#thank you for 7 years of excellent writing

[merinsedai]

Thank you, @ficreadingchallenge for this fun little bingo challenge this summer! Some of these, I could have filled multiple times and some I had to have a search for, but all part of the fun!

1. Under the influence: Spoils of War by @seiya-starsniper [E] Aphrodisiacs! Starting strongly with the smut. Kinda feral for this piece, multiple rereads. Hob is not a good man but he is good in bed. Dream has not spoken since he arrived. How long ago that was I don't know, but I'm in awe of the pettiness. Excellent, love it. Very much E (and probably not the only one on this list...)

2. Newest fic in the tag of your choice: listen, I'm very one-track minded. Dreamling has basically been the only tag of my choice for the past two years. So, the newest fic when I decided to do this square was: Dream Ship by @often-adamanta [E] A spicy little tale set on a space ship which Dream controls and Hob's his muscle. They're a new partnership and Dream's not happy about it so he's giving Hob the silent treatment. Queue Hob taking some alone time, Dream accidentally interrupting and Hob having no privacy issues at all. The start of something beautiful, no doubt.

3. Inspired by another fanwork: I'll Go To Sleep and Dream Again by @chaosheadspace [E] which is inspired by Shelter by softestpunk. An accidentally human Dream has need of the help of Hob Gadling to help him navigate life as a human (eg facial hair, food, and morning wood), regain his Endlessness and recover his tools. Whilst falling in love and having some hot sex ofc. Also, a lot of lovely petnames.

4. Mistaken Identity: As a Stranger I Know Myself by @phinofthestorm and @sleepsonfutons [E] Could be no other choice for this square. Gripping drama, mysteries, feeeeelings, smut (obvs), plentiful existential angst, and shit goin' down. Featuring Jessamy the raven knocking her head against the wall; Burgess's cane; name repetitions; everyone having A Time of it; side characters Shipping Them Too; oh, and a main character you don't expect to like as much as you do...

5.Slow Burn: What Dreams May Come, When Living is at an End by Sebena [T] This fandom is slow burn central, but this is the fic I'm currently in the middle of, and I'm quite enamoured with the relationship between Knight Hob and Morpheus, and it's beautifully descriptive. Plus some lovely pieces of art by @teejaystumbles A real treat.

6. Dressing Up: Make it Count by @arialerendeair [E] Dream gets to dress Hob up very nicely for posh dinners aboard the world's most famous ocean liner in this wonderful Titanic AU. Dream gets to dress down, too! A longer fic but absolutely gripping! Could also use Aria and Konstadt's Colour Forecasting [E] for this square. There's lots of fancy tailoring and clothing choices going on here. And lots of smut, relationship navigation and lots and lots of kissing.

7.Author's oldest fic: Metamorphosis by @windsweptinred [M] Delightful fic about-yes- the metamorphosis of Dream and Hob into Something Else. Starts with high drama as Dream is about to take Death's hand as the Kindly Ones are ravaging the Dreaming and takes things in a very different direction. There's stunning artwork on each chapter that really adds to the reading experience!

8. Small Fandom (<1000 fics): In Which Cat/Cow Is Not A Yoga Pose by @temve [E] ok, technically a crossover with The Sandman (although for pure Aldrich Kemp there's A Fishbowl, a Forklift, and a Friend: or, Who Hired Aldrich Kemp? which I read back in April, so doesn't count for the summer challenge) Temve has Aldrich's voice down to a T and her humour is so on point. I laughed out loud many times in both these fics.

9. Gift Giving: For Your Affection by @cuubism [T] short and sweet little fic by cuubism dealing with high larceny as a love language. cuubism's writing is so joyful, the playfulness she often gives to her Dream brings me great happiness and there's no exception here.

10.Enemies to friends/lovers: Tower and Rose by @moorishflower [E] Beauty and the Beast style 'au' with a magic tower, a mysterious lord, a plucky peasant Hob, an 'imprisonment', a terror stalking the grounds and many, many questions. Why are all the servants ravens? Twists and turns a plenty, and some fun eldritch sex sprinkled in.

11.Lyric Title-listen to the song, too!: please wake me/for my love lies patiently by @beatnikfreakiswriting [E] sequel to the also-having-a-song-lyric title, would you let me know...? aka fics that live rent-free in my head after having rewired my brain. Featuring the most relatable Hob ever, copious interesting facts in the author's notes, and a Dream who would have scared the shit out of me if he'd been my lecturer but is hot af and needs lots of love really. Lots of scorching smut too. Is this a theme? Obviously. Bonus that each chapter, and the series title, have song lyric titles too.

12.de-aging/kidfic England and Nowhere (Never and Always) by @dsudis [M] The last fill on my card, and one I had to search for. And I'm glad I did. I'm about 1/2 way through so don't know the resolution but a lot of it is very soft, especially Dream's relationship with the changeling toddler, Finn. Finn feels very much like a real little boy in his actions and his dialogue. I'm very much enjoying this fic.

FREE SPACE: literally anything by @tj-dragonblade fluff and smut and pure delight.

13.character study: Unsent Letters, Nameless Stranger by @rainbowvamp [M] letters from Hob to Dream throughout the centuries detailing the evolution in Hob's thoughts, attitudes and feelings towards his life, his history and mostly, his feelings for Dream (aka a lot of pining). I'm about halfway through the letters so far and am looking forward to getting back to them.

14.happy ending: My Fair Gadling by @zigzag-wanderer [E] a work in progress, so we haven't reached the happy ending yet, but I have faith in the author and this absolutely wonderful fic. Hob has such a strong narrative voice, he is a delight to read and so, so funny. I laugh out loud constantly in all of ziggy's fics, whether that's the dialogue or the hilarious analogies and metaphors. Professor Morpheus is a study in buttoned up sadness to begin with, but just wait until he's unleashed. He's unbearably sexy when he rolls his sleeves up and fixes car engines at the side of the road, and endearingly earnest in bed. I eagerly await every chapter (especially to find out what outfit Hob has shimmied into that day).

15.Secret Relationship: Risk and Reward by @signiorbenedickofpadua [E] absolutely cracking Regency au. Lord Morpheus spends a lot of time early on feeling mildly fevered. It's probably nothing to do with his new house guest, Mr Robert Gadling, right? These guys slowly, so slowly move towards Something Special. There is the ultimate thrill of finger brushing; the admiration of shapely legs and the highly charged Shakespeare reading. Also balls, duels, painting, stargazing, horse riding and misuse of biblical quotes. And I'm only half way through! The relationship is of necessity given the time period, secret. At the point I'm at, it's finally begun in earnest and I'm excited to see where the plot takes them next!

16. Angst: Exit Wounds by @valeriianz [T] There are many angst-ridden fics in this fandom, and I am a sucker for angst. I love it and seek it out. This fic by sanyumi tore my heart out, stomped all over it and then threw it in the river for good measure. Sometimes you just need to feel destroyed and this delivers.

17. Omegaverse AU So Tell Me Where To Put My Love by @seiya-starsniper [E] Another of my favourite au topics! This starts out with an unhappily arranged marriage, secrets and angst and lots of miscommunication and then explores the developing relationship between Hob and Dream; Dream getting to feel empowered; more miscommunication; knitting; Hob getting to be incredibly rude to Dream's mother, and a very happy ending. Could have tagged loads in this square. Special mentions to i have no fear of time / for who knows how my love grows? by @gabessquishytum [E] for pure horny good times most centuries; and also the incomparable Lover, Be Good to Me by @omgcinnamoncakes which I haven't actually read this summer but which hasn't left my brain. The ultimate omegaverse slowburn and healing fic. Wonderful.

18. High School/College au: Dr Hardass and Professor Sweetheart by crimandclove [G] an outsider pov look at Hob and Dream, who are both professors at the same university (and also married, of course, though the protagonist doesn't know it). And by the same author: Coincidence, [T] which is the story of how Dream and Hob met and became friends in high school. Pure nostalgia for me and Hob is such a delightful pov character to follow. Unfinished but with a full synopsis of how the story would have gone.

19. Road Trip: The Blood of Bucephalus by @llflorence [E] no actual roads, but these guys sure go on a journey. Set in ancient times, with shades of Alexander the Great. Except it's king Morpheus and his loyal soldier (and lover) Hob. Featuring Hob being mostly bewildered about what's going on and Morpheus being the most tight lipped monarch in existence. Also featuring a love for horses and Morpheus's unquenchable desire to travel incognito. Written with the same tenderness, intensity and mystery that is Lis's hallmark.

20. New author (<1 year) Coma Dreams by TheTroubleWithTribbles [M] a fic I had to actively search for but very much enjoyed reading. Some domesticity, Dream being caring, Matthew being traumatised, and Hob enjoying an extended trip to the Dreaming. Featuring some laugh out loud moments, Dream with broccoli patterned oven gloves and Hob being free with terms of endearment.

21. Crossover or fusion fic: Half Asleep, Half Waking by @softest-punk [G] again, I could have chosen fics by softestpunk to fill most of the spaces on this grid! Isn't their writing delightful? Such warmth and such range. Something for whatever you're in the mood for. Am in awe. Anyway, this is a crossover between The Sandman and Rivers of London. I didn't know the RoL books, but after reading this I listened to them on audible and came back to the fic. Very enjoyable- thanks, Cecil! Nightingale is my favourite character from RoL and I loved his relationship with Hob. And Hob gently chiding Molly and Nightingale to get their acts together, ha!

22. Superpowers/no powers Au: Here in the Darkness by @cuubism [M] Since we've got one 'super' character, and one 'normal' character in Dreamling, I chose cuubism's reverseverse fic where they've switched around. Good grief, it was good. Hope is a ray of sunshine, eh? He's just going around being lovely and offering hope, and being kind to Morpheus. And then gets captured and treated horrifically for a century. There's plenty of angst, Morpheus being snitty, then depressed, then a vengeful angel and then they get some softness. It's pure cuubism magic: it's fucking brilliant.

23. Only One Bed: The Chase by @imnotcrying-ipromise [M] I followed along with this story as it was being published early last year, and it was a wild ride of emotions and cliffhangers! Not only is there only one bed, there is a hunt across the country, a wonderful yet dangerous connection, and of course, some falling in love. It's such a fun and thrilling tale: a unique concept with a menacing villain. The sense of peril is real: for our canon characters and some lovely ocs we meet, too. And in the quieter moments there is a lot of sweetness and care between Dream and Hob. An excellent re-read this summer.

24: Soulmates: Destined by @arialerendeair [M] I love a good soulmate au, and this is a cracker by Aria. Featuring not one, but two rescues, a number of villains getting their just desserts, and visits to a Greek temple. Hob is, by turns, a bamf and a gentle, considerate man. He's spent 600 years trying to figure out what the letters of his soul mark mean, and when he does... Dream has spent countless years not even knowing he has a soul mark/mate; it takes a severance from the Dreaming to reveal it, and when he finds out...

[imaginespazzi]

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance. 

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away. 

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night. 

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily. 

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved. 

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else. 

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone. 

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?” 

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet. 

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late. 

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard. 

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave. 

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay. 

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months. 

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question. 

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away. 

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter. 

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart. 

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine. 

Until she’s not. 

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine. 

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck. 

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down. 

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out. 

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion. 

 “I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers. 

“What?” 

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home. 

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind. 

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight. 

April 2033 

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age. 

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word. 

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her. 

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen. 

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother. 

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes. 

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room. 

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it. 

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse. 

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too. 

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever. 

“Why would this be about Clémence?” 

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again. 

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown. 

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen. 

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks. 

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her. 

“Hey,” she whispers. 

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?” 

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029 

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave. 

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off. 

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had. 

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years. 

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown. 

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again. 

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it. 

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp. 

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could,  “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze. 

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever. 

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too. 

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back. 

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk. 

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug. 

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face. 

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs. 

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests. 

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women. 

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins. 

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking. 

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world. 

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette. 

“Clém-” Azzi sighs. 

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home. 

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand. 

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence. 

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip. 

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless. 

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up. 

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly. 

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently. 

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns. 

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air. 

