called once. If he really was in a mood, he sent her a selfie of his puppy face. But he never called twice in a row. Two calls in a row were reserved for bad news only; she’d heard enough of those to know.

The last time, she’d answered one of Fenrys’ call late at night, Rowan had cut his hand. This couldn’t be worse than that. She was sure of it. For all she knew, it wasn’t bad. Her bad days were over.

“You can answer,” Sam said, voice kind. “You look anxious.”

She winced again. “I’m sorry, I’ll cut this short, I promise.”

He smiled, unbothered. Fuck, she hated what she was about to tell him. He didn’t deserve that.

She took a few steps away from Sam, answering her phone. “What do you want?”

“Aelin,” he breathed, and her spine straightened. He sounded like he was… crying. “It’s Helia, she’s hurt,” he broke down then, crying on the phone. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

It was as if Aelin’s world came crashing down. She had flashes. Flashes of her aunt’s dead body in her casket. Flashes of Celaena in that red water. No.

Not again.

Please, she thought as tears spilled down her cheeks. Please, not again.

She couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t breathe anymore. She barely felt Sam’s hands on her shoulder, barely felt him take the phone from her before she threw up on the street, begging the Gods she’d stopped to believe in so long ago.

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @elentiyawhitethorn // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @danibutterr // @endlessdaydream // @thegreyj // @gracie-rosee // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red // @backtobl4ck // @whoever-you-choose-to-love // @lemonade-coolattas // @mad-madeline-ace // @the-introverted-bibliophile // @leiawritesstories // @emilyoftheshadows // @anniesbookshelf // @rainbowcheetah512 // @astra-ad-mare // @story-scribbler // @superspiritfestival // @wordsafterhours // @rowaelinrambling // @black-daisy-water // @fireheart-violet // @livsdriverslicense // @charlizeed // @ladykreads // @mariamuses // @autumnbabylon // @justreadertings // @highqueenofelfhame // @earthtolinds // @bowdawn // @psychopath-at-heart // @ginnyweasley06 // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[whatisbirds]

Limits of an Invitation

After a near-fatal shop accident, Eliza Danielson is ripped from death's maw by her theater's carpentry head. In exchange for a swift recovery she forges a bond that swiftly entangles her with the precarious politics of her university's unlife scene. Anatol Stamatin, a builder of many mediums, is just happy to have a sympathetic ear. After all, the nights stretch long and lonely when fasting to break a vaulderie spanning centuries.

Heyhowdy! So I've been working on this fic based on a Tzim ancilla PC of mine since about January, and it's finally polished up enough for me to feel comfortable publishing it! First chapter can be read on Ao3 here: Mrs. Danielson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Lathe Aiming for a bi-weekly publishing schedule (Every Thursday/Friday) and as it stands it should be somewhere between 8 - 10 chapters long. (For folks who prefer to stick to the blog, the chapter is posted below the cutoff)

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It had been a slow night in the shop. It always got dead at the end of the semester, students preoccupied with wrapping up finals and productions going dark for the winter gap between fall and spring terms. Oftentimes Eliza would find herself alone at her paint station, her footfalls reverberating through the whole of the loading dock whenever she had to grab whatever scrap or tool her project called for next. As lonely as it was, the insectile skittering of her brush echoing back to her provided a company that her studio apartment lacked.

But tonight she had not resigned herself to the paint rack. Earlier in the evening, while fetching fresh water to clean out her brushes, she noticed the shop manager’s office was not only unlocked, but empty. In plain view, hanging off an uneven line of nails, were the keys to every piece of equipment currently locked in the machinery cage. 

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, her mother would always say.

Eliza had hoped that, wherever Mr. Stamatin had fucked off to, it’d be for more than five minutes. Upon checking, she spotted his Impala was parked in the same far corner it always was, the mirror opposite of her baby blue Fortwo nestled next to the dock entrance. Her assumption had been he was in the building, but tied up in a faculty meeting or some other administrative business. Whatever it was, she had hoped to seize this window and be done before he returned.

But she had forgotten a key part of the equation–her rotten ass luck.

The second the cage unlocked, she might as well have tripped an alarm because she found herself in his long shadow in no time.

“Ms. Danielson?”

She slipped the keys into her tote as she turned to face him, “Oh, hey Mr. Stamatin! I didn’t know you were still in today.”

“I’m always ‘in’ .” Mr. Stamatin stood a full head taller than Eliza, as well as the vast majority of the students. A fact that left every interaction with him, no matter how mild, with the distinct sense of being lectured by a parent. “I will ask again– what is it that you are doing ‘ in’ the cage, Ms. Danielson?”

 “I, uh, was just gonna fire up the lathe for an end table I’m working on.”

“You are aware you need to check keys through me, are you not?”

“I am aware.” Eliza chewed the inside of her cheek as her gaze drifted past him and to the cage door behind him. Between that and the closed shop doors, she had no idea how he had managed to sneak up on her. Doing her best to bite back a frustrated frown, she looked back up to him. “I was in a rush and you weren’t in the office. I wasn’t sure when you were going to be back so I figured I’d go ahead and set up while I waited.”

There was no telling if he bought this little half-truth–she’d have better luck getting a read off one of the wood planks than Mr. Stamatin. “...I see. Well. I would be happy to assist now that I have returned.”

“Awesome!” She said, feeling the opposite. He propped the cage door open and helped her guide the heavy machine out of storage and to its designated spot.

As vague as it might be, there was a reason hardly anyone in the department fucked with the aloof shop manager. Every conversation with him was a struggle no matter what angle he was approached with. She assumed English wasn’t his first language with how often he’d clip his sentences down to the bare essentials–simple, direct and sharp. Though he clearly had enough of a grasp to understand what was said–she also doubted the university would hire someone who wasn’t at least partially fluent. Regardless, he left many a freshman ego wounded with nothing more than a single word or observation… and his curtness only worsened with the grads.

You could not design a more intimidating Russian.

He held his hand out expectantly. “Keys.”

“Pardon?”

“The switch keys. You have them?”

She sighed as she reached into her bag and tossed them over. I’ll make copies another time. “Oh, right. Here ya go.”

“Thank you.” He turned the switch over and the indicator light blinked to life. A low electric thrum confirming the lathe was powered and ready to go. “Do you need lumber?”

“I got it covered, thanks.” She set her tote down and unloaded the four 2’2 pine boards poking out the corner of the bag. Their edges were beginning to splinter–they’d been knocking around the passenger seat of her car for a little too long–but a perfect fit for the drawer she already had built out. 

Mr. Stamatin’s brow furrowed. “...that is softwood.”

“Yeah. It’s cheap.” Eliza began loading one of the planks into the lathe. “Why?”

“Hardwood is better for turning. Also–forgive me–” He apologized before taking one of the planks, running a finger along the splintering edge, “You see this? This fray? Whatever you carve, will fray the same way. Your table will not last.”

“...it’s what I had around.” Eliza mumbled as she clamped the board down. “And it’s a gift for my mom, I’m not selling it or nothing. I don’t think she’ll mind if it gets a little worn. Actually I think she might prefer it that way.”

“I can cut you some maple.”

“...I mean. I already made the top. It’d look mis-matched.” Eliza’s frustration was beginning to peek through as a tight tenor underscoring her speech. “And I already have it loaded in. So–”

“No. Nonono. Eliza, I expected more from someone of your talent–this is shoddy. Especially for a gift.” Mr. Stamatin ‘tsked as he pulled the key from the power supply, cutting it.

“Uh. Thank you?” This was the first time she’d heard anything resembling praise from him–not just directed at her, but at anyone, period. Backhanded? Yes. Flattering? Also yes.

“You are welcome.” He pocketed the key. “I will fetch the maple. Be right back.”

He disappeared around the corner into the loading dock, and Eliza sat down on a nearby stool with a sigh. Huh. This was… weird. Sure she had only been in the program for about a year and a half, but she felt like she had at least a general sense of who Mr. Stamatin was. She’d met his type time and time again in undergrad– reserved, a harsh perfectionist. Prone to hyperfixation so intense it turns his projects inside out. He had spoken to her maybe once… twice unprompted over the two and a half months she worked with him on that Endgame set? Hell, she didn’t even know his first name. He never shared it and on the university website only listed him as “A. Stamatin”. 