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door. 

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles. 

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand. 

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally. 

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow. 

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously. 

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much. 

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound. 

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells. 

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right. 

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi. 

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first. 

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder. 

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs. 

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice. 

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

“What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn’t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

[pinchofhoney]

Hi, could you write something for Coryo x reader were the reader is close if not equally as evil in the end. How would that relationship work? idk just a thought I had use it if you wish

crack in the mirror

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: i think none

summary: Many cling to the belief of their own goodness, until they meet someone who's just like them.

a/n: hii, thank you so much for your request!! i hope you'll enjoy what i've written for you!<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @watercolorskyy

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

How did it all begin?

With the 10th Hunger Games, where your academic excellence earned you the role of mentor to one of the tributes.

It was a time of innocence and youthful ambition, back when your paths met within the shadowy corridors of the Capitol's Academy. You and Coriolanus were close friends, unstained by the cruelty that life had in store for you and you pretty often looked back on those days, memories of laughter, shared dreams, and an unwavering friendship etched in your mind.

The two of you were bound by a shared ambition, shining among the brightest stars, each destined for greatness in the eyes of those who believed in you. The world was your playground, and you were determined to conquer it. Little did you know how that fateful year, with its trials and tribulations, would set the course of your life on a much darker path.

As the mentor to Treech from District 7, you hadn't yet embraced the darkness that would soon consume you. Back then, you were as eager as your colleagues, hoping to prove your worth, do your best, and guide your tribute to victory. It was pretty cruel twist of fate that Lucy Gray Baird, with her haunting charm and cunning nature, would change the course of everything.

In the heart of those unforgettable 10th Hunger Games, within the unforgiving arena, your dreams and aspirations slowly began to twist and corrode. Ambition transformed into ruthless manipulation, friendship into subtle deception, and innocence into a devouring thirst for power. The venomous snake mutt that took Treech's life before your very eyes became a symbol of the ruthless transformation that was gradually overtaking you.

That year marked the beginning of your involvement in the Games and the emergence of a darkness that would one day reflect the very core of President Snow himself. The metropolis watched, captivated by the spectacle of the tributes battling for their lives, while behind the scenes, a bitter change took root.

As you stood alongside the other students in the viewing room, preoccupied with the tributes, a chill ran down your spine. You didn't yet grasped the feeling, but something fundamental had shifted within you. You couldn't shake the realization that in the Capitol, victory meant survival, and survival allowed for anything. Lucy Gray's actions, no matter how brutal, were merely a reflection of the society to which you belonged.

Coriolanus tried to hold onto the purity of your friendship, to keep the darkness at bay, but you were the values he progressively ignored. Ambition has a way of distorting even the best intentions, and the path you had chosen was covered in shadows and secrecy.

As the Games progressed, the transformation hastened. The bonds you had formed with others became instruments of manipulation, and you enjoyed your newfound ability to bend their will to your desires.

The suffering of each tribute, each extinguished life, stoked the icy flames of ambition within you. You clutched to the logic that to climb up the Capitol's hierarchy, you had to be willing to destroy all who stood in the way. Your heart grew cold, your smile more deceitful, and your soul darkened, much like the future President of Panem that Coriolanus didn't yet realize he would become.

The Games ended with Treech taking the third place, a result you considered an absolute failure. It served as the catalyst for your final descent into the abyss. You had only tasted a little bit of success, and you hungered for more. The purity of your friendship with Coriolanus had been definitely tarnished, and the darkness that enveloped you continued.

The 10th Hunger Games and the Gamemakers marked not just the beginning of a change within you, but also foreshadowed the dark days to come.

You and Coriolanus would be leaders of a world where cruelty and manipulation held authority.

You had come a long way since those innocent days at the Academy, where laughter and shared dreams were the currency of friendship. As the Head Gamemaker, you wielded power over life and death, orchestrating the annual Hunger Games spectacle that captivated the Capitol.

Your importance in the Capitol was undeniable, but the bonds of friendship that once connected you to young Snow had weakened, stretched to their limits, and threatened to break. Since your graduation from the Academy, the warmth of your interactions had been replaced by a chilling formality. The echoes of your former closeness had grown faint, drowned out by the sounds of the ruthless Games you helped design.

Coriolanus, still crawling in his presidency, remained in your life as a hint of your teenage years and shared mentorship past. He was both intrigued and disturbed by the ideas you injected into the Games each year, but he never consciously acknowledged the rot that had taken root within him as well.

As the Head Gamemaker, you reveled in the dark art of power, where tributes became pawns and suffering was blend into the very fabric of the arena. Your ambitions had propelled you to the highest echelons of Capitol society, but the biggest cost had been the destruction of the humanity that once defined you.

Determined, you made your way to the meeting room, eager to introduce Coriolanus to your plan for the 23rd Hunger Games.

He was already there, wearing an expression that mixed curiosity with apprehension. You greeted him with a cool nod, fully aware of how your interactions had grown more formal over the years.

“Coryo,” you began, saying the familiar diminutive you'd used back at the Academy. The warmth of that old friendship may have cooled, but the nickname had grown in you, a habit you couldn't shake when you were alone with him. “I've prepared something truly phenomenal for this year's Games. Something that will cause goosebumps on the skin of every viewer, let alone the tributes in the arena,” you said, locking your gaze with your old friend with a mysterious smirk on your lips.

In response, Coriolanus leaned in with growing curiosity. “Please, continue,” he urged, which only caused a wider smile on your face.

You gestured toward a holographic projection on the wall, revealing a sinister, genetically created creature. Its elongated limbs, razor-sharp claws, and grotesque, misshapen features created a nightmarish creation.

“This,” you declared, “is the Umbra Noctis. It's a creature designed to terrify and torture the tributes in ways they could never have imagined. With its ability to blend into the shadows, it will stalk them relentlessly, striking fear into their hearts.”

Coriolanus observed the creature, a mixture of fascination and consternation in his eyes, narrowing the gap between you. “But how does it differ from the mutts we've used before?”

You leaned in, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “It carries a venom that induces hallucinations, distorting reality for its victims. The terror it inflicts will be as much psychological as it is physical.”

As you detailed your plan, the room seemed to grow colder, and the weight of your shared darkness pressed on Coriolanus. You described the various mutants and horrors destined for the arena, all designed to heighten the tributes' fear and despair.

“I want the 23rd Hunger Games to be remembered as the most nightmarish ever,” you declared. “A spectacle that reveals the true depths of human darkness, concealed behind the Capitol's glittering facade.”

As the weight of your words settled in the room, Coriolanus’ initial curiosity gave way to a growing skepticism. He couldn't help but question the depths of darkness you were willing to immerse.

“Isn't this,” Coriolanus began, his voice cautious, “perhaps too much, even for the Hunger Games? We want to entertain, to captivate the audience, not to... terrify to the point of despair.”

You turned to him, your gaze firm, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped, revealing the abyss beneath. “Coryo, don't you see? The Capitol's fascination with the Games is not just about entertainment. It's about the harsh reality that we, as a society, have become as ruthless and depraved as the Games themselves. We are a reflection of the horrors we create.”

Coriolanus eyed you, his features a blend of recognition and disquiet. Your words had hit the spot, reminding him that he, too, played a role in Panem's transformation as its president.

You continued, your voice now nearly a whisper, “The darkness, Coryo, is not just within the arena but within us. The Games merely show what has always been there. It's a reflection of who we've become, and it's time we faced that truth.”

For a brief moment, Coriolanus seemed to confront his own rottenness, an unsettling truth that had long been concealed in the shadows of his conscience and the room fell silent.

With measured steps, you circled around Coriolanus, stopping in front of him. You met his calm gaze, finding in it the shadow of chaos, reflecting his soul.

Your eyes wandered over his attire, and with a calculated, gentle touch, you adjusted the rose on his chest before gracing him with a faint smile.

“Look at you,” you began, taking a step back, creating a clear distance between you. “Remember when you used to fear Dr. Gaul? And now, what have you become?” your next question followed swiftly, with no pause for his response.

“You're the man who sends innocent kids to their deaths every year, a cruel reminder to the districts of who hold the power, who is in control. And I? I'm just one of the instruments in your hands.”

Your words hung in the air, and as Coriolanus opened his mouth to respond, you silenced him with an unspoken urgency. “You might tell yourself that you can sleep soundly, shifting the responsibility onto me and my team, washing your hands clean of the blood. But deep down, you know it's a lie, don't you?”

Coriolanus met your gaze, a blend of defiance and self-denial in his eyes. He had always been skilled at pushing the truth aside, shielding himself from the reality he had become.

“You're mistaken,” he finally said, his voice tensed. “I have a duty to maintain order, to ensure the Capitol's dominance. The Games are a means to an end, a necessary evil.”

Your expression remained unwavering as you countered, “But do you truly believe that, Coryo? Do you truly believe it's as simple as maintaining order? The depths of cruelty we've reached, the horrors we've unleashed, they go beyond mere necessity.”

He opened his mouth to respond, to argue his case further, but a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes, betraying the internal struggle within. The truth you had spoken, the darkness he had tried to repress, clawed at the edges of his conscience.

“That's what I thought,” you said with a note of satisfaction in your eyes, and resumed presenting your plan as if nothing had happened, not paying attention to Coriolanus' confusion. However, the shift in the room's atmosphere was palpable, and the unspoken tension lingered.

[gracieheartspedro]

Crave

Part 3 of "How Long"

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

find part 1 and 2 here!

dedication: @jenispunk <3 I love you sm jen. thank you for always supporting my writing and being the best wife a girl could ever dream of. you make my heart so happy. thank you for helping me edit and being the first to read this and encouraging me no matter what! love you love you love you!!!

description: a weekend escape with joel and sarah, kinda. the bed situation is a little confusing. luckily you and joel make it work. when sarah's not around, of course.

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, there is smut in this part!! unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), joel is a CONSENT KING AGAIN, dirty talk, daddy kink (aha), hotel sex?, begging? lmao I think that's it.

author's note: finally. it's here. I feel like I've been staring at this doc for 7 years. thank you all for your patience. I want to continue this series but I have to sit down and really brainstorm what I'd like the next parts to be. let me know your thoughts! THANK YOU FOR READING!

“My favorite Millers!” 

Your face was beaming, seeing Joel hop out of his truck with Sarah in tow. The truck was still running, the diesel engine chugging louder than any truck you had been in before. Joel always had a nicer, newer truck. He made great money and he was always having to go into construction zones that needed an all terrain vehicle. They always got pretty banged up with dirt and rocks, but he took excellent care of the interior. 

Joel grabs both of your bags, taking them to the backseat where Sarah would be crammed in with all the luggage. You give him a nod, silently thanking him. Sarah wraps her arms around your waist, giggling with excitement. 

“I’m so happy you’re coming with us! It’s going to be a great weekend,” She explains while you two walk over to the tall truck. You always found climbing into a truck unnatural and awkward yourself, but it was hot watching Joel hop in with ease. You agree with Sarah, all the while opening up the door for yourself. Sarah springs up to her seat, and you struggle to crawl up into the cab. It makes Joel chuckle. 

“I’m making you lift me into this thing next time,” you joke, easing back into the fabric seats, “Especially since you think watching me struggle is funny.”

Joel looks back in the rear view to see if Sarah’s paying attention, “‘s no problem at all, darlin’. I will gladly help you next time.”

You knew he was flirting. It makes your stomach bubble with excitement. He makes sure you two are buckled and starts on the two and half hour journey to Houston. Once you leave your neighborhood, Sarah taps your shoulder and holds out her new CD player. It’s purple and covered in sparkly stickers. 

“Looks like your Dad is supplying you with all the ways to listen to music,” you observe, glancing over at Joel. He’s just watching the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other propped up on the shifter. He looks younger, the dusk sky the perfect back drop for his pronounced nose and beautiful eyelashes. You couldn’t help but stare, even as Sarah’s talking your ear off. He just nods along to her, making sure she knows she’s heard. 

“Think I’m gonna listen to my Kelly Clarkson CD this time,” Sarah explains, putting her earphones over her voluminous curls, “So don’t try to talk to me!”