But now suddenly he’s playing at being her mentor? Fuck off.

She checked her phone. 

11:45. December 23rd, 2014.

Two missed calls from “Maw”.

Three new texts from “Maw”.

Eliza’s heart remained firmly sunk into her gut as she pocketed her phone; she was almost relieved when Mr. Stamatin returned. He handed her four 2’2 planks and the lathe key. “There. Hardwood makes for better furniture. Pine is better suited for sets.”

“...Thanks.” Eliza got up and began to load the first leg into the lathe “So… you’re staying in town for Christmas?”

Mr. Stamatin took her spot on the stool, watching over her shoulder as she powered up the lathe. “I am. Yourself?”

“My mom lives in Des Moines. So, at this point, yeah. No point in leaving now.” She shrugged as she finished fastening the plank into the machine. “You got family anywhere?”

“We’re all local.”

Eliza scoffed. The man had an accent thicker than pine tar. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He did not. 

Eliza sized him up for a beat, frown weighing the corner of her mouth. It was only now that she really got a good look at him, and noticed that… he kind of looked like shit. His skin was sickly pale, dark circles well defined below his eyes. If he told her he had not slept in a week, she’d believe him. However there was nothing in his stature that implied impairment, his posture was straight and his hands steady. Maybe it was just the shop lights? “You’re local?”

“Not local- local. I did not grow up here…” He trailed off, his mind elsewhere. “It’s a long story. What matters is this is where they’ve settled. Now a question in kind: how long have you been working as a carpenter?”

Eliza shrugged as she watched the lathe gain momentum. “Four years professionally, eight years if you count the work I did in undergrad.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh boy, do I.”

Mr. Stamatin snorted, “Passionate.”

“It’s almost midnight on christmas eve, I’m tired. I don’t really have the bandwidth for this, I just want to get it over with.” Eliza took a step back as she scrolled through the measurements she sketched out on her notes app. “Sorry. You’re making small talk. I’m being an asshole.”

“You are. But I get it.” Mr. Stamatin paused again, a consideration. “I’m playing teacher while you’re clearly crafting an apology.”

“An apology?”

“It’s christmas eve. You’re hundreds of miles from home. Your phone’s been buzzing in your pocket and you barely bother to check. Trying to not think of your mother, sitting alone in the dark this holiday?” 

Eliza turned to face him, taken aback. “How old are you?”

“Thirty.” The number hit the ground between them with a thud, utterly detached. 

“You talk like my grandpa.”

Mr. Stamatin leaned back in his stool, clearly thinking he struck a vein. “Does he chastise you for ignoring family calls?”

“You’ve barely spoken to me since I started grad school despite us sharing space and equipment six evenings a week for over a year. You have not earned the mileage to be this fucking petty with me, I don’t care if I stepped on your toes or whatever by taking the keys.” She turned away from him and pocketed her phone, stepping back to the lathe. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m five.”

The stool scraped across the concrete as he stood abruptly, “Eliza–”

“First name basis already? When it’s only been a year and a half? You’re rushing me, Mr. Stamatin–” Eliza didn’t get to complete that thought. She had been reaching over the lathe–first mistake. She had left the spindle gouge on the table and had went to grab it when suddenly her sleeve–and her arm–was yanked down into the headstock spindle. She should have taken off her sweater, but it was frigid in the shop so she hadn’t. That was her second and far more fatal mistake.

She heard her bones snap before she felt it.

Her right hand folded, twisted and tore in a wash of undefined, white-hot pain. Pain that screamed up her arm almost as fast as the limb itself was fed into the machine’s momentum. Instead of the sawdust and cold concrete of the shop she swore she smelled the feet-deep peet of prairie, the putrid-sweet smell of sweat and the salt-licking bees it attracted. Woodrot and moss, earthen morels and creek-dampened locust-tree shade.

Eliza’s short life overwhelmed her–the final buffer before the churning force of multiple tonnes subsumed her.

But it never did.

What felt like a molten rod drove beneath her shoulder blade and with another, definitive CRACK she was no longer being pulled into the lathe but away. She felt something– a hand? Who’s hand? --pressing and pulling where the agony had localized in her shoulder socket as she felt her back press up against another body before she was spun around. 

“Look at me.”

Eliza’s gaze drifted, her vision swimming. A vacant, distant part of her recognized the various landmarks of the shop–the bay door, the prop cubbies, the wall where the unused stage lights hung and the plastic tub of unsorted gobos languishing beneath them–but it was all stained. Tinted. She felt like she was looking through stained glass, into somewhere else, somewhere far off. Pain twinged through her torso as she felt the hands on her shoulders shake her.

“Look at me.”

Her reptile brain snapped to attention, her eyes snapping up to meet Mr. Stamatin’s. It was surreal, seeing any emotion there, especially the mix of terror and panic that kept his gray eyes wide and his cheeks colorless. He held a finger up between them, and her eyes tracked its movement without issue. “Eliza. You should sit.”

The lathe was still whirring in the background. It was only then that she registered what felt like warm rain pattering against the back of her neck. With her remaining hand, she reached back and dipped her fingers into the moisture, looking down to see blood smeared across her fingertips. Her blood. Her blood was still being sprayed out by the lathe.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but only bile came out. One violent retch shook her body as the acid stained the fronts of both of their shirts. The last thing she saw before knees gave out was a bit of knitted scrap unspun on the floor between them. 

The remains of her sweater sleeve, drenched in blood.

****

When Eliza came to, she was laid out across a cot.

Bleary-eyed, she squinted against a bright light of a surgical light haloing her. The hospital…? The smell of alcohol and disinfectant hung heavy in the air. A dull headache thrummed in time with her pulse as her gaze drifted to the IV taped to her arm, tube coiling dull crimson from the crook of her elbow to the transfusion bag. Further down her arm, a leather strap cuffed her wrist to the surgical bed–not that she was in any position to move her arm. Stare at it all she liked, she could not will it to move. Anything from twitching her finger to rolling her shoulder. Alarm as dull as the throbbing between her ears rolled over her as her mind reach out to the other–

A wash of blood drowned her senses. 

Whirring machinery.

Snapped bones. 

A scrap of sweater wetly slapped at her feet.

Nausea rolled over her. With an empty stomach she was left to wrestle with dry a heave as she struggled to shove the memory out of view as quickly as possible.

It’s gone.

It’s gone.

I’m never working in a shop again.

“Awake?” 

It took great effort, but Eliza was able to turn her head toward the voice. Flush beside her bed was a stainless steel worktable with what she assumed was a mannequin arm laid across it. Mr. Stamatin was hunched over it as he fiddled with its wrist. She had to clear her throat to find her voice. “...yeah.”

He did not look up. “Good, good.”

“What… happened? Is this the hospital? What…” Eliza trailed off as she felt her heart pick up pace, the pressure in her skull increasing. Fuck. She sucked in a shaky, steadying breath. Grateful for whatever IV cocktail she’d been put on because drug weight seemed to be the only thing grounding her. The space outside of their halo was dim, but not indiscernible. More of what you’d expect from a typical OR– equipment she barely recognized, messes of tubes and bags and lcd monitors. Most of it appeared a couple decades out of date, but not so old as to be unrecognizable. 

But mixed in between the islands of sterile surgical steel were more commercial-looking workbenches and organizers. Stations more befitting of the scene shop they shared than a hospital. Squinting past the darkness, she could swear she saw five… maybe six ornately carved wood panels lined up along a far wall–and if she focused she could smell sawdust underscoring the sterile sharpness of the cramped room.

Mr. Stamatin took a few moments to wrap up his work before pulling away from the arm, directing his attention fully on Eliza. She hadn’t noticed before, but despite the clear cut and peeled back skin around the carpal bones, he held no blade or tool in his hand. He wasn’t even wearing gloves–his bare fingers shone bright red in the lamplight. “You are in my surgery. Your sleeve was pulled into the lathe, along with your arm. Thankfully the rest of you did not follow.”

‘My’ surgery? “...is that my arm?”