You and Joel giggle, shaking your heads at her comment. It’s not like you were the one’s talking before, you both think. 

It gives you both a moment without a kid’s ears nearby. 

“How was the rest of your work week?” He asks, tapping the shifter to the soft hum of the radio.

“Boring,” You mumble, “Think one of the guys in marketing has a crush on me and he’s making it impossible to avoid him. I can’t even go to the break room without him bothering me.”

You didn’t know why you felt the urge to tell Joel about the situation. It wasn’t even a real situation, it was just an annoying thing happening in your life.

“Hmph,” he ponders for a moment, “Want me to kill him?”

His tone is serious, but you know he’s just messing. You grin, nudging his arm with your elbow gently, ensuring it doesn’t move the steering wheel. 

“My hero,” You comment as you watch a smile crack across his face, “No, thank you, though. If it starts to get to stalker status, I will call you.”

“Seems like stalkin’ already, baby girl.”

The nickname makes your stomach flip. You purse your lips, contemplating his words. Sure it was creepy, but the guy was scrawny and you could probably snap him in half with two fingers. He had nothing to really worry about. Right?

Joel steals a glance over at you. 

“Maybe, but I’ll handle it.”

You wanted him to think you were strong enough to deal with unwanted attention, but to be honest, you weren’t sure how to say no to most men. You only ever had Tommy and he scared everyone away. Now everyone around town knew you were on the market, and men were drawn to your natural beauty and somewhat sassy attitude. 

Little did they know, you were hung up on the other Miller boy. 

“You let me know if you need me to talk to him,” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, just reaches his right hand out to rest on your thigh, “Man to man.”

His hand is so warm, you feel it through your black leggings. He was almost always like a furnace, but it was okay, because you always ran cold. But every time he touched you, you felt that warmth trail up your arms and legs. He made you feel different. Every fiber of your being became electrified when he was around. It was a sensation you never noticed when you were with Tommy. You begin chalking it up to just being nervous because he was older and larger and… well, hotter. 

“Again, my hero,” you respond sarcastically, letting your hand rest on top of his. It makes him more confident, gently massaging that area. You watch as his hand creeps closer and closer to the crack between your legs. You practically gasp at the contact, but you catch yourself before you do, remembering there’s a child behind you. 

So you smack his hand away, shooting him a glare. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothin’ just… sorry.”

You didn’t want him to pull away, your leg already missing his touch, but you knew what would happen if you did stuff like that in front of Sarah. She’s a teenage girl. She’ll talk. It’ll find it’s way to someone’s ears. 

You wanted to act like you didn’t care if Tommy found out, but deep down you knew it would be a disaster. You didn’t feel like being the talk of the town. You didn’t feel like explaining yourself to Tommy. You didn’t feel like watching Joel deal with the flack from his family, especially his mother. 

If you two wanted to continue this… game… you would have to keep it secret. That included keeping it away from Sarah’s eyes and ears. You and Joel would just be friends. You would just be her aunt. That’s it. 

“Don’t apologize,” You whisper, “Just not here.”

You two let the radio take over the rest of the trip, occasionally chatting about a song or what the newscaster says about the weather. Once you get into Houston, it’s already 8:30 at night. Joel pulls into the parking garage to the Marriot and you already start craving the bed that awaits you inside. 

-

“I call the bed near the window!” Sarah throws her stuff down, jumping straight onto one the huge queen size duvet. The room was nice. A large television set catches your eye immediately, proving that this was probably an expensive room if they were giving you free cable tv. The curtains were open, giving a beautiful view of Houston’s skyline. 

One thing you notice, too, is the fact that there was only two beds. You knew this, but it still made your stomach sink a bit. 

You realize you three hadn’t discussed the sleeping situation. You didn’t care where you would sleep, honestly. You just knew Sarah was a restless one, having slept next to her in a tent when she was 9. Family camping trips entailed you, Tommy, Joel, and Sarah sharing a 6 person tent and being absolutely miserable the whole entire time. Between Tommy’s snores and Sarah practically flailing all around the tent at night, you remember not getting a lick of sleep. 

“Go get a shower, Sarah. We will figure out who’s sleeping where.”

She groans at Joel, like usual. 

“Dad!”

“Shower,” he throws his bag down on the ground near the dresser, “No arguin’.”

Sarah sulks, her bag in hand, straight to the bathroom by the front door. You don’t say anything. You just start following Joel’s lead by putting your bags down next to his. You stand a bit too close to him, waiting for him to say where you’d be sleeping.  

He clears his throat, “I will take the recliner, if you want the bed.”

“Of course I want the bed, but I don’t want you to have to sleep in the recliner.”

It makes him laugh, how matter-of-fact you are. 

You hear Sarah start up the shower. You wouldn’t have to fear she hears you and Joel talk about the possibility of sleeping with one another. Again.

“It’s not a big deal,” He explains, unzipping his bags to grab his pajamas, “Sleep on the couch all the time.”

“But you have a nice plush couch,” You gesture towards the hard and structured looking recliner, “That doesn’t look comfortable at all.”

For a girl who didn’t want Joel touching you in the car, you were practically begging him to sleep next to you in the big comfortable hotel bed. 

“So, where do you want me to sleep?”

“Just take the bed.”

“But you want the bed.”

You swallow, not even looking up at him, “We both can have the bed.”

He’s silent, gripping onto his sweatpants and t-shirt. He slowly looks down at you, his eyes carry a curious glint in them. You cock your head, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“You and Sarah?”

“No, you and Sarah.”

He groans, “You are a fuckin’ tease.”

You giggle, watching him brush pass you to position himself close to the closet. He opens the closet door, slipping in like he’s looking for something in there. 

“What are you doing?”

“Changin’.”

“In the closet?”

He grabs his shirt from the nape of his neck and pulls it off smoothly. You can’t peel your eyes away, partially seeing his right peck from how he’s standing. It was like the morning after having sex with him. Your eyes were glued to him, his tanned skin practically asking to be touched and licked. 

You horny bitch. 

“Joel, get out of the closet.”

He chuckles, “Why? You want me to give you a show?”

Why yes, I really do, Joel. You think to yourself. You hum a response, peeling your eyes away. You needed to find your pajamas, a pair of Nike sports shorts and a black tank top. Lately, you’ve been sleeping completely naked, but that was obviously not an option here. 

Sarah finally leaves the bathroom as soon as Joel slides his pants up. She has her hair wrapped in a towel, which makes you smile. She looked so grown up, it’s hard to believe you met her when she was 6 years old. You wordlessly walk into the bathroom, beginning to change your outfit for your sleep wear. You splash some cold water on your face, your cheeks still blushed from seeing Joel shirtless. 

You hear the door outside open and close. You peak out, your traveling clothes wrapped up in your arms. Joel stands in the middle of the room, fiddling with the remote for the TV. 

“Where did Sarah go?” You question, packing your clothes back into your duffle. 

“She wanted to go get ice from the ice machine,” He grumbles, “Said she wanted to see if any of her teammates were awake or nearby.”

“Is her whole team staying here?”

“Yeah, pretty much every team gets a floor. Last year it was a like a huge sleepover. Fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel mutters, flicking through different channels, before landing on some westerns. You smirk, deciding to plop down on one of the beds. As soon as you lay back, Sarah comes back in, bucket in hand. 

“Can I go stay in Amelia’s room? Her mom is there, just two doors down.”

Well that solves the bed problem. 

Joel rolls his eyes, you can tell he’s already annoyed. “Is Amelia’s mom okay with that?”

“You want to go talk to her? I promise Dad, we will get up at 5:30 like we need to. Pleas-”

“Let’s go talk to Amelia’s mom.”

You hear them leave the room without saying anything else. 

You were tired from a long day at work and the long drive. But some excitement blooms in your stomach when you realize it may just be you and Joel, all alone in a hotel room. 

Before you have time to ponder all the wonders that may be in store for you, Joel comes back with a frustrated huff. 

“She staying over there?”

“Yeah, Amelia’s mom said it was fine. Then she started askin’ who you were. Guess they saw us in the hotel lobby.”

Your stomach twists, nervous at what his response was.

“And?”

“Told her you were Sarah’s aunt. She gave me a weird look.”

“Great, now the soccer mom’s will be oogling me tomorrow.”

“Well they will anyway,” Joel responds, finding a spot next to you on the edge of the bed, “Single ones won’t leave me alone.” 

You know he’s really just seeing if you’ll get jealous. But you don’t play into his little game. You just let out a loud hearty laugh. 

“The ladies just love a Miller.”

He grumbles something inaudible, nudging you with his elbow. “You do, don’t ya?”

“Sure do.”

His face softens, his eyes flicking down to your lips. 

You grin, “She’s 14 and super goofy. Loves to play socc-”

“You’re truly testin’ me today, ain’t ya?”

You can’t help yourself at that point. The way he’s flirting only gives you more reason to taunt him. 

“Is Sarah seriously going to be gone from the room all night?”

“Yeah,” He nods, leaning back on his palms. He acts like he’s watching TV, ignoring your not-so-subtle hints that you want his eyes on you. 

“So, I can finally ask you why you think it’s okay to tease me in the car?”

“Don’t know what you’re on about, darlin’,” He smirks, he knows.

You tilt your head to the side, finally lifting your hand onto his lap. You immediately start toying with him the same way, your hand creeping towards his crotch. His eyes peel away from the TV. He watches you closely, his eyes trailing from your gaze down to your fingers dancing on his pant leg. 

“You put your hand on my thigh and started inching closer and cl-“

“Are you tryin’ to make a point or pose a question?”

He was getting annoyed with the games already. But you’d only just begun. 

“I’m just trying to explain how you can’t do things like that to me in front of Sarah,” You remark, flicking your eyelashes up to his glare, “Especially when you can’t finish it.”

“Who said I ain’t gonna?”

You huff, “Well here we are, all alone in a hotel room. No kiddo in sight. Still not touching me.”

“Don’t think you deserve it cause you’re a tease.”

“How am I a tease, Miller?”

“You exist and that’s enough. Walkin’ around in a tank top,” He gestures to your chest, “Just beggin’ to be touched.”

Your skin is set alight. The words go straight to your core. 

“Joel-“

You’re cut off. His hands work quickly, pulling you by the nape of your neck, right to his eager lips. You begin to realize you had been longing for this moment for so long. He couldn’t resist anymore, his whole body buzzing at the fact that he finally has you again. 

His lips are soft and slow as they make their way around yours. His hands eventually trail down to your butt, his hands cradling both cheeks. He lifts you forward, sliding you up and onto his lap. 

“Been wantin’ this for months, baby.” 

Butterflies erupt in the pit of your tummy. You can feel them travel up to your chest as you look down at him, his eyelids heavy and his lips pursed.  

He waited for you to respond to his calls, knowing you needed time. He needed to be patient. You would come around, he knew it. After months, here you are. 

He thinks back to every time he was touching himself late at night, he would imagine the night you two shared. Your soft curves and needy dripping pussy. It drove him wild imagining you like this again. 

“I think it’s been more than wantin’, Joel,” You grind down on his prominent bulge growing in his sweatpants, “Think you need it.”

He grins, finally getting out of his own head.

“Such a little tease, damn it.”

You lean down, mindlessly speckling kisses behind his ear and neck. Your boobs rest right in front of his face, and you’re right, he needs it. His hands leave your behind, reaching up to the straps of your tank top. He tugs them down your biceps, allowing your cleavage to spill out more. 

Your hands find his dark peppered curls at the nape of his neck, pulling downward. You needed him closer and he obliged. He starts to kiss your collarbones, wandering down to the swell of your breasts. You can feel yourself staining your sports shorts with anticipation. 

You rock your hips, craving more. He takes the hint, reaching back down to lift you from your ass. He switches spots, laying you on your back on the plush white duvet. He’s leaning over you now, which gives you a great view of how spent he looks already. His gray sweatpants are hanging lower, tenting where his cock has grown hard. 

He smirks, taking off his shirt the same way he did earlier. With one hand, it slips right over his head and onto the floor. 

“Jesus,” You huff out, using the time to remove your top, “I need you, Joel.”

The smirk never leaves his lips. He leans down, pushing your legs apart with his pointer and middle finger. You open up for him, wanting nothing more for him to dive into you in every possible way. You watch as he slides his fingers up your thigh, past the openings of your shorts. 

He realizes you aren’t wearing underwear. He sighs as he swipes the pads of his fingers across your wet slit. 

“I know you do,” He drawls, watching you writhe under his touch, “You need me as much as I need you.”

He practically tears off your shorts, not wasting any time fighting with the fabric. 

You adjust how your laying to accommodate him laying between your thighs. He lays down on his stomach, bringing your hips close to his mouth. You watch as he kisses your inner thighs, his breath hot fanning against your skin. 

You remember the last time you were in this position. You spent night after night remembering the best head you’ve ever gotten, from the one and only, Joel Miller. And you could tell Joel was not going to go another moment without making you cum on his tongue. 

When his tongue hits the top of your slit, you whine at the contact. He presses his face in, diving deeping into your lips. As soon as he finds your clit, he puts all his attention there. His nose is pressed against your mound as he hums against your sensitive bud. 

“Joel,” You cry, reaching down between your legs to grab the crown of his head, your hands lacing into his locks, “Right fuckin’ there.”

He continues his movements, only increasing in speed in which he flicks his tongue. He wraps his lips over the swollen area, sucking and lapping your sweetness. He pulls away, the slick between your thighs missing him instantly. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and wets them with saliva. He glances up at your completely dazed face. 

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers first,” His voice is deep and hushed, “Make you cum. You gonna cum for me like a good girl?”

You don’t even know where it comes from. But you say it with your chest.

“Yes, Daddy.”

You never expected the moan to come out of his mouth. It’s deep and guttural. He couldn’t believe his ears, and he can’t believe the words came from your mouth. His good girl? That fuckin’ flithy?

He slips his fingers into you without resistance. His mouth finds it’s way back to your core, fucking you in unison. 

You reach up to your chest, cradling your own boobs. Joel’s still only in sweatpants but they are riding low on his hips. As he’s giving you his all, he’s grinding his hips into the bed, trying to get whatever friction he can. Watching the motion alone is driving you wild, sending your hips rotating on his tongue. You knew the release was coming, you could feel it in your fingertips. 

And when it comes, it’s like fireworks inside your stomach and chest. You lurch forward, crying out his name. You knew it was probably way too loud for the thin hotel walls, but you couldn’t help yourself. The orgasm sends stars speckling across your vision. 

Joel fucks you through the comedown. You are the hottest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, he thinks. When your body rests back, you’re panting, trying to ground yourself for a second. Joel pulls his fingers out and sucks each digit. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” You mewl, reaching out for him. You just need to touch him. 

He shimmies his sweatpants down and off his legs. He’s sitting back on his knees, smiling down at your desperate eyes. He crawls on top of you, his dick prodding at your thighs. He leans down, trapping your lips into another longing kiss. His hands trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls back after a couple seconds, gazing into your eyes. 

“You still on that birth control?”

You hum in response. 

“Need me to pull out still?”

You smirk, lacing your arms around his shoulders, “No. Need you to cum inside me.”

He shakes his head, sitting back to line himself with your entrance.

“My dirty girl,” He runs his cock head between your swollen red lips, triggering your hips to move closer to him, “You drive me insane.”

“Come on, Joel. I’ve been waiting for ages for you to fuck me. Need you. Now.”

He chuckles darkly, still not giving you what you want. “Waiting ages, huh?”

“Joelllll,” You beg, smacking his chest, “Please.”

“Mmm,” He pushes forward just enough to relieve your ache, “Love it when you beg for it.”

He practically splits you open when he snaps his hips. You both groan simultaneously, unable to hold back this sick fantasy you’re both playing into. You feel more full than you ever did before. You don’t remember it hurting this good. 

“Holy fuck,” you whine, “So fucking full, Joel.”

He slowly pulls back, “You tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

You shake your head, throwing your head back as he sets a cautious pace. He’s watching all your facial expressions, making sure he’s not hurting you. You wince when he starts to pick up the pace, which causes him to halt completely. 

“No,” You plead, “More. Faster. Please, just please.”

He says nothing, just pushes up your thighs so the back of them are flush with the front of his. He leans over you, his elbows on each side of your head. He grinds into you while his dark curls fall into your face. You tilt your head up, finding the crook of his neck again. 

His cock felt so good dragging in out of you. You felt like you could stay in this position forever. You molded so perfectly around him. He treated you like this beautiful mural, taking his time with delicate strokes. His hands wrapped around the back of your head, holding you in the curve of his body.

You latch your lips onto his neck, peppering lovebites everywhere. You didn’t even think about if they could be seen later. In the moment, you only thought of him as yours. He was yours and everyone would fucking know it. 

He’s starting to get more greedy. He pulls back, his warmth moving away from your perked up nipples. His upper body the best view you could get, so you couldn’t complain too much. He grabs behind your knees, using them as leverage as he starts to pound into you. 

Your eyes meet and for fuck’s sake, he’s perfect. You never knew you could see Joel Miller like this. Like someone who fucked you so good, but also cared so tenderly for you. He wanted to see you in the throws of pleasure, not even worrying about when he’d get his rocks off. He got his rise out of seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.

His ravenous drive to bring you to the edge is causing the headboard to slam against the wall which each stroke. He brings his left hand up to your bouncing tits, grabbing your nipple and tugging on it. He knew what touching your boobs did to you. He remembers watching your visceral reactions to him toying with them before. It brings a smile to his face. 

“I’m gonna-”

You don’t even finish your sentence, you just gasp as you feel his cock head hit the deepest parts of you. A place no other man has made it to. 

“I don’t want anyone else,” He musters out, his teeth clenching as your pussy restricts around him. He means it. He may be drunk on you, but he feels those words down to his bones. “I only ever want this.”

It was never just about the sex. Joel cared for you. Fuck, maybe he even loved you. 

You swallow, propping yourself up on your elbows. You glance down, watching his cock slip so perfectly, in and out of you. 

“I’m yours, Joel,” You manage to peep out before the orgasm you’ve been holding back builds to a maddening point, “I’m yours.”

The words make his cock twitch. He can’t help himself, he needs you to cum right this very moment. He doesn’t say anything, just unhooks your legs and uses his right hand to put pressure on your clit. Tears start to prick in your eyes as he lazily rubs circles, humming in satisfaction. He feels you tightening up, he knows your close. 

Your vision goes white. You body starts to vibrate, the pure bliss he’s sending you into takes you to a whole other dimension. You want more. More. More. More. 

As he watches you seize up, he can’t resist his own orgasm. The explosion sends him into a moaning mess. He fucks into you, painting your walls with his cum, not letting a drop go to waste. 

He collapses on top of you. You don’t even care, you feel like jello anyway, he could melt right into you.

He rolls off after a minute. 

You always miss him when he’s not near you. 

You stare at the ceiling, pondering the right words to say to him. Nothing comes to mind. He gets up, walking naked to the bathroom. He grabs a rag from the shelf above the toilet, running it under some warm water. 

When he returns, you let him clean all around your body. You make sure he doesn’t wipe away the wet kisses he left all over you, though. 

“You okay?”

You finally look at him. 

You want to say yes, because you were okay. Physically. But your heart wanted to pulsate out of your chest. 

“I will be,” You state simply, “Just tired.”

He slowly starts grabbing all your articles of clothing off the floor, dressing you once he collects all of them. He’s careful with you. Gentle. 

“Do you want to sleep in the same bed?”

The question rings in your ears. Of course you did. 

“As long as you get up at the ass crack of dawn and move before Sarah comes in.”

He chuckles, pulling his sweatpants back over his waist. He doesn’t even bother to put on his shirt.

“Will do, baby.”

-

When you wake up, you realize the overheard light flickered on. You contort your sleep dazed body, Joel’s upper body practically laying over you. You try to blink the haze out of your eyes, but your tired mind is completely shocked when you see an outline of a girl. 

Shitshitshitshitshit.

You fling your body upward, rattling Joel awake. He’s startled, his arms flinging off of you. 

“I knew it!” Her voice is piercing. “I knew it! Holy shit!”

“Sar-”

“Are you two dating? Or are you just… wait, ew!”

She’s rambling, her words clashing together in confusion. Your heart is about to hammer out of your chest. 

“Sarah, we aren’t dating,” You declare, your voice shaking. 

“But you’re sleeping together?”

You could cut the silence with a sword. It’s so thick and awkward. 

A 14 year old girl shouldn’t know you’re sleeping with her Dad. Let alone walk in after you spent all night tangled up in him. 

“Sarah,” Joel’s voice is buttery and raspy after he wakes up. You hold the comforter up to your chest. You had your tank top on, but it hangs so low on you, you don’t want to risk anything. “Grab your uniform, get dressed. We can talk about this later.”

“Does Uncle To-”

“Sarah! Stop!”

It scares you since it’s so close to your ear. His voice changes so abruptly, it makes you cringe a bit. 

Hearing the question from Sarah’s lips makes you feel queasy. Having the girl who you always considered your niece ask if her uncle knew you were sleeping with her dad... God what a fucking mess. 

You watch her storm across the room, grabbing her backpack and race to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Joel groans next to you as he slams back into the plush pillows. 

“She will be fine. We will talk about it later,” Joel says under his breath. 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. 

You hadn’t thought much of this through. Ever since you and Joel first slept together, you pushed your harbored feelings to the side. Sometimes they creep in, which would send you into a panic. Because deep down, you knew you felt something for Joel. Something you hadn’t felt since you first started dating Tommy. Maybe even ever. It was exciting. He made you feel special. After everything he said to you last night, you knew he possessed some similar emotions and feelings.  

You felt crazy for believing this could work. 

You knew this would be complicated. Now Sarah is involved. How do you explain these emotions to a child? You don’t. 

You think about all the horrible outcomes to this situation. Tommy wanting to fight Joel. His mom never accepting you back into the family. Who knows, maybe Sarah gets so upset at the situation, she never treats you the same again. 

But then you think about Joel. How he’s a night and day difference to what Tommy was to you. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to take care of you every chance he could. 

You start to think back to the times when you were still with Tommy. Joel defended you when you two had a blowout fight. He always made sure to have a watchful eye on you when you all went out to bars. He was even there when you graduated college, giving you a bouquet of beautiful daises he swore up and down Sarah picked out. But you knew the truth. Joel loved daisies. He even had his Mom plant some in his front yard last year. 

You were just so scared. You didn’t want to be hurt again. You did not want your feelings to be wrong. 

You glance down at him, your back still turned. He could read your face, he knew you were overthinking everything. Your mind was working overtime, trying to muster up some excuse to run away and forget everything that happened between you two. There was nothing normal about this situation. 

But fuck, you both really wanted it. So bad. You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. 

His hand creeps up your back, resting a reassuring palm on your aching shoulder. 

“Stop thinkin’ for a minute,” he whispers, “You don’t need to make any decisions right this minute. We will just take it one second at a time. Ain’t no way ‘m lettin’ you go. I want you here.”

You didn’t know if he meant here in general or in the figurative sense. 

He meant it both ways. 

Maybe it was crazy, but that feeling was deep in your chest. This palpable inkling that this could evolve into you being his. 

This being more than sex? More than a crush?

Being Joel’s sounded like a fever dream.

He wanted nothing more but to wrap you up into his arms, hold you and kiss your head, reassuring you that you two can figure it out together. But instead, Sarah walks out in her soccer uniform, squashing the moment. She stands in front of the bed, finally making eye contact with you. 

“You guys gonna get up and watch me kick ass, or are you gonna to lay in bed all day?”

You smile at her. You silently prayed this girl would stay in your life forever.

“I know my answer.”

Joel smiles, “’s go kick some ass.”

-

again thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!

find part 1 and 2 here!