“Not the original. That was irrecoverable. However, I happen to have a spare that should substitute just fine, with a bit of tailoring.” He turned back to his work. The tips of his fingers peeled back to reveal bleached bone tips, sharpened to fine points which easily manipulated the fine bands of tissue of the substitute hand. 

Eliza blearily blinked past this, squeezing her eyes shut until she saw stars and looked again. The bare bone was still there, still fraying away loose tendon string. Okay. Cool. Meanwhile, Mr. Stamatin’s words glided across the IV-glossed surface of her brain like a skater on fresh ice. Lost an arm but don’t worry. You’re getting a new one. As you do. “It looks dead.”

He nodded. “It is. For now. Once it’s attached to your circulatory system it should start waking back up– expect pins and needles for at least the first 12 hours, if not a full 24. Should be indistinguishable from the old one within the month.”

“Where did you get it?”

Silence. A small smile.  “You are taking this in stride.”

“I’m so fucked up I can’t even move. Not much of a choice.” Eliza’s attention turned toward her legs. With some effort, she was able to wiggle her feet around but not much else. “What am I on?”

“A cot.”

“Drugs. What drugs am I on?”

“A cocktail of barbiturates, saline solution and blood.” He glanced up at her, “would you have preferred I held off on the painkillers?”

When Eliza tilted her head back, the muscles in her neck seized painfully. Maybe he hadn’t given her enough. “...where did you get the blood?”

“Self-donated.” He gestured toward his arm, where she could see the tell-tale bruising of a heavy blood draw. “Lucky you, I’m a universal donor.”

Eliza lifted an eyebrow. “Was the arm self-donated as well?”

“...well, I had it on hand and am giving it to you. So, technically, yes.”

“Who’s arm is it?”

“No one you know.” He cracked his knuckles and leaned back, admiring it. “And its originator gave it to me freely, so you can let your conscience rest. No mutiny from this one.”

Eliza’s heart was shrieking in her chest, but she felt a part of herself nodding along. Maybe it's a dream? And if it isn’t… that arm looks pretty goddamn real, and fresh. She thought back to an uncle of hers that had his pointer finger lopped off by a butcher knife, how they iced it and stitched it back on. Less dexterous, a bit more pale, but functional. He seems stable. Like he knows what he’s doing… I think. She let her head fall back onto the cot with a sigh. “...are you, like, a med school dropout or something? Is patching people up a hobby of yours?”

Mr. Stamatin stood, looping around to the cot’s open side. His hands reached toward her butchered shoulder, disappearing from her field of view as she felt the pin-prick sensation of something tugging along the outer socket.  “All I ask is for you to trust me. Trust that I will do right by you, as someone under my care. Can I expect that from you?”

Eliza met his gaze. His eyes level with an intensity that honed onto the hairline fractures of her doubt, splitting it apart. Maybe it was something in that cocktail being mainlined into her veins. Maybe it was the shock of the situation. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t as tall of an ask as it should have been. “Again--not much of a choice, is it?”

He sat on this for a moment before turning his attention back to the socket. “How about this– if you aren’t pleased with my work, I will take you straight to the hospital. I brought you here since my home is a stone’s throw from the theater and you weren’t in stable condition. But now that you are stable–”

“--can’t you take me now?” Eliza shifted uncomfortably under the increasing burn of whatever was being done to her shoulder. “Get a professional to stitch up my arm?”

He scoffed. “A surgeon wouldn’t be able to apply this arm.”

“What do you mean a surgeon can’t? Isn’t that what you’re attempting?”

“What I’m doing is something a little more esoteric than surgery.”

“Oh, esoteric. ” Eliza groaned, “just what I want from my doctor–out of pocket procedures from Alister Crowley's big book of limb re-application.”

Mr. Stamatin’s stoic composure cracked slightly, “Oh please my practices predate him by over a millennium.”

“You’ve been doing this for a millennium?”

A wink. “Promise you won’t tell?”

If Eliza had a working arm, she’d have crossed herself. “On my grandpa’s gr–AAAHHFUCK!”

The burn flared out into an agonizing flame, hastily extinguished when Mr. Stamatin pulled back. “Shit. Forgive me, I forgot to sever the nerves.”

“What the fuck?” Eliza gasped.

“Stay with me. Talk. Let’s talk.” He caught her gaze with his own as he went back to work, “Who introduced you to carpentry?”

“Nobody–I watched some youtube videos and improvised from there –fuck! ” The pain flared again then dimmed with a snap–replaced by an unsettling numbness. “This feels like an interrogation. I feel like I’m being tortured.”

“...it does, doesn’t it?” Mr. Stamatin cleared his throat, an uncomfortable beat of silence as he searched for words. “Would you prefer to keep asking the questions? Would that help? I talk, you focus on the mend and listen?”

“Yeah…” Eliza’s attention drifted back to the wood panels. The one closest to the light depicted a tirelessly detailed oak tree, where every branch served roost to a host of different birds. They were difficult to differentiate, fine details bleeding together in the dark. It was a riot of fluid, fluttering plumage and verdant canopy. “Two questions. First: What is your name? Your full one. If I’m going to stay in your SAW basement I should at least know that. Second: If you didn’t go to school… where’d you learn to do… whatever this is? With the arm?”

“To the first–Anatol. My name is Anatol.” He stood, walking back to the arm. He gingerly picked it up, slowly turning it over in his grasp. “To the second–I will tell you on the condition that, should you be happy with your… miraculous recovery, you swear to keep what occurred tonight as a secret between us. On your life. Fair?”

“...fair.” Eliza resigned. “On my life.”

“Thank you.” He sat back down next to her exposed shoulder, aligning the humeral head of her arm with her shoulder’s socket. “This will hurt, but it will be brief. On three?”

A knot formed in her throat as she nodded. “On three.”

He adjusted his grip. “One.”

She clenched her jaw. “Two.”

“Three.”

Ao3 - Next Chapter

[foxy-the-silly-little-hooligan]

The TMA x FMA AU

Hey! For those who don’t know, I’m Jay! I’m one of Luna’s (@thevoidcannotbefilled) partners and a longtime friend~

We’ve been working on an updated version of this AU together, and thought it’d be fun to ruminate on the new ideas we’ve written together thus far.

A LOT OF SPOILERS FOR TMA, FMA 03, FMAB, AND THE FMA MANGA AHEAD!!!

To start, we’ve kept the original setting of 1914 Amestris and alchemy is still a large part of the universe and story. After all, alchemy is treated as an objective science in the world of FMA. We’ve kept many of the major plot points too!

So… what’s really changed in the AU?

The fall of Xerxes was the birth of the first philosophers’ stones, inhabiting the bodies of two men. One brought the science of alchemy to the West, the other the science of alkahestry to the East. These men were hailed as myths and prophets - the founders of modern alchemic science.

But something else came through the Gates of Truth that day.

Something big and evil and crushing and invisible to the men of this land.

But, to the two injured men that awoke on the outskirts of a dead city, they were well aware of what followed them.

They, too, learn the secrets of alchemy.

400 years pass. Amestris was founded. Alchemy became a leading science for both military and industrial uses, and the country continues to expand over the decades. The East has perfected alkahestry for medical uses.

And in Resembool, a small, rural hamlet in the southeastern region of Amestris, a small family lives alongside a lonely old man covered in scars, and a doctor and his own small family.

None are unfamiliar with loss.

Hoenheim leaves behind two young boys and his kind, forgiving wife. She shortly passes away after.

The doctor and his wife are taken by war, an uprising in the East.

The lonely old man, Jon, lost his husband centuries before, along with his sight.

As the story goes, the orphan boys, the Elric brothers, learn alchemy. They study whatever they can get their hands on. They ask the old blind man to teach them. They find a teacher in Dublith that trains their minds and bodies for their craft. They commit the ultimate sin, and try to bring their mother back from the dead.

Humans are not gods.

And such powerful science has laws to abide by.

Edward Elric, the older brother, lost his right arm and left leg, and replaces them both with limbs of iron. Alphonse Elric, the younger brother, lost his body, and now exists in the failed remnants of their transmutation.

Now, with Edward becoming a State Alchemist, a ‘dog of the military,’ a human weapon for the country of Amestris, he and his brother pursue one thing - the philosopher’s stone - to restore their old bodies.

But old gods and evil forces won’t let them get it that easily. And Fear is one hell of a powerful element.

Ok, ok, that’s out of my system. Let’s break some stuff down a bit.

We’re borrowing a few different ideas for this AU - not only the canon story from Brotherhood and the manga, but also a few bits and pieces from 03. And, of course, plenty from The Magnus Archives.

So, let’s start at the beginning with the end of TMA. The fears, along with Jon and Martin, are implied to have been sent Elsewhere. Elsewhere happened to be Amestris, or, more specifically, Xerxes, right after its fall.

With that first transmutation, the science of alchemy was irreversibly corrupted, tied to the Fears. The Fears, over time, also took new forms.

There are 7*:

Fear of The Fractured - loss of identity

Fear of Conflict - devastation and war

Fear of the Maker - what results from science going too far

Fear of Oblivion - ceasing to be

Fear of Decay - disease, starvation, poverty, etc

Fear of Confinement - being trapped or manipulated

Fear of Disconnection - losing humanity, connection, or empathy

*Obviously, in line with TMA, there’s some additional room for interpretation for each.

Each fear is tied to one of the 7 homunculi created, or taken in, by Father:

Fear of The Fractured - Envy

Fear of Conflict - Wrath

Fear of the Maker - Pride

Fear of Oblivion - Sloth

Fear of Decay - Gluttony

Fear of Confinement - Greed

Fear of Disconnection - Lust

Now, I said we’d be borrowing some aspects of 03, and the creation of homunculi is one of those things. Despite its many flaws, I think 03 had a few interesting ideas to explore, particularly the concept of homunculi being the result of human transmutation. So, while some homunculi keep their canon roots (Pride, Gluttony, and Wrath for example), others have a shift in their backstories. Lust and Greed were willing human siblings who agreed to take the stone, but Greed has decided he doesn’t wish to keep his end of the bargain with Father. Envy (and this is probably gonna piss some people off I’m so sorry) is Izumi’s lost child, found then stabilized, and now resentful of typical humans.

Sloth is Martin. Blame Luna for that one.

It should be noted that human transmutation is Still Impossible in the AU. What results is an unstable mess that needs a philosopher stone core or Fear to keep them stable, And while a philosopher's stone is a refined, perfect combination of alchemical ingredients, Fear can also be refined and crystalized (such as in 03’s version of the philosopher's stone) which can and will corrupt the user over time.

A perfect stone refines both. A perfect stone can elevate you beyond an avatar. A perfect stone can turn one into a god.

And that’s precisely what Father’s after.

Alright that’s fine and fun and dandy, but what’s this about Al’s body??? And Jon teaches them alchemy???

Ok, ok… Al’s body is indeed flesh and blood in this version, what you may call an incomplete homunculi or somewhere between human and homunculi. After all, he’s the soul that ended up in their failed attempt to bring back their mother.

The manga and Brotherhood explain how this is possible fairly well, both in The Blind Alchemist - a side story in the manga and Brotherhood anime - and in a few chapters/episodes of the story proper. In canon, Al’s soul briefly entered the body of their failed transmutation attempt before it was rejected. The referenced side story further expands by implying that a soul might still inhabit the transmuted girl (though it's left up to interpretation whether there is someone inside or if it's even the original soul), as the body was stable and presumed to be living.

Human transmutation, as is its intended use, is still impossible. But a working body can hold a soul - see Al’s armor in canon.

His body is unstable and often-times unreliable. The armor helps keep him together, and frequent transmutations help to re-stabilize him (explained further down). While he doesn’t face as many issues with his soul being rejected from his body - and it's still a risk - he does face many issues that a living body that isn’t working properly can face: sleep is unneeded but he can feel fatigue, he can’t feel pain and is much stronger than he should be, but he can still get hurt (takes a lot to risk killing him though), he needs food but it often doesn’t taste like much of anything, etc.

Instead of wondering if he’s real, Al often grapples with the question of if he’s human (or WHAT he is in general).

I mentioned frequent transmutations to keep Al in tact, but to explain that, I need to explain Jon.

Jon and Martin arrived 400 years ago, we know that much. The figure out the situation rather quickly, all things considered, and manage to settle down in what would eventually become Amestris (after, of course, some stumbling from place to place and recovery from their injuries with what help they could find).

Strangely enough, things settle down for the two of them. They grow old together, build a farm and a happy life, travel and learn new things - Jon takes a particular interest in alchemy as a new science to explore (and, possibly, he’s drawn to the Fear attached to it). They raise cows! They meet and befriend a man named Hoenheim, who seems to relate to their story and helps expand their knowledge on alchemy and its uses. Jon uses what he knows of modern medicine and his studies of alchemy and alkahestry (with Hoenheim’s help) to develop his own form of alchemy, one that expands on the ideas of medical alchemy - the same alchemy he eventually teaches to the brothers to keep Al together.

After a happy several decades, he loses Martin to old age. It's a peaceful death, one Jon saw coming long before it happened. Jon’s barely aged by comparison - though he’s no longer tied to the Eye, some effects still linger. He promises Martin he’d live as a human, and die like one, when the time was right.

But, Jon isn’t ready to let go - not of life, not of Martin. Fear still works to keep him alive.

The transmutation to bring Martin back, however, fails horribly, and Jon loses his eyesight. It's a bit ironic, isn’t it? The Avatar of the Beholding loses the ability to see the world around him.

Hoenheim’s an old friend. If anyone understands what he’s going through, it's him.

So it's not so surprising that Jon eventually settles down in the quiet village of Resembool.

Aaaaand that’s the basics really! We’re still figuring out a more specific plot and exploring different ideas because the lore we ended up with for this baby is Hefty, and this isn’t even everything we discussed or the individual relationships between the characters!

If my dear Luna wishes to expand or ruminate on ideas, they are more than welcome to add.

They helped me write this, after all! This is as much their fault as mine. lol

If you made it through this, thanks for reading! And uhhhh… wow, you’re patient, have a cookie.

[endlessly-cursed]

Over the Brink of War, Chapter One: A Historic Fall

A/N: The first chapter is finally after months gatekeeping it out of laziness lol. This series is in the same universe and timeline as @kathrynalicemc​ ‘s The Phoenix Resistance. The og cast belongs to her. Also, check out The Phoenix Archives for more BTS work with new and old characters! 

Summary: Elodie receives an offer she’s been waiting to receive... for 40 years 

Featuring..: Elodie Dubois, Sebastian Dubois, James Dubois, Kaari Arcano, Devon Marlowe ( both belonging to @kathrynalicemc​ ) Lyubomir Vulchanov ( @magicallymalted​ ) 

Word Count: 2.2k 

Bill and Fleur’s wedding, 17:40

Elodie watched her son dance with his wife, as well as her grandson dance with his own. They all smiled and danced away, no worries or concerns between them. Suddenly, her stomach turned. She thought it was her illness yet again, until something inside her told her “Something’s about to happen. Something bad. Terrible, even.” Instinctively, she grabbed her great-granddaughter, who happily fussed with her shirt and pearl necklace and told her family to pick up their things.

The feeling was growing stronger, and worse. She felt it’d happen at any moment. Baby Lucille started fussing, noticing her great-grandmother’s queasiness and she rocked her, trying to calm her down, but it was helpless. Something was about to happen, and it’d happen at any moment. James kept pressing why they were leaving. She just told them to trust her on this one.

She could hear a girl shriek “YOU’RE CHEATING ON ME?!”

Before he could even open his mouth, Kingsley’s Patronus announced the Ministry of Magic’s fall, and death eaters came in, plunging into chaos. “James, get your wife and daughter into safety. We’ll deal with them.”

James and Isolda quickly left, and Sebastian and Elodie plunged into action. She struck one death eater in the chest with an ancient spell, then waved her wand and knocked out three. She prayed to Rowena that her grandson and great-granddaughter had apparated. One death eater grabbed her, but she elbowed him in the nose and struck him with the head of her wand, and was soon stupefying death eaters left and right.

Sebastian was also a quick one, and for a moment, she saw him. They focused on the same way, and had the same face when they were passionate about something.