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes (04/05)

Behind the Acceptance

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: there are new changes for you and Aemond, he wants to rectify himself for past mistakes and you get used to your new life with the father of your son present.

word counter: 10.2K (consider it as a christmas gift, love you all❤)

previous part • next part • series masterlist

I'M SO SORRY!

i know the wait has been too much and you don't know how sorry i am. i experienced stress during my last week of uni before leaving for vacation and i got a new job, which consumes my time and i couldn't edit or do any writing, but i managed to find small times to write and that's why it's taken me so long. i appreciate your understanding, really🥺

I would like to wish you all merry christmas and a happy new year, my best wishes to all of you and also to your families, have a great time and God bless you all beautiful people, you are amazing and truly thank you for so much🥰

now yes, enjoy!

warnings: aemond dad melting our hearts and that's it:)

When Aemond told you to please go back to work and stop running away so that the two of you could face all this together, you didn't quite understand what he meant by 'go back to work'.

However, the next morning after waking up and starting to prepare breakfast for Aenar, you received an unexpected call that answered your question.

It's an unknown number so you accept the call with some caution.

"Y/N speaking? This is Michelle Watson, from the Warner Bros studio production department," she says and your heart jumps.

"Hello?"

You speak on the other end of the line, holding your phone to your ear.

It's HBO, who Aemond is working with right now and where you left your job thrown after unexpectedly meeting him again.

Nerves soon set in and you hold your breath, already feeling ashamed for leaving the shooting set like that without saying anything to anyone and creating a complete circus the moment Aemond called your name in the trailer in front of everyone.

"Yes, she speaks," you reply nervously.

"We want to inform you that despite what has happened, we understand it and the circumstances that led you to leave unexpectedly during your working hours," she tells you in a soft and formal voice, "And we will expect you tomorrow without any problem to resume work."

You frown completely, hesitate a little and blink several times in disbelief, not quite understanding.

"I'm sorry… what do you mean by resuming work?" you ask, barely able to contain your own surprise and disbelief.

"Some conversations took place," she explains, "Mr. Targaryen was quite insistent on convincing the production team to reconsider your situation. He advocated on your behalf, explained the circumstances and your entire track record as an excellent professional makeup artist so that you could continue to work with us."

With your lips parted and your eyes wide open, you are speechless for a moment, staring at a spot in your living room with your heart pounding, definitely not expecting to hear any of this after everything that has happened on this day.

You didn't even expect Aemond to decide to do this for you after everything that happened with him and Criston.

And just when you were starting to worry about how you were going to pay the rent for this apartment and even started to make a schedule in your mind to go get a job somewhere else tomorrow or even today.

"So if there's no problem and everything is fine with you, we'll expect you tomorrow at 7:00 A.M."

Completely speechless.

You can't even control your own heart rate.

But in spite of that, you can't help but feel a huge relief run through your entire body, where you still feel overwhelmed by the generosity and gesture of trust they are offering you, but you definitely feel completely relieved and grateful.

"Yes, yes, of course," you hasten to say, trying to control your emotions, "I'll be there. Thank you so much."

They give you a few more details, you ask few more questions and finally end the call, which leaves you with mixed emotions as you silently contemplate that you still have this new possibility of a better life for you and Aenar.

But you also think about Aemond.

And you will also wait to see how Aemond's integration into your son's little life will be now.

You really appreciate this gesture, you know that only he can do something like this with his influence and connections.

And in fact it gives you the confidence that he will keep his word that no one else will interfere in your and Aenar's life, only the two of you will make the decisions.

Arriving at the recording set, you leave Aenar in the nursery and then you enter the corridors of the whole big production, which is buzzing with its usual atmosphere with its twinkling lights, technical equipment with the huge cameras, microphones and all the sets ready.

You honestly feel nervous knowing that tomorrow you and Aemond will be working in the same place again, like in the old days.

But that's why you try to be as prepared as possible and you won't let all kinds of personal matters interfere with your work.

And once you arrive, you take a moment, take a deep breath and push open the door, where that familiar atmosphere once again envelops you.

You don't even know why but your heart is pounding as you walk down the halls and every step leads you to your area, the makeup and wardrobe trailer.

You assume it's out of shame after what happened yesterday.

Unfortunately your entrance doesn't go unnoticed and as you close the door behind you as you walk just a little into the trailer, some curious faces turn to see you, including Jess, who stops her usual routine and rushes over to you, her eyes wide with surprise.

You hug her back gently, feeling relieved and less tense by the warm welcome from Jess who, even though the two of you don't know each other very well, she actually seems like a very nice person and her personality shows you that.

"Ah Y/N, what a relief to see you again!"

She exclaims with her tone full of joy.

"God, I thought you wouldn't come back," she says as she hugs you excitedly, providing you with some comfort.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday," you say with a regretful gesture and you both break the hug, "I shouldn't have left like that and you don't know how embarrassed I feel. I'm really sorry."

"Oh no, don't worry about it," she assures you instantly, making a nonchalant gesture, "That's all in the past. The important thing is that you're back and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it," she comforts you with a small smile, "We have a lot of work to do today and we need to get you up to speed right away."

Jess, full of energy, ushers you further into the trailer while you greet your other co-workers. Then she explains the day's itinerary precisely, pointing out schedules, wardrobe changes and other important details.

All the while you nod, thanking her for her guidance and trying to keep up. In the midst of all the preparations, the huge door opens again and Aemond is now the one who makes his presence known.

Your gaze meets his and you see the obvious and unexpected surprise in his eyes at seeing you again, but there's not much reaction from either of you as instantly the makeup artists call him over and guide him to start prepping him for today's filming scenes.

And Jess also takes your arm, guiding you to the back of the trailer where the dressing rooms are located explaining what you will be doing, forcing you to look away from him.

And you can only feel Aemond's gaze on you until he loses sight of you.

Jess continues to explain to you, but you can't help but think and wonder certain things, like if everyone here, even Jess, knows about you and Aemond... what you once were and that you have a child together.

The behavior of both of you yesterday was very obvious, that's what you would think if you were an expectant one, so surely there must be some speculation.

And at that moment you remind yourself that your priority right now is your work and that the personal should be kept out of your work environment, so you shouldn't even think about it.

Finally you focus on following Jess's directions, putting aside distractions and preparing for the day.

Jess leaves you alone to take care of her own work and you start with yours, where you spend about an hour still in the back of the trailer, where you check and prepare the costumes that already have to be ready for the scenes that will be filmed soon.

When in the middle of everything, you hear some footsteps approaching behind you and thinking it must be one of the other actors or one of your co-workers, you turn around and the first thing you notice is that silver hair.

Aemond enters this section of the trailer a little unsure, without saying anything, while you also watch him without saying anything.

He is ready to record his scenes with that scar on the left side of his face that his character has and he only lacks the costume.

Until finally he speaks first.

You knew that having a conversation with him again would happen soon, so you're not surprised.

But for a moment there is a tense silence and a slight nervousness and insecurity on the part of both of them, where a clash of emotions is reflected in each other's gazes.

"Hey," he says in a soft, low voice, taking a couple of steps towards you.

You try to smile a little in his direction, not knowing exactly what to say or what to do.

"Hey," you wave back.

There is an awkward pause before Aemond again takes the initiative, taking a few cautious and slow steps towards you.

You bite your lips and lower your gaze for a moment, as he puts a hand to the back of his neck and looks so insecure and nervous standing there, surprising you a bit, as that behavior in him is unusual.

He usually always has that confident attitude in everything he says and does.

"I'm glad you're back," he admits to you, his low tone full of sincerity, "It's good to see you around again."

His words and that friendly gesture take you a bit by surprise, and although you still feel overwhelmed by the unexpected situation, you appreciate the way he is leading in handling all of this to start working together for Aenar's well-being, leaving past tensions behind.

"Thank you," you reply, feeling that sense of relief in your chest again, "Oh, hum… and thank you for talking to production so I could come back," you say a little shyly but gratefully, "You didn't have to."

He lets out a scoff in a nonchalant and also absurd gesture, frowning slightly his nose and forehead.

"Please, it was the least I could do," he tells you softly and with a warm tone, "Besides, it was nothing. I was just afraid you'd decide not to come back."

You hum in understanding.

"I thought about that," you confess to him, lowering your gaze for a moment, "But things were going to be easier for both of us with Aenar if I came back here," you explain, "Still, it was a very kind gesture of you."

Aemond nods, his gaze conveying a mixture of emotions that reflect both relief to see you back here, understanding, and also regret for the past that still haunts him. But he doesn't let those thoughts invade him too much at that moment.

Again there is silence in between for a few seconds, when he speaks again.

"How is Aenar?" he asks in a voice charged with a mixture of happiness, nostalgia and longing for his son.

"He's fine," you say in a soft voice, "He's in the studio nursery. Mary takes very good care of him," you add, wanting to reassure him that his son is being properly cared for.

He nods slowly, humming in response, trying to hide the intensity of his emotions in his gaze.

"That's good, I'm glad to hear that," he replies, vulnerability in his tone and gaze.

The air between the two of you still lingers, charged with emotions that neither of you dares to express openly. However, taking advantage of the conversation, Aemond decides to propose something.

He just met him yesterday and can't wait to see him again, to be in his company.

Yesterday's hours were simply not enough. And knowing that his son is well brings him relief and a feeling he hasn't experienced before since he found out he is a father.

"If you want, I can pay for a trusted babysitter for him," he offers and this gets your full attention, "I'm just saying… so you don't always have to bring him with you to work," he says with a hesitation, his tone betraying his insecurity about his proposal.

You remain silent for a moment, not knowing what exactly to say, in fact processing the unexpected offer. And Aemond can't help but feel even more unnerved by your silence.

"I-I… I don't know," you murmur, hesitant.

This nursery in the set is at least in the same place as you and that gives you relief that whatever happens, you can rush to him right away.

The idea of a babysitter strikes you as a mixture of relief and concern.

In the morning you'd have more time getting ready to come to work and it wouldn't be as much of a burden on you, yet you've never left someone to take care of Aenar while you're away.

But leaving him at home and coming all the way here to work, that causes you hesitation, besides the fact that you have to know the person who will take care of your child perfectly, as well as have confidence in her, above all.

"Only if that makes you feel more comfortable," Aemond adds softly, "But if that's not what you want, that's fine."

You bite your lips, feeling uneasy at the thought of someone else caring for your son and having him away when you're working.

"And you know someone who might be trustworthy?" you ask attentively and still with hesitation in your gaze.

"Yes," he tells you immediately, softly, "Rhaenyra has an army of babysitters to take care of my younger nephews. I can ask her for help with that and I know she'll say yes," he assures you.

"And they are professional babysitters?"

"Yeah, yeah, Nyra is also very careful with the selection and the babysitters she has hired have years of experience and so far several of them have worked with her for a few years now."

And after a moment's reflection, you agree.

And as convincing as the information is, still a mixture of worry and resignation envelopes your body.

But you knew that sooner or later you would have to face the situation of balancing your job with the responsibility of caring for your little one, accepting the idea that you won't always be able to have him with you.

"All right," you nod to him, "But I'd like to do some interviews first."

"Yeah, of course. I'll take care of that, don't worry," he says softly, nodding to you and you nod back.

"Thank you, Aemond."

"You don't have to thank me, Y/N, it's for our son. And if he or you need anything, please just let me know."

Seeing Aemond so willing to be a present father and his desire to be involved in his son's life, to some extent relieves you and surprises you a little, clearly because of what happened at first when you found out you were pregnant.

But so far… he has really shown you that he wants to be present and without having Criston and all his team around anymore.

The slight tension in the air is felt again as you and he continue to navigate the terrain of this new dynamic, which feels a little weird and you feel very nervous, though you don't even know why, while he at all times seems unsure.

And in an attempt to diffuse the tension, now you're the one who speaks first.

"Okay," you nod, "And if you…" you try to say a little nervously and with some caution and insecurity, "If you want to go see Aenar at the nursery or even at the apartment, you can," you assure him with a soft tone, "I never said you couldn't visit him and I don't plan to take that right away from you."

Vulnerability is reflected both in your words and in Aemond's expression, who with his soft face and with his gaze full of various emotions, places a small gentle smile on his lips.

"I'd love that."

Your words mean more to him than you probably realize. That sincere gesture of openness on your part, Aemond deeply appreciates.

Just as he appreciates that the conversation has reached a level of understanding and cooperation that neither of you had anticipated, but that you definitely appreciate. It doesn't end there yet, though.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod, with no problem.