However, Elodie, at her advanced age, was only so strong, and signaled her son that she’d make herself scarce and to come home safe. She ducked one death eater and apparated herself in the hospital, coughing up blood and shaking. Her nurse was quick to grab her and chide her for having been so reckless. She retched the whole night.

Lone Star Tavern, Whitechapel, London- 25th of August, 1997

Kaari greeted Devon and she signaled him to sit down. He asked “Who else have you thought for this, Dev?”

“Henry, obviously, and someone else. She’s quite old, and there is a rumor that she is sickly, but her knowledge and experience could help us with the war.”

Kaari then looked at two photos. In there, one was from a long time ago, perhaps the fifties: stood there a beautiful woman, of sweet blue eyes, dark hair and behind her was Tom Riddle, who looked at her in an interesting way. It read ‘Celestial Ball, 1948’. So, maybe someone that was close to him?

The second photo was a recent one: stood there a woman with platinum hair, in her sixties, perhaps seventies, with the same blue eyes, but with wisdom and secrets behind her eyes. It read ‘Elodie Dubois, 1992’. “From what I gather, Elodie used to be a girlfriend of Tom Riddle, until his goals separated her and dated someone else. She also has a son from that relationship, Sebastian, though we have no information of the father, though many suspect that he was Lyubomir Vulchanov, a pureblood who is a bit fascinated with necromancy. The point is, she knows the Dark Lord in a way we don’t, as well as his past and is from a house of healers, and she is a talented healer and dueler. She was notorious in Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Her age hasn’t gotten in the way of her prowess. I think she and her son would make two fine additions.”

Kaari nodded “It’d certainly be wise to include the Dark Lord’s ex here. What she knows of him may help us, though I wouldn’t take her to raids, but she can train the young ones. Her son, I’d be open for that.”

“You know what to do, right?”

Kaari smirked “Haven’t you heard? I am the kind of guy grandmothers like.”

Nando’s, London, 09.30am, 1997

Elodie had come out of her monthly hospital stay and had gone out for groceries, keeping a low profile. Surely these death eaters had some regard of a poor old lady? She tried to reach a jar of jam, but she was too short. Cons of old age. You had the height you once had when you were twelve.

“Allow me.” A masculine voice suddenly came. He had a rather long, thick black hair and several scars, and smelled like the north—Norway, to be exact. He gave her the jar and offered to help her with the groceries, a winning smile on his face. He wanted something from her. And he was no death eater. She quickly gave him a helpless old lady smile and both of them walked, aware that they were being watched “I hope I have reached Elodie Dubois. Not that I wouldn’t help a helpless old lady.” He winked.

“How can I help you, sir?”

He whispered “More like how can you help the world, Mrs. Dubois.”

She then observed around, and a golden flick came into her view, like a phoenix coming back from the dead. The youngsters had been quicker to form some sort of resistance against Tom. At least they had been quicker this time. Elodie was quick to put on her mask and groaned in pain “Oh, my back aches. Please, good sir, would you accompany me to my home? I’m afraid I can’t carry all of this on my own.”

He smiled “It’d be my pleasure.”

As they got away from the supermarket and started getting deeper into the streets. The moment they reached her flat and came into the elevator, she extended her hand “Elodie Dubois. What is your name, young man?”

He instead kissed it, but Elodie remained unfazed and unimpressed “Kaari Arcano, madame. I have an offer for you and your son.”

They came into the flat and Sebastian looked confused at his mother, and seized up Kaari “Who’s this bloke, mother?”

“Kaari Arcano. Sebastian, right? Nice to meet you, mate.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow but shook his hand “What brings you here?” His eyes went wide as he too saw the symbol and sat with both of them. Elodie motioned Kaari to talk “It has come to my knowledge that you, Elodie, used to… be close to the Dark Lord and have been one of the first people to go against him. Dumbledore admired you and tried to recruit you for the Order of the Phoenix, am I right?”

“You never told me that last part, Mama.”

“Hush, Sebastian. Yes, he tried to recruit me and I rejected his offer. That man makes of poor, innocent children his toy soldiers, and that is something I am against. Children are children, even if they think themselves the next Superman or Wonder Woman. We ought to leave their childhoods alone, not stain them with blood and loss.”

“Well, neither of us are children here, are we? We are adults who need your experience, knowledge and expertise, and your son’s experience as a Curse-breaker, of course. We are the Phoenix Resistance, and our main jobs are smuggling innocents out of the harm’s way and weaken the Dark Lord with raids.”

Elodie looked at Kaari “I take you also have Trojan Horse within their walls?”

Kaari frowned and Sebastian translated “She’s asking if you also have a spy working for them and you.”

“Oh. Yes, we do! Though, we can’t say who, but we do, aye.”

“Good. I have one condition.”

He waved his hand, inviting “Go ahead.”

“I have to meet the boss, whoever it is. I want to tell them what I know myself.”

“That can be arranged.”

Two days later, Elodie had put on a royal blue suit and brushed her hair, and walked into the tavern, following Kaari all along. Her son stayed behind and admired the place. She came into their base of operations and was surprised to see a small, blonde woman with glasses and who didn’t seem to notice them. She also had some white scars on her body. Lighting scars. She knew a remedy or two to keep them at bay, as well as a surgery to remove them from sight. Kaari started signing “Dev, this is Elodie. Elodie, this is Devon Marlowe.”

Recognition came into her eyes. She had been the poor girl who nearly died after being struck by lightning. Her colleague had done her treatment, as well as attended her. She spoke as Kaari translated “Miss Marlowe. Your strength knows no bounds, I see. I’m delighted that someone like you is the force behind this.”

“Mrs. Dubois. Many speak of your talent for healing, as well as your past with the Dark Lord. I won’t lie, your knowledge and experience will certainly be of help to us. I’d be glad to hear your story.”

“I take that you can read my thoughts.” Devon nodded. She turned to Kaari “Leave us. This is women’s business.” He tried to complain, but she raised her hand to shut him and waved him to leave. He sighed. He couldn’t win this fight.

I won’t say that he was once a saint. He had his faults, but surely everyone had them. I could swear that there was this softness, this connection when we were alone. He told me his family history once, drunk and feeling embarrassed. You see, he is a hypocrite. A half-blood, borne of a pureblood woman who was crazy in love and a poor muggle man who was forcibly roped into the scheme. She seduced him with a love potion. I wasn’t aware then that a child borne of love potions couldn’t be able to love anybody whatsoever.

I knew he felt embarrassed about it. But I thought he meant the circumstances of his birth, not his blood. When he took things too far, I tried to warn him of dancing too close to the sun. We argued, and broke apart. I wouldn’t see him that way ever again. As I healed, I started my opposition against him, and everyone was appalled, but I didn’t care. I had my Miro beside me, and together we did our best, but alas, we were few, and many were attracted to him, what he offered. In a way, he shares that with the Devil. He hasn’t always been that pale bald man with no nose and monstruous affairs. No. He was beautiful, and once was Hogwarts’ future and pride. But greed and power got the best of him. And thus, he went that far.

I know some people who can be of help, and that would be glad to take him down. I also know you’ve been asking around in the hospital. I am sick, yes, but I have also made a vow: I won’t allow myself to die until he dies first. Until that day, you have my help. I possess more knowledge, so ask away.

They talked some more about strategies and what use her son would be, and soon was his turn. He wasn’t thrilled to be bossed by a young girl, but it was better than being undercover forever.

Waving goodbye to Kaari, they left with homework: to get to know Voldemort’s plans for everybody and bring supplies.

Elodie’s apartment, London, 21:10

Her son had been awfully quiet for some time now, and barely said a word to his mother. The moment James and his family left to sleep, Sebastian stopped Elodie and questioned her “Why was never father here?”

“I kicked him out.”

“But why?”

She sighed “Like the Dark Lord, he had dangerous hobbies and would’ve been a danger to stay here. I made him choose between that or me. He didn’t choose. He left.”

“What’s his name?”

She sighed. It’s been over forty years. He was either dead or with a family of his own “Lyubomir Vulchanov. He’s a pureblood man from Bulgaria and Norway. And… a necromancer student.”

Sebastian nodded, and sighed “It’s time then.”

Elodie blinked “Pardon?”