"Sure."

"What will you be leaving work on when your shift is over with Aenar?" he tells you interested and attentive.

"Um… well, yesterday I took the bus," you explain, considering that just yesterday was supposedly your first day, "And I had already planned that if I finished late, I'd take an Uber. Like now in the morning I was running a little late and took an Uber," you reply, trying to explain your transportation routine.

In fact there is nothing wrong with moving this way, many people do it, besides you don't have many options.

But that's what Aemond doesn't want, he wants to make your life a little easier, especially since Aenar lives with you and he doesn't want to risk something bad happening to both of you one day with public transport.

"Well, if you want, I can take the two of you," he also offers without hesitation, "Or if it seems too much, I can ask my driver to pick you up and take you wherever you need to go, without problem," he assures you, "I just don't want you to move that way with Aenar or by yourself."

This new unexpected offer from Aemond also surprises you, that you even think about turning him down, telling him it's not necessary.

Mostly you see it from Aenar's safety side.

But his concern is genuine and also you know that then moving you will start to be a problem.

You know you can't afford Uber every day, the fares aren't exactly cheap and there are other needs you have to take care of, besides taking the bus late could be dangerous.

"Well…" you look at him hesitantly and a little embarrassed, "You won't have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," he answers you instantly.

You nod in his direction, grateful for his consideration.

"Yes, it's fine and seriously thank you for this too," you can't help but say, "Sometimes transport is complicated."

"Don't worry, it's fine."

He is about to say something else when a third voice interrupts him, entering the same space as you.

"Yeah, I know, sorry, I'm already on it," he assures her instantly.

"Aemond, are you ready now?"

Enters one of your co-workers, watching him intently and instantly with concern at the sight of him still in his civilian clothes.

"For God's sake, why aren't you dressed yet? Your scene is going to shoot in less than fifteen minutes!"

"I'll be back in ten minutes. Hurry up, please," the worried girl says and hurries away.

You instantly at that moment decide that the two of you can talk later and hand him his clothes from the scene he'll be shooting soon and he thanks you, heading for one of the small dressing rooms quickly.

When he finishes putting on his clothes, you quickly help him look perfect for filming the scene.

"I'll be seeing you," he tells you before leaving and you nod.

"Sure."

And from that moment on, over the next few days, everything changes as much for Aemond as it does for you.

He kept his word to drive you and Aenar back home every time your shift ended. And if he was still filming scenes, he would send his driver to take you instead of him, also to bring you in the mornings.

The relationship is cordial and collaborative and while there is no romantic reconciliation involved, there is a determination to build a more stable and secure future for Aenar, as well as prioritizing his well-being above all else.

At work, too, the dynamic between the two of you changes completely. Communication is professional, as it should be, but in every interaction there is a complicity that seems to have evolved.

There is a quiet understanding, a new focus on cooperation and mutual respect that is taking shape.

Also Aemond kept his word to hire a fully trusted babysitter and while he took care of that, sometimes you found him in the nursery with Aenar, keeping him company and playing with him.

At first this caused you some noise and also confusion, since Aemond is under the public eye spending quality time with his son and doesn't bother to hide it, so you wondered if already everyone working here, also Aemond's co-workers, knows that he has a son with you.

Again that sight couldn't help but make you smile with a certain nostalgic look, watching the interaction of those two silver-haired heads in their own world.

But it made you feel happy to see your little boy laughing and playing with his father.

And if so, you doubt that it will come out soon, because working in this production of whatever position, there is a confidentiality contract for everything, even for the personal life of the actors.

But when the shooting of this show is over, everyone is probably going to know about it. Although it seems that Aemond doesn't even think about it and doesn't really care.

So you decide not to ask him anything about it and how Criston and his whole team is going to take it.

You honestly don't know what Aemond has done with him, what they have talked about and what exactly happened for him to leave you and Aenar alone.

And you don't want to know. You've had enough of him and everything he did to you. And fortunately you live in peace and feel safe to have Aemond on your side this time.

And before you can say anything, Aemond steps forward with a soft little smile.

When one day on your day off you find yourself making dinner while Aenar watches his favorite cartoon in the living room and you supervise him occasionally from where you are, there's a knock at the door.

You're traumatized with the thought that maybe it's Criston and something bad is going to happen, but when you open the door you find Aemond with a woman by his side.

"Hey."

"Hi," you try to smile, a little confused.

"Are you busy? I-I didn't know and thought I'd just come over," he says, "And I'd let you know but I don't have your number or-or something."

"No, no, it's fine, I'm just making dinner," you hasten to say.

"I came because I wanted to introduce you to Elinda Massey," he tells you, pointing to the woman next to him and she looks at you with a warm smile, "One of the babysitters Rhaenyra recommended to me to take care of Aenar."

"Oh," you nod, now understanding.

You watch Elinda and she radiates warmth and assurance in her gaze, instantly feeling comfortable with her presence.

"It's nice to meet you, Elinda," you say with a small smile, extending your hand to her.

"Same to you, Y/N," she replies, shaking his hand with yours, "Aemond has told me so much about you and Aenar. I'm very excited to meet him as well."

Aemond beside her nods, his expression calm.

"Elinda is professional and very experienced. I wanted to introduce you to her and thought maybe we could do a little interview together, just to get to know her and see how she gets along with Aenar."

You instantly nod again.

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure, come on in," you step aside, allowing them to pass, "Aenar is watching his favorite cartoon," you say as you close the door behind you.

Aemond instantly walks towards him, making a sound of surprise, catching his attention and Aenar instantly notices him, smiling big at the sight of him, his huge blue eyes lighting up and reaching out his little arms towards him.

Both you and Aemond know Elinda better and you realize that she is a woman who has all the necessary experience and training. Besides the fact that when she approaches Aenar, he instantly laughs and plays with her.

Aemond laughs and takes him in his arms, starting to leave a bunch of kisses on his huge chubby cheeks, making him laugh as he holds him against his chest and speaks to him in a honeyed tone.

And you again can't help but smile as you watch the scene.

There is still that feeling of worry in you knowing that you will have to leave Aenar in someone else's care.

But Elinda shows you so much in so few hours, she tells you about her experience, shows you letters of recommendation, first aid certificates, as well as other care and Aenar has fun with her.

Aemond stays a few more moments in Aenar's company, playing games and watching the cartoons he likes, while you finish dinner and cleaning the kitchen.

The three of you establish a work schedule for her, as well as you tell her some recommendations and observations regarding Aenar.

And once everything is ready and clarified, she leaves and Aemond tells you that he has already taken care of all the payment details with her.

Every now and then you hear how Aemond asks him questions in a honeyed tone and repeats the same expressions he does when he sees his favorite character on TV, and then both start laughing.

Those sounds, the sound of your son's laughter and also Aemond's expressions, unconsciously make you smile and you watch from the kitchen as Aemond makes funny gestures or faces to make him laugh and attacks him with a lot of kisses all over his face or tickles.

Then you walk him to the door once he is ready to leave.

And there the two of them make themselves comfortable on the couch, eventually Aenar falls asleep on Aemond's lap, his back and head against his chest. He cautiously gets up holding him gently and puts him to sleep, while you thank him.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot," he says stopping in front of the door and turns to you, "This is for you."

You see him take his wallet from his back pocket and inside it, he pulls out what appears to be a black card and holds it out to you. This catches your attention and also confuses you, taking the card with that confusion, not understanding.

And only when you take a good look at it in your hands do you realize that it is a bank card.

"It's yours."

He says and you frown more, then raise your gaze to him asking for an explanation.

"I can only send money to it, I don't have direct access. You'll get the PIN from the bank, tomorrow after the shoot, I'll take you to activate it," he tells you, "You know, it's in case you need money to buy something for Aenar or for you, whatever you need."

Then when you fully understand the explanation and the purpose of this, you start to panic.

"Aemond—

You try to say feeling the lump in your throat and your heart starting to pound.

"I know I didn't tell you about this, but please, I want to do it," he interrupts you with a pleading tone so you won't reject him or reproach him about it, "Besides, this is necessary. Sometimes I will have to travel to other cities for shootings or events and I won't be able to see you or him and I want to make sure you don't lack anything. So just accept it, please."

"But—

"Please," he insists.

This really seems too much to you and you have an idea of the amount of money the card must already have. And no… in spite of everything, you don't want to accept this and feel that you are taking advantage of him.

You watch him still with hesitation and worry on your face, tension hanging in the air as you and he stand in complete silence, saying nothing for a few seconds.

You look back down at the card in your hands and Aemond follows your gaze, both of you standing face to face.

And it just seems that Aemond reads your thoughts by the hesitation and insecurity on your face.

"If you don't want to use it to also buy things for yourself, use it just to buy Aenar whatever he needs," he tells you softly, "After all, I was going to do this sooner or later, wasn't I? It's my responsibility to make sure he doesn't lack anything and that's what I'm going to do."

You let out a long breath, beginning to feel less of the weight of the luxurious and clearly exclusive black card in your hands, with his words beginning to soften your chest at the mention of Aenar.

"Fine," you mutter finally, letting out a sigh and raising your gaze to him, "B-but I'll only use it for things that Ae-

This gesture from Aemond is a clear sign of concern and responsibility he feels towards you and his son. And you truly feel that genuine desire that he wants to contribute for the welfare of both of you.

You try to clarify but he quickly speaks up.

"Yeah, okay," he nods at you, "Don't worry. Just… use it."

You nod again.

"Thank you, Aemond."

A slight flicker of concern appears in his gaze and he quickly tries to be able to struggle to find the right words to be able to explain himself so you don't misunderstand him.

"I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to—

"No, no, I don't think so," you tell him softly, with understanding, "This…" you look back down at the card in your hands and let out a sigh, "This is actually necessary and very helpful…. you really don't know how much I appreciated it."

He nods, his expression relieving a bit as he sees your behavior and also as you accept his support.

"Easy, it's okay," he assures you in a soft murmur.

"Also…" he starts to say with some nervousness but definitely more confident, "I wanted to ask you if you have social security for Aenar and you," he says with a serene expression, looking directly at you.

Again silence settles between the two of you but the air is different, calmer and less tense, feeling the mutual understanding.

And Aemond, after the two of you say nothing for another long few seconds, thinks it best to talk at this point about another plan he has in mind.

This also immediately catches your attention and you watch him warily, tilting your head to one side and starting to get an incredulous look on your face.

"You're not seriously thinking that—

"Y/N, please," he interrupts you, "This is no problem for me, really," he insists, "I just need to know."

"But—

"This is also important and I can pay for it."

"But it's a lot of money and I don't think—

"Do you really think I'll let you and Aenar go through life without being covered?" he asks you incredulously, "I can handle this. I really can."

His words continue to reflect that genuine commitment and you, despite your concern, feel something warm invade your chest, especially the gentle and willing way he is looking at you.

After all that has happened, seeing Aemond so determined to contribute to your son's well-being gives you a new hope and opportunity for Aenar's future.

The costs are too much, nothing you could really afford, not even for Aenar, since your salary was not much and had to cover other needs. You couldn't even afford it on your current salary.

You have always worked very hard to try to give Aenar everything he needs. Among them, paying for a social insurance for him, in case of anything.

But you could never afford it.

And that suddenly Aemond is offering it to you so easily, clearly because he can afford it, you feel somewhat overwhelmed and also feel that it is too much.

"And you're completely—

"Yes, I am," he interrupts you again, being very clear and honest with you, "This won't be any trouble, really," he assures you.

You want to tell him thank you, but the words get stuck in your throat. However, Aemond sees the gratitude is visible in your gaze, along with your concern and how you find yourself overthinking it.

So he just gives you a look of understanding and total reassurance.

"I'll be leaving. You need to rest. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

You let out a long breath, bite your lips and nod in his direction.

"Okay."

"Good night," he says softly as he opens the apartment door again.

"Good night. Drive safe."

Lately the days have been more… peaceful.

But as the days progressed, you realized that it was useless to feel that way because when you returned to the apartment, everything was absolutely fine. And also everything is easier when you transport yourself with Aemond's help or with the help of his driver.

Having Elinda as a babysitter, your mornings are easier and she does an excellent job with Aenar, so you have nothing to worry about.

At first you would leave home feeling horrible and your whole body tense, always alert to your phone and exaggeratedly paranoid.

Aemond also one day told you the same thing, that lately things have been quiet, even the recordings have not been heavy for him compared to other days or other jobs.

And for the same reason that he is busy filming, he hasn't attended any events or interviews, that happens rather after he finishes filming a new show or movie and there is still time left for that.

Aemond drives in silence and the soft background music on low volume fills the entire interior of the car while you watch the city through the windows and Aenar sleeps secured in one of the back seats.

So on this one day and for one occasion only, Elinda had an important commitment that she couldn't postpone, so she didn't show up for work and you didn't have any problem, since you can bring Aenar to the nursery on the set.

And now it is Aemond who is driving them home after your shift ended almost at the same time he finished filming his scenes.

He and you haven't talked much during the whole drive, only about work, but even so the silence is comfortable and you can't wait to get home to cook a nice dinner.

The cityscape soon transforms into familiar and somewhat… careless streets, as you approach to your apartment.

He parks in front of your building and watches you.

You know this isn't a luxurious area and there's a lot of detail to look at, but it's what you can afford right now.

And that's just what Aemond thinks as he looks around the neighborhood, hating to leave you and Aenar here when he can get you a much better place. But he knows you'll say no.

"Will you stay here any longer?" he asks you softly, "I mean, will you continue to pay rent?"

"For now yes," you nod to him, "I'm saving up to move to a better place, to an apartment in a different area and that's close to work," you let him know, "It's just taking time because of my paycheck."

Aemond stares at you intently for a moment, thinking and pondering your words, with a thoughtful look on his face, while you make sure you have all your belongings with you before getting out of the car and carrying Aenar.

And just as he is about to speak, a familiar sound interrupts him and his son's crying is heard throughout the car.

You follow him too with all your things in hand, walking over to both of them.

You quickly turn to him to attend to him, trying to calm him down, while Aemond reacts and quickly gets out of the car to open the door to the back seats.

It takes him a little while to unfasten the seat belts, but once he's finished he takes him in his arms and whispers comforting words in his ear to make him stop crying.

"Shh, my little one," Aemond whispers, holding him against his chest and stroking his silver hair, "Hey, it's okay, it's okay," he murmurs, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead.

You move to his side and run one of your hands over his wet cheeks, watching you for a moment with teary blue eyes only to close them tightly and continue crying.

"Either he wants to sleep in his room or he's hungry," you say, stroking his face to try to calm him as well.

"He didn't eat?" he asks you attentively.

"Yes, Mary said yes."

"Then he wants to sleep," he says, trying to wipe the dried tears from his cheeks, "Come on upstairs, I'll take him," he tells you and you nod.

All the while Aemond tries to comfort him until they reach the door of your apartment, but when he lays him down in his crib, Aenar cries more and he carefully holds him in his arms again, trying to soothe him while you quickly stop in the kitchen and prepare a baby bottle, hoping it will help.

And when you hand it to Aemond, he stands gently pacing around the room holding Aenar with one arm while the other hand holds the baby ottle for him against his mouth, hoping it will soothe him and he will fall asleep.

You take the bottle and Aemond carefully lays him down to sleep in his crib, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead to finally let him rest.

Aenar eventually calms down as he drinks from the baby bottle and watches with his blue eyes Aemond above him, who is still gently walking him around the room.

And little by little, wrapped in the safety of Aemond's arms, he falls asleep.

He sits up and turns to you, where you both look at each other without saying anything for a moment, sharing a silent connection.

"Thank you," you whisper to him.

"Don't worry," he says back to you in the same way.

Together you leave Aenar's room without a sound and gently close the door.

That night Aemond drives to his apartment with a new thought in mind, one of which is to always provide a better life for you and Aenar.

That's why, without telling you anything and taking advantage of the fact that it's your day off, he manages to leave the recording set early, he tells you to accompany him to the mall to buy new clothes for Aenar and you accept without thinking about anything else.

During the ride, so far you haven't questioned him about anything and that relieves him, but when you finally pay attention to the streets he is driving through, that's when your confusion appears and Aemond is thankful that you are about to arrive at the real place he wants to take you.

"I don't think there's a shopping mall around here, Aemond," you tell him confused, watching the streets carefully.

You realize that he is actually driving through a private residential neighborhood, with the streets lined with luxurious homes or rather mansions that would catch anyone's attention and you are clearly no exception.

And remembering your locations, you can tell that this neighborhood belongs to the Visenya Hill area, the most exclusive and prestigious area of King's Landing.

"Aemond, where are we going?" you look at him completely confused and questioning.

"I want to show you something," he tells you without giving you any more detail, generating more confusion and despair in you.

"But you said we were going to the mall."

"I know, but I lied to you," he says with some regret and you frown, "If I told you I wanted to show you a house where you can live with Aenar, you wouldn't have come."

"What?"

You inquire in your completely incredulous, serious and questioning voice, watching him with your eyes wide open.

"Surely you're joking," you tell him absurdly, shaking in his direction and watching him completely intently and seriously, really wanting to believe this is a joke.

"No, I'm not," he says letting out a small laugh, watching you for a moment to turn his gaze back to the road.

"Aemond," you start trying to warn him, serious.

"We're here," he announces out of nowhere, alerting you more fully.

You watch with your lips parted and completely attentive at all the windows, as the car comes to a stop in front of an impressive house, whose high ceilings and elegant white columns stand out in the neighborhood.

The front garden with the green lawn, a beautiful fountain and flowering bushes only make it stand out more, besides the elegant entrance, its huge windows and the dimension of the whole house that makes you continue to stare at everything with your mouth open.

In comparison, Aemond looks at the house with a hopeful expression and feeling genuinely happy and excited. But at the same time, he is worried about your attitude and what you will tell him about all this.

At first you refuse to get out of the car, still incredulous and surprised, telling him this is crazy, but Aemond makes you get out and also gets Aenar down from the back seats, instantly on this rare occasion preferring your arms instead of his father's.

"Aemond," you try to say, worried and still unable to believe it.

"Easy. Come," he tells you completely unconcerned, leading you to the entrance of the house.

You observe everything, unable to help yourself, as there is even furniture and everything looks too expensive but too beautiful at the same time.

You watch as he holds the fucking key in his hand and opens the beautiful, gigantic door for you, without giving you a chance to say anything else.

And as you enter, the entire interior of the house spreads out in front of you, illuminated by the daylight filtering through the windows and highlighting every majestic detail of the property.

The simple entrance is large with a crystal chandelier above you hanging from the high ceiling, the living room is spacious and there is also a small decorative fountain. Further on there is another living room that you can observe from the spacious and eye-catching kitchen.

And the entire upstairs also completely grabs your attention, having three huge bedrooms, the master bedroom being the largest of them all, each with its own bathroom and closet.

The bathroom down here is ridiculously large for a bathroom. The pantry is also a ridiculously large room for a pantry.

The garden is lovely and has a swimming pool which, according to Aemond, can be automatically closed off for Aenar's security. There is a laundry and drying room as well.

"It's perfect, don't you think?"

Aemond tells you slightly excited as you walk down the stairs behind him, with Aenar in your arms and who also looks at everything around him with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Work is nearby, my apartment is nearby and Elinda has come to this area to work before, so it won't be a problem," he tells you with that little smile, turning to you, looking with that gleam of hope compared to you.

He clearly expects the same reaction from you and even having already seen the house, you let out a sigh and look at him with a serious and confused expression.

"Aemond, what do you think you're doing?"

"Well, it's for you," he tells you, pointing to everything around him, still not seeing how much this is costing you, "It's perfect for you and Aenar. And a chance for him to live and grow up in a nice, spacious, safe place."

You are speechless for a moment, feeling that heaviness in your chest and your heart pounding as you press your lips together and briefly observe everything around you again.

"Everything will be taken care of by me, you won't have to worry about anything," he assures you softly, "Aenar's room is big, the kitchen is big, there are two living rooms and..." he shrugs, "Like I told you, everything is close by."

"Tell me you haven't already bought all this," you say slightly concerned.

And then all emotion from Aemond slowly fades.

"But why? What is it that—

"Aemond, this is too much," you interrupt him incredulously, shock in your eyes, "How do you think I'm just going to accept this just like that?"

He steps closer, with the slight concern in his gaze, trying to convey calm, but his eye reflects the urgency of his purpose.

"Y/N, please. I only want what's best for you and Aenar. Besides, you said you're moving soon and—

"Yes but to an apartment, not a house that costs millions of dollars," you tell him absurdly.

"Yes, I know, but—" he bites his lips, nervous, "I wanted to do this. I wanted to give this to you and Aenar," he says insistent, "A safe place in a quiet neighborhood, where you can also have your space without having to worry anymore."

You shake your head.

"But—

"Look, just..." he tries to find the right words, trying to work on your willing attitude for not accepting this, "Consider it, yes?" he insist, "You don't have to make a decision right now, for now I just wanted to show you around, nothing more," he says calmly, though you know that behind that calmness is an obvious longing.

"But it's just that this is too much and... no," you look at him with slight concern, "I don't need to consider it because no matter how much I think about it, my answer is no."

"Aemond, this..." you begin to say with restrained sadness, hesitating, "This won't change the past. This won't make it so I can forgive you," you tell him resignedly, "This isn't about me and Aenar, it's about Aenar nothing else and her well being," you tell him in a broken voice, "But this... this house... it's too much."

"Y/N..." he says, taking a couple more steps towards you, wary, "Two years ago, I was the worst shitty boyfriend," he says with sadness and regret, "I had to support you, be there for you completely, I shouldn't have let Criston talk me into his plans, accept in the beginning to hide you and hide my responsibility."

He says as he looks nostalgic at Aenar in your arms.

"And now that you've given me this second chance, I just want to make things right....I want to do what I should have done in the beginning."

Aemond's expression, although he himself tries to remain expressionless, still feels as if he has been hit hard in the stomach when he hears your words.

And all illusion disappears, as well as his enthusiasm.

He resignedly steps back, leaving a space between you and him, not wanting to overwhelm you any more than he already has.

He thought this would be a good idea, that by the time the three of you were here, looking forward to the idea of a new home, you would understand and accept.

But there are still many open wounds from the past and he knows they cannot be healed with these sudden gestures.

"I know, it's just that I-I..." he tries to say with his voice laden with regret and deep remorse," I didn't expect this... a house or an apology to just fix things," he says sincerely and with disappointment, "I just wanted to give Aenar stability and offer you a safe place for the both of you, give you a better life."

Silence envelops you both, dense and charged with mixed emotions.

Aemond tries to find some sign on your face, wanting you to see his true intention, longing for some small indication of hope or acceptance.

And you feel the overwhelming weight of responsibility and emotions inside you. All of this is tempting, though your heart is still scarred by past pain and also distrust. And you are torn between caution and the opportunity to give Aenar the stability he deserves.

Aemond remains silent, respecting your space and your time to process the situation. But the indecision in you is all too obvious.

"Y/N, I promise you that all this is for Aenar and nothing else," he tells you seriously and sincerely, "I promise I won't try anything, except to take care of him and make sure he lacks nothing," he insists, "At least stay in this house until he grows up a little more and if you still think it's too much, we can find a smaller place," he proposes.

His words are left floating in the air, while you continue to think too hard. His proposal echoing in your mind, plunging you into a sea of thoughts, with indecision.

Aemond seems to have put his heart on the table, but your emotions continue to struggle between caution and hope, as you cannot ignore the possibility of offering Aenar a more secure and stable life, which is all you wish for him since you could not give him that at the beginning.

And it is also what Aemond desires, that is why he is so insistent and you see his true intention to give this to Aenar, without any other intentions in between.

But is it right to trust him again? What if Criston and his team try to intervene again? This time they would do it more easily.

Maybe it can be different this time.

You honestly feel like you're taking a big risk by agreeing. It's a big bet to open your life and Aenar's to this new opportunity, but you also see how he's striving to give you something better.