He looked at his mother “I’m a grown up. I have my own family. There’s nothing stopping you from seeing him.”

“Sebastian—,”

“Do it for me. I don’t want you to give up on the love of your life for me. Please.”

Elodie sighed “I’ll think about it. But it’s been forty years. Maybe he’s married and has beautiful children.”

“I have a feeling that it’s not the case.”

During two weeks, she tried to write him a letter. She still remembered where he lived after all those years, but nothing of it made sense. She had burned over fifty letters. Then, while watching a movie, the craziest and most rash decision she ever made came to her.

Tromso, Vulchanov manor, Norway, 30th of August, 1997

Elodie’s heart raced incredibly fast, her small luggage weighing in her hands. At least they had a bell. She took a few deep breaths and pressed the bell, and then knocked on the door. At first, silence. Then, she heard a few steps inside and someone opened the door; there he was.

He was older, naturally, and had white hair and his blue eyes seemed tired, and was dressed with a simple shirt and some maroon pantaloons. He narrowed his eyes through his glasses. He asked something in Norwegian.

“It’s me, Miro. Elodie.”

He stiffened and recognition came through his eyes “Elodie…?”

She bit her lip “Surprise, I suppose?”

[mobscene-london]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Ayaz Ateş. AGE: 37. PLACE OF BIRTH: London, United Kingdom. AFFILIATION: The Rutherford Family. OCCUPATION: Lieutenant. FACE CLAIM: Serkan Çayoğlu. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warning: This is so obnoxiously long, and writing it was a logistical nightmare. Apologies for what you’re about to read. Don’t turn an NPC into a playable character and then play them before you write the bio. Lesson learned...)

This was never the life he’d wanted for himself. Not even with those he’d left behind.

But bitterness had a way of changing you irreparably.

People underestimated that.

Sometimes he wondered how different things might’ve been if they’d stayed in Haringey. The thoughts were void of the longing one might expect, but they plagued him all the same. Ayaz never really missed the place, and he sure didn’t miss those he’d once considered family, but that was because family didn’t treat people the way they’d treated his father. The man had dedicated his life to furthering the interests of the Turkish gang. They’d come before everything but his only son.

Until they just hadn’t deserved it anymore.

Demir and Doğulu had always seen things differently. The two had been friends back in Türkiye—long before they’d decided to move to London—and that meant Ayaz’s father often found himself on the outside of the trio they’d formed. Whilst Behçet was a proud man, however, he wasn’t an egotistical one. So long as his contributions to their three-way leadership felt worthy, he was content. But as each year passed, they pushed their comparatively traditional and conservative brother further out of the fold. Doğulu was the leader, Demir was his second, and Ateş was the fucking spare. They kept important information from him, and acted without consultation in spite of the fact they’d agreed to make decisions together. It was as if he’d pledged his life to people who had decided him obsolete. Embarrassed him by unashamedly parading it to the rest of the gang…

Ayaz isn’t sure why his otherwise patient father finally snapped—and is neither brave nor stupid enough to ask—but when the Rutherfords came knocking, Behçet answered.

Unlike his little sister, he was old enough to be aware of what was happening. Losing his friends, the people he cared about, the home he grew up in… Ayaz loved his father, and would never second guess the wisest man he’d ever known, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. They were viewed as traitors by people who had once adored them.

Ayaz was so ashamed of the new reputation that followed his family, his teenage years were a miserable and lonely blur. Whilst he vehemently refused to associate with the Rutherford family—maybe foolishly hoping that one day, the Turks would take him back—he didn’t socialise with anybody else, either. He made no friends at his new private school; a placement gained courtesy of Rutherford influence, no doubt. Out of fear of retribution, he refused to leave the house for anything other than school or prayer. He talked less, even at home, and lost the very nature that’d always made the people of Haringey fall in love with him.

The one thing that’d always saved him from the brink of insanity throughout the hardship, however, was the relationship he shared with his mother. There was nobody in his life he adored more. On the days he was so miserable he couldn’t even bring himself to eat, she’d take her son to the kitchen and cook with him. Though he was an academic first and foremost, it’d sparked something in an otherwise empty teenager that would prove difficult to extinguish. To look at him now, one would never imagine that his passion in life was cooking, but Huriye had honed in on the thing she could see made her son happy, and gently cultivated it into something he could be proud of. Ayaz hadn’t realised that he’d needed that, but she sure had.

Eventually heading to university had been everything that he’d needed it to be, and that was a real chance to start over. For the first time since his family had been expelled from Haringey, he finally felt he had people in his life who had no idea about the things he’d spent years punishing himself for. Ayaz had pursued business and management with the intention of one day starting his own restaurant, and was finding his footing as something other than a traitor’s son. He’d made friends, unknowingly met the woman he would marry, and gained back some of the good nature he had lost over the years. There was so much to be grateful for, he could scarcely believe the turnaround.

Until halfway through his final year, he got the call that changed everything.

More so than leaving Haringey ever had…

In hindsight, he’s surprised it took them so long to retaliate. The Turks were as bitter as they were proud. Maybe they’d just been waiting for the right time to strike out at his father. Saving the only chance he’d allow them for when he least expected it… The drive-by shooting right outside his family home had seen three bullets hit Behçet, and still fail to put him down.

It’d only taken one to strike Ayaz’s mother, though. One bullet to injure her gravely enough to tease death, and paralyse her for the rest of her life.

Family would always come first for him, and this time was no exception.

Getting leave to be with her was easy, but it’d quickly become obvious that he couldn’t go back to school. Not only was his father finding caring for his paraplegic wife a struggle, but for the first time since Behçet had chosen the Rutherfords, his son was livid with those they’d left behind. Anger had never been something he’d struggled with. To see his mother hurting, though—a woman who was undeniably the kindest soul anyone who’d met her knew—stoked something in him he hadn’t even known fucking existed. As each day passed, and especially on the rare ones her admirably brave face faltered, his bitterness grew.

Behçet’s betrayal had never been the reason his son had joined the Rutherfords.

The Turks had unknowingly created that monster themselves.

The regret at having avoided the British family for so long crept up on him quickly after that. They had helped his family immeasurably; including, most importantly, making sure that his mother had the best private healthcare money could buy. Material gains aside, however, Ayaz would take away so much more from them as the years passed. The friendship he cultivated with Lara. With Adriana, and Yiannis, and a whole host of others he would never have been lucky enough to meet otherwise, too. Most significantly of all, however, he’d once again met Medea; the same woman who’d brutally rejected him at a university mixer all those years ago.

Whilst it might’ve it earned him all the things he was grateful for, his connections also perpetually stoked his ire toward Haringey.

And when his sister abandoned their family for a gang she couldn’t even remember?

It peaked in ways reminiscent of the days he’d spent at his mother’s hospital bedside.

Ayaz and Medea had committed to moving to Porto Velho permanently before he’d heard the news. Honestly, he would’ve gone anywhere his wife asked him to, and when it finally seemed as though his parents were in a good place, he knew he’d have no need to feel guilty for putting an ocean between them, because they wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. But when Elif turned her back on them, Huriye’s mental state began to deteriorate rapidly. Suddenly, his life seemed to be slipping out of his control because of decisions that were not his own. How could he possibly leave his mother now? Like this? Taking her place at Lara’s side was not an offer Medea could refuse, and Ayaz knew that it gave her purpose she had been missing for so long. He couldn’t ask her to stay even though he wanted to. He couldn’t handle any more fucking guilt.

They’d both tried to make the distance work. But it just hadn’t.

In taking away Elif, they’d inadvertently taken the love of his life from him, too.

One more thing for which he would never forgive them.

The work he’d been doing for the Rutherfords had been just enough to get by at that point, but he sure jumped at any chance he could to head to Haringey when somebody needed to be taught a lesson. Life was anger and violence. Utterly meaningless beyond a search for vengeance, and ultimately, it left him about as miserable as he had been before he’d turned his life around. But he was in too deep, now. Didn’t know how to go back to normality after everything that’d happened. Everything he’d lost…

Redemption only came when Lara made London her new home, but years had passed, and Ayaz was not the same person they’d left behind. They could see as much. With her homecoming came the return of Medea, though, and that mattered. Not only was he given new purpose as a part of Lara’s security team—trust offered thanks to the devil on her shoulder, no doubt—but with her permanent return to the city, he had his wife back. It was blatant as soon as she was home that divorcing had been a hasty mistake, because the two had reconciled immediately. Ayaz hadn’t realised how badly he’d needed it. Her.

Just like that? It felt as though he was finding his way again.  

The stability the new arrangement offered had him flourishing. Not only did he marry Medea for the second time, but now they were settled in the city for good, the timing finally seemed right to start the family they’d often talked about. Medea had never been close with her own, where Ayaz’s had meant everything to him, and it gave them both very different reasons for wanting the same thing. They’d always been on the same page; even when it came to the little things. Maybe she didn’t seem the type to others, but he knew her. Could tell she’d been excited to plan this part of their future. So when she’d turned around barely two years later and told him she didn’t want children anymore, it’d broken his fucking heart.

And this time, it was her who left him.

For a while, he wondered if she’d had other reasons for wanting to break things off, and had used not wanting kids as the excuse because she knew it was a deal-breaker. Medea wasn’t just his wife. She was his best fucking friend. Nobody understood her like he did. But this time he was at a loss, and that hurt him almost as much as losing her.

Ayaz threw himself wholly into his work as a means of coping after that. Not that he really fooled anyone into believing he was coping… Lara’s security team was headed by Yiannis, but he’d proven to be an exceptional addition over the years he’d played a part. Maybe it was the growing part of him that realised how much he owed them. Their relationship had strengthened exponentially; enough that his divorce, and new closeness with the Rutherford, had sparked some rumours he certainly could’ve lived without. Ayaz respected her like he respected nobody else in her family. Trusted her implicitly in a way that would soon become mutual. He knew that wherever she headed in the future, he would be at her side, but he hadn’t expected that it would so quickly come as a promotion to lieutenant.

It’s not that he wasn’t flattered... Not only had he got the title remarkably early in his career, but he would officially be the first the future head of the Rutherford family would assign to the position. People liked to say it’d only been a prize for saving her life back in Launceston, but they both knew better. Understood that she saw something in him that perhaps, he didn’t even see in himself. But the new responsibilities came with a very real reminder. The Ayaz from Haringey might’ve died in that hospital, but there was still a part of him, no matter how small, that longed for something more than this. In being brought into a position of power, it seemed increasingly unlikely that he’d ever get to spend his life away from the gangs, just as he’d always intended…

The real question is: is his longing for a normal life stronger than his longing to punish Haringey?

Things can change overnight, and he knows that well…

But not right now, it isn’t.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. Medea Barrett (ex-wife, twice rip) FAMILY: Behçet and Huriye Ateş (parents, unplayable), Elif Ateş (sister), Leyla Yılmaz (maternal cousin), Ceren Yılmaz (maternal cousin, deceased) CONNECTIONS:

Adriana Amaro: Good friend. Though they mightn’t seem the type to mesh well on paper, Adriana has an infuriating way of making anybody she sets her sights on adore her. Ayaz is no exception. Whilst she might drive him crazy a solid ninety per cent of the time, he wouldn’t be without her, now. Of all the friendships he’s made since joining her family, whilst she might be the most unexpected, she’s also one of the most treasured. Not that he’ll ever tell her that.

Nevra Erdoğan: Good friend. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but it’s of great comfort to him to have another Turk in the Rutherford ranks. Not only is he proud of her for turning her back on the piece of shit gang they left behind, but he’s proud of how much she’s achieved working for the family. Ayaz isn’t a hugely social person, and he doesn’t have many friends, but with her it’s easy. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’d go insane without her.

Hasan Demir: Enemy. Former friend. The two had been very close, once upon a time. When he’d been forced to flee Haringey, family aside, Hasan was the person Ayaz had missed the most. But times change, and so do people. Whilst he hates everybody who’s a part of the Turkish gang with a burning fucking passion, the sons of Demir and Doğulu top the list. Old friendships don’t mean mercy. 

Elif Ateş: Enemy. Sister? What sister? Ayaz doesn’t have one.

[duckbeater]

Story Assignment / Did You Prevail?

Peter Handke’s memoir A Sorrow Beyond Dreams is notable for its brevity and also the brevity of its composition. In less than 90 pages he examines his mother’s suicide, sketches something of her backwoods youth in interwar Germany, sympathetically evokes her enervating middle years (child-rearing, poverty, spirit-killing monotony), then analyzes her life’s coda—a time of curiosity, social reinvention and zest. By elevating her consciousness, she apparently collapsed all that’d come before, made it ugly and non-negotiable. To quit the past required a whole bottle of sleeping pills.  

Handke’s analyses is forensic, delicate and rational. You believe he loves his mother not from sentimental asides or fantasies of saving, but by his devotion to the truth, which, given his mother’s unhappiness and pettiness and lack of education, has a nearly universal meaningless. What did her death mean? Who could it possibly affect?

Anyway, he finished the book in two months, and included the odd occasional all-caps abstraction. When I’m walking around at night I sometimes think, “NEAT, CLEAN and JOLLY,” or “WEAK-KNEED,” or “GREAT FALL,” or “MEANWHILE HAD GONE OUT OF EXISTENCE,” and know I’m occupied once more with my little sorrow beyond dreams.

—

“Man,” I texted Mackie, “I’ve been awake since 3AM. It’s 5 now. Jerked off 2x. No sleep.” I hit send before deciding my intentions. I don’t think we know what to say to each other, but we’re always saying things to each other, and it’s never, “Was thinking about you, how great it’d be to be turn over and just talk to you in the dark.” I don’t know if he’d actually ever say that to me—seems wishful. Mackie is not very nice and he lives very far away. 

—

Went to a party on Wednesday. I wore dark blues down to my briefs, and navy small shoes with no arches. I got off the train hobbling and talked myself up in the alleys on the way to the two-story condo where we’d celebrate night 4 of Hanukkah. I’d slept with the host, obviously, and one or two friends in attendance. I’m not really a part of this group, I’ve just—I guess I’ve penetrated it, as they say. 

I had rehearsed convos in my head. I had slammed a blue-bottled beer before getting on the train and felt woozy but competent, just a little in pain. Everyone there seemed leagues more jovial and put together and interesting and adult than me, I felt, immediately on opening the door. I had forced an earring in a closed hole and my left ear was berry red and throbbing—a part of why I felt so juvenile. Grown men don’t just press past the barrier of healed skin. It made a small gratifying popping sound as it cleared the other side and felt hot-hot, and it’s a sensation I’ll repeat (it’s a sensation writing repeats). 

For a while, to get out of the heat and press of my successful and attached gay cohort, I hung out with the only female in attendance, Bernice, a noted fag hag (I believe she condones this use), and stroked a paw of the small dog seeking refuge in a pillow-pile beside me on the over-plush couch. Because I felt lonely, I wanted to ask, “Bernice, why do you exclusively attend these kinds of events? Why do you exclusively attend events where you’re shunted to an oversized couch with a social incompetent? What’s the deal with you and gays?” Instead we talked about our jobs. This inadvertently dimensionalized Bernice for me. 

“I’ve done so much bullshit work for the last decade,” she snorted, “and in 2022 I got hired as a special projects consultant for an absolutely broken renewable energies firm.” She explained the firm’s stultifying snags on ESG semantics, its optical insecurities, how it quavered on progressive politics, waffling on bygone  talking points. “I was loaned out,” said Bernice. “Um, so my firm actually salaried me. I could say whatever I wanted in the vaunted halls of the executive suites and the buffet boxes of free sports tickets and the Connecticut mansion parties. And I called them cowards. I really busted their balls for weeks and weeks—on op-eds, white papers, social media posts, ‘the state security alignment’—I’m sorry, I mean the police—and also, who are those tadpoles in DC—”—“Lobbyists,” I breathed—“Lobbyists,” she breathed back, “I called them out on how based and cucked and knob-choked they all were on the teeny fucking penises of the DC lobbyists. I wanted them to feel so small and stupid and dry and bad, for what they were making, which was millions every day, millions on millions, while I—finally—afforded a Kia. I hate feeling poor. At our age? Don’t you?” “Yes. I hate it.” “Right. So I made them feel poor, a little bit.”

During this peroration I got trembly and blank, excited and critical. I let this leave me. I said, “Did you prevail?” and Bernice said, “The fuck no. But god damn! I made sixteen-kay in November. You ever make that much in a month?” “No, never, and I never,” I said. I told her how had I finally afforded a new car by taking a job at a bank. Bernice has also studied literature. (I don’t think she keeps a blog.) We cheersed saying, “Eat the rich,” [clink], “Eat the rich,” and that felt very correct. The dog licked my palm, perhaps mistaking our intent. “We’re not gonna eat you,” I said, and the dog chittered his teeth at me.

Later that night I made out with a guy name Andrew (such an indelible millennial name), and then never talked to him again though we’ve texted somewhat since.

Mackie asked what I was up to that night and I sent him a couple photo and video updates that were greeted by silence. The next AM he was sending obscure memes again. Out of jealousy, I told myself.

—

It’s odd—I didn’t really solve why Bernice exclusively hangs out with thirty-something gays who ignore her. (My last theory is that she enjoys recreational drugs: her gay friend group is really into those.) Past the obscure memes, I solicited Mackie for some explanation. He unimaginatively offered misogynistic trash, with the line, “Can’t pull but likes to watch.” Typing that up makes me feel very late and very closed-minded to the asexual community, although assuming Bernice is asexual feels as offensive as assuming she hangs out with queers for ketamine. Sometimes our friends, our networks, our densest and most particular milieus spring upon us by accident. And yet—she’s consulted for a living. She made $16K in November. She’s canny. Also clearly she hates straight rich white men. What gives?

I texted the host, thanking him for his hospitality; I texted Andrew, thanking him for his wonderful plump kisses; I texted other men who’d breeched my IG stronghold with accolades and complaints about my attention and comportment. A guy I’d “met” on Grindr and spoken to in the kitchen let me know I’d “rejected him” after he’d shared his album; that’d I stopped talking to him after seeing him naked. But—he was glad we’d met in real life, because he’d had the opportunity to confirm I did read books. He’d written: “When you talk, you use big words.” Embarrassed, I messaged him back saying, “I didn’t reject you. I’m just bad at Grindr. And yeah, I read books.” (Guys: the fact remains, I read books.)

I did reject him. His body repulsed me. He’d been overweight for years and undertaken marathon training, so all the skin on him was oozing and angry and stretched like taffy. Also I wasn’t that into his penis. Judging his fitness—his ripeness—his fuckability—based on something as arbitrary as cock-hardness and a sculpted torso—is the remit of the sexually unenlightened. I know! Not wanting to bang Stu because his body gave me the squick (and his body giving me the squick because of socially inherited standards of gay male beauty) drove me slightly batshit. I’d gone to Hanukkah Night 4 hoping for no part of that—hoping, indeed, for enlightenment. And still, I was confronted in the corner of the kitchen with a man who I had no intention of sleeping with, with him later asking me, “Why?” Also, I think that’s a party foul. If I’d been hideous on Grindr that’d be one thing, but I’d only been silent. 

(I’d gone to Hanukkah Night 4, actually, fully with the intention of some very beautiful, intelligent man courting me, seducing me, sweetly asking if he might take me home. Mackie reminded me: “You went to a gay party hoping to get laid.” When I revisit our texts, I see that on Wednesday night, I did jokingly say, “Wearing blue briefs tonight in case I get laid.”)

—

Prevail in the sense of what. 

I keep telling myself, if you just write in the style (or concern) of Grace Paley, you’ll manage your output better. You’ll actually write, rather than not write, which—bizarre to point out—a lot of egregiously more talented writers simply don’t do. They either don’t read Grace Paley or they don’t take her example seriously. Can’t drop the kids off at the sitter? Disappointing a union rep? Grocery store reverie? Class action lawsuit? Neighborhood defense? Teaching Zoomers dialogue? Furious about parking? Guys being complete pricks? What’s for breakfast? (“Our shrinking family requires more coffee, more eggs, more cheese, less butter, less meat, less orange juice, more grapefruit.”) Seasons shift their responsibilities [planting, watering, raking, shoveling] and finally the apartment, the car, the stoop, and [even] the park demand a graceless apology and accounting for. How do you come by these treasures? 

Paley gives you freedom to remark on the banal frustrations and the relentless petty drama of existing while renting. So too of dating while maybe dating others (a grace for the gays), and of wanting to attend an alderman’s fundraiser but maybe sliding one or more of your dates there, too—a Jane Jacobs by way of Nora Ephron. Maybe I only read her young writing. Perhaps I only read her young concerns. (No: She was 63 when she published the breakfast items above.) But everything feels fresh and hilarious and condoned. “You will sorely fuck this up, surely, but the lesson of living in the city will stick.” (I wrote that last quote, not Grace Paley.)

—

Later, Mackie texted, “Stop being annoying and text me back.”

I sent him maybe the 81st photo of me in my underwear, haggard, glasses, brushing my teeth, and the caption, “All clear.”

[sunrisetune]

SUP GOOSE SUP I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS FOR YOU (ao3 wrapped) :3 :3 :3

(3) What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

(18) The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

(30) Biggest surprise while writing this year?

(Referencing this ask meme)

HELLO HEYYY thank you!

This is something of a reduced exercise bc I've posted five (5) short fics this entire year,, (at time of drafting this),, but nonetheless! x)

3 -- I like how "The Zee And The Lonely Sky' turned out. At first it was a collection of journal entries (guess what else was happening this year that helped inspire that p: ), but then I felt like it'd drag a bit and that,, like,, fleshing out my in-universe idea of how my two characters knew each other would be worthwhile. And it was fun \o/  Fallen London game... good.

~

18 - This is a much longer answer bc I'm going to take the liberty of rambling about a character in a fic whomst I haven't actually posted yet: Justice  x) For my WriMo this year I finally started a DA fic that I've been vividly daydreaming about for like a month but never actually writing, as you do (/jk). It's a post-DA2 into DAI redemption arc for our favourite SJ spirit W; or recovery arc, maybe. This is the summary I made for it in November:

Through an act of violence Anders and Justice were, finally, separated, though at cost to them both. Afterwards, Justice found their way back into the mortal world almost entirely by accident. But only almost. Possessing the still-living body of an elf woman whose mind is somehow missing, once again unable to leave the flesh and unrecognizable to anyone who'd known them before, the spirit makes a pilgrimage of sorts to Skyhold. Apparently there had been an attempt at peace that had gone horribly wrong, and the rising powers tipping the balance in the Mage-Templar War had congregated at the top of the mountain. Justice would join them. When Justice gets to the castle, she finds Hawke, because of course she does.

The idea of a personification of justice as an elf woman in the uhhhh wretched hive that is the rest of DA lore was interesting to me; and also specifically a retroactive / parasocial spite response to trivia I read, that before DA2 was made the writers were considering having Justice merge with Velanna but David Gaider thought that would've made her ""more annoying than she already was"". Fuck off, David I feel like there's a decent amount of fic where Friendship Route Anders and Justice are separated and Anders is for the most part written as being better off, while Justice is able to go back to the Fade, and then just??? Fucks off, I guess?? And is never really mentioned again, which I was not entirely persuaded by. So I decided to try and write something that follows Justice through being separated from Anders and surviving it and then having to, you know,, Deal With All That, especially while the war is going on, bc, like,, I’ve always read Justice’s and Anders’ actions in DA2 as both of them being scared. Justice is more afraid of becoming a demon than anything else, even non-existence,, and it happened; it very nearly cost him and Anders their life even before Anders literally asked Hawke to murder them after committing the worst act they’d ever do.

And while I am uhhh not entirely disposed towards a lot of what happened in Inquisition, I really liked Cole’s storyline of reverting from being a demon, and then having a choice on what he wanted to become; I thought that it’d be interesting to follow Justice down a similar arc.

~

30 - Does "shipping characters I didn't necessarily think about at first" count as s surprise bc if so, Awakening-Anders/Justice, which is at least partially your fault SYRUP :p I specify Awakening bc, not to get kind of maudlin in the middle of a cheerful ask answer about shipping, but unfortunately, Dragon Age (that's it that's the joke)