And that's exactly what has you questioning and wondering: should I give this a chance?

"All right," you finally say in a soft voice with a mixture of nervousness, "But only for Aenar."

Aemond looks at you with surprise and hope.

"Really?"

You nod, swallowing hard and Aemond lets out a long breath, visibly relieved and then, avoiding smiling big, takes the house key from his front pocket and holds it out to you, to which you take it a little confused.

"Don't you have to give it to the real estate agent?"

"Actually, I already bought it," he says with a nervous but innocent gesture at the same time, scratching the back of his neck, "Well, I haven't paid the whole amount, but I've paid most of it. So it's yours."

Seven fucking Hells.

You can't help but think as you close your eyes for a moment and let out a sigh, unable to believe it.

The new house soon began to have that warmth the moment you started settling in with Aenar. Every room radiates a sense of peace and comfort that you haven't experienced in a long time.

The move wasn't difficult at all, the only thing you had to transport from the old apartment with the help of Aemond and his driver was your clothes, Aenar's clothes, her toys and her crib, nothing else.

The house already had furniture, beds, decorations and even televisions already installed.

The high ceilings allow natural light to flood in, while the white walls set off the black and gray furniture and Aenar toys, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere.

Aemond builds Lego block forts together with him, buys him toy dragons, cars, stuffed animals and they both watch Aenar's favorite cartoon or movies, getting cozy on the shag carpet or on the couch.

Because Aemond's apartment is close by, his commitment is more accessible, so there is never a day that goes by that he doesn't visit Aenar.

Special moments between father and son are spent in the living room, where toys scattered on the floor become Aenar's playroom area.

Also some evenings the three of you have dinner together, where Aemond offers to feed Aenar and eventually the dining room fills with laughter and smiles as you focus on him.

The backyard also becomes a realm of adventure, where they both even plan picnics and invite you over.

They also both sometimes spend afternoons exploring with laughter and playing with the plastic cars on the lawn where Aenar imitates the sounds Aemond makes from a car.

The new house is filled with happy and warm moments, forming the perfect setting for Aenar to begin to grow up, having both of his parents looking after him.

The proximity of work and Aemond's apartment made the daily routine easier. The routes are short and convenient, allowing more time to enjoy time together.

And above all you definitely feel more at ease having Elinda taking care of Aenar while you are considerably closer to home from the set.

When one day at night, you had already received a message from Aemond telling you that he would be a little late to visit Aenar, as usual, and you replied that it was fine, even though tomorrow is your day off and you have no problem with sleeping late.

But the clock is almost half past eleven at night and you think he is not going to arrive, when just at that moment you hear the doorbell ring and you go to the door, checking from the IPad the cameras of a program that Aemond installed to record Aenar while he sleeps and also monitors in case of anything and so you can make sure he is okay.

And finally you open the door, watching Aemond carefully.

"I thought you weren't coming anymore," you tell him in a low, warm tone, but also worried.

Aemond nods, letting out a sigh.

"I finished later than I thought. It was a hard day," he tells you heavily.

You nod softly and understandingly, stepping aside to let him pass.

"Aenar is already asleep."

"Yes, that's what i thought," he says calmly, "But it doesn't matter, I won't wake him up, I just want to see him," he watches you with tired eye, "You should go to sleep too," he says as he places one of his hands gently on your shoulder, "I'll lock up and set the alarm when I leave."

Hesitation shows on your face for a moment, watching him intently and with a flash of concern.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry," he nods at you with a small soft smile, "Go get some rest, I'll take care of it."

"Fine, but anything tell me, no matter what it is, okay?"

"Okay."

With a soft nod, you both head up the stairs and down the hallway to the rooms, you wave goodbye to him before entering your room and he enters Aenar's room.

And once in your room, you cover yourself with your sheets and thinking that you would fall asleep the moment you were in the comfort of your bed, you suddenly stare at the ceiling for a long time unable to close your eyes and clearly unable to sleep.

He hasn't left yet, as you haven't heard that soft 'click' of the door or his footsteps in the hallway walking away.

You try to find sleep any way you can, but the thought that Aemond is still in the house is what keeps you awake.

And it's not because you don't trust him, on the contrary, you look at the time and feel remorseful and worried that he has to drive back to his apartment so late.

Minutes pass and suddenly you find yourself restless, sleep refusing to invade you. So with quiet steps, you approach Aenar's room, where the dim light of a night lamp reflects through the frame below the door.

Carefully and determined, you gently open the door, first peeking your head and then your body, catching the attention of Aemond who turns his head towards you, sitting near Aenar's crib and gently and very lightly stroking his hair so as not to wake him with a look of affection that does not leave his face despite the interruption.

"Can't you sleep?" he whispers to you, watching you with a soft gaze.

You nod softly, folding your arms as you look down at sleeping Aenar with palpable tenderness.

"It's late and I thought maybe... if you want, you can sleep here," you say with a warm tone but your hint of shyness in your voice is noticeable, as well as your hesitation to suggest such a thing.

It's no problem for you, it's just that he's never slept over before and you don't know what his reaction will really be to you proposing that, whether he'll say yes or no.

"And you're okay with that?" he observes you thoughtfully and softly.

"Yes, of course I am," you assure him completely nonchalantly, "It's totally fine with me."

He nods at you with a gesture, without wiping away his soft little smile.

"Thank you."

And then both his gaze and yours return to watching Aenar asleep in his crib. And Aemond resumes the smile of tenderness on his lips, again sliding his hand over his hair.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" he whispers with a flash of pride in his gaze.

You hum in assent, slowly moving closer toward them both.

"Yes, he is," you reply, gazing at your little one with indescribable love.

A brief silence envelops you for a moment, only hearing the soft hum of the spinning lamp projecting images on the ceiling, creating a peaceful low-light scene of animals and stars for Aenar.

This usually helps him sleep and also calms him down a bit if he wakes up crying in the middle of the night while you wake up and rush over here.

"For a while I imagined how he would looked like, whether boy or girl..." he murmurs in a soft, warm, low, wistful tone, "No matter what you decided to do when you left, I always thought about it," he gives you a meaningful look, guilt on his features and you nod, watching him with understanding.

Aemond clenches his jaw and looks at Aenar again, while you remember those days, where fear and uncertainty lived inside you every day.

You wish you had them, those happy moments that a new mom should experience, but that was not the case for you and yet... you cannot imagine a life without your little boy, it is impossible.

What is supposed to be happy news, was not happy for you and Aemond.

There was no single moment of joy at the beginning, when you learned of your pregnancy. Nor did you experience that feeling the first few months, when you ran away and went back to building a new life.

And Aemond feels the remorse most in these kinds of moments, when Aenar is asleep and he looks at him, not being able to believe and wondering over and over again how it is that from the beginning, he supported the idea of just getting rid of him.

And now he sees only him and cannot imagine a world without him.

Shame overcomes him, guilt also and he even wants to cry with anger as he thinks of all that you must have gone through, without his support, trying to make a living for you and his son, all alone in a new and unknown place.

And he knows that this, allowing you to be in Aenar's life, is a great opportunity that he doesn't deserve and yet you have given it to him.

"I know you said you can't forgive me but... someday can you? For how I reacted and for the decision I supported in the beginning?" he asks you, unable to help himself and needing to know.

His tone is charged with a mixture of regret and longing as you feel a pressure and a slight sharp pain in your chest at his words.

Silence stretches for a moment throughout the room, Aemond respects your silence and though there are many reasons why you should never forgive him for what happened, you still decide to be honest.

"I don't know," you whisper in a low, sad and vulnerable tone.

The words echo through the room, enveloping the space with palpable tension.

Aemond feels his heart pounding, filled with overwhelming regret. He lowers his gaze, unable to bear the weight of his mistakes and your words are like a dagger in his heart, but still, he understands you completely.

He nods with compression, letting out a regret-laden sigh, still gently stroking Aenar's hair.

"I understand," he murmurs with a tone of melancholy and fragility, as well as in his gaze full of pleading and remorse.

"Does your family know about him?"

And you with your sad eyes full of regret, you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

And you see all those emotions in him, all his thoughts reflected in his gaze, trying to stand firm and on the sidelines as he continues to watch Aenar.

You can't help but ask, trying to calm the atmosphere a little, though it's useless, as that slight tension is felt and also that physical and emotional distance from both your side and him.

"I've wanted to tell them, only Nyra knows but I asked her not to say anything," he confesses to you in a low voice, trying to speak firmly but the nostalgia is clear, "Even though I know my mother and siblings will be disappointed in me when I explained what happened two years ago, yes I have wanted to tell them," he nods, "But first I wanted to discuss it with you," he says looking briefly at you over his shoulder.

And now it is remorse that comes to you.

"Tell them, Aemond," you tell him firmly with a soft tone, "They deserve to know."

general taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys @cakescupcakesminicookies

next part:

@hypocritic-trash-baby

[breachverse]

Breach: Chicago War Zone - WIP Update 18 - 26th of August 2023

... This one's actually been brewing for 6 months, so... 1 Million Words folks!

Update 21 has been released! Last public upload was pretty much a year ago so, I'm very sorry for the long silence, a lot of the updates have been mostly in the private testing phase on Patreon, but I am here with a bunch of fixes and hangout updates.

But most importantly... We've passed the 1 Million Words mark... My fingers are tired. ❤

You may play it on the link below.

Breach: Chicago War Zone (Updated)

DEVELOPMENT LOG#21 (15-April-2024)

(B2.1.1.24.4.15)

Alpha - 21

Fixed something here, fixed something there, fixed something everywhere

SideModule: Fixed Justin's hangout background

SideModule: Fixed Hayne's hangout background

SideModule: Added Anna's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Charlie's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Kaz's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Carly's 1st hangout

Stats_Page: Added Archangel crew background notes

UniModule: Added 7 new weapons to the shop

MISC: Added AA-12

MISC: Added FAMAS G2

MISC: Added HK G36C

MISC: Added SIG MPX

MISC: Added PP-19 Vityaz

MISC: Added Ultimax 100

MISC: Added SR-25

COMPLETED: Chapter 3 Part 1 of The ARC branch (100%) (PT only) W.I.P.: AA Hangout Part 1 (86%) W.I.P.: AA Store system (85%) W.I.P.: FBI Hangout Part 1 (46%) W.I.P.: FBI Store system (65%) W.I.P.: Stat screen upgrade (40%) Word Count: 1,007,622 words including codes (Last update was 971,142)

I'll be completely honest, when I started Breach 2 I knew it was going to surpass 1 million words. I just didn't think it would take this long. Through numerous challenges, both in writing and in real life. Through numerous ups and downs, I'm absolutely surprised and grateful to know that there are people out there who still support me. I've had many thoughts, numerous times, to give up and move on to other things in life, but I didn't want to disappoint, so I kept writing.

I bring to you, the 1 million milestone update. It's really not much, but it is one step closer to completion. This update has been in the works for the past 6 months mostly due to the weapons rework and also story changes for the crew members that I apparently couldn't keep track of without a giant excel spreadsheet. This update finalizes the Archangel's Gamma Crew hangouts, which is Kaz and Carly's hangout as well as Anna and Charlie's hangout.

As before, they share the same storyline so they will both share the same hangout. If you choose to go out with one, you cannot go out with the other. Kaz shares it with Carly, and Anna shares it with Charlie. Keep that in mind. Oh, and there's 7 new guns to play with. Have fun, Ian.

This update does not include the new Chapters. Chapter 3 will still be Patreon exclusive until Breach 2 finishes and I can send the demo to the public testing, and to CoG for the full release.

I really cannot reiterate how grateful I am to have an amazing array of readers and supporters who are still here after numerous hiccups and fuck ups. Thank you all, so very much.

Much, much love. - Max ❤

Link to the CoG Forums

I also have a Discord server!

As always feel free to drop however many screenshot feedbacks you'd like, either in the forums or in our Discord channel!

[nastyavolk-cp]

JEALOUS AND POSSESSIVE (YANDERE PLATONIC ANNABETH CHASE x YOUNG SISTER)

A/N: First of all I want to thank my friend @aphroditelovesu for letting me use her headcanons to write this story! If you want to read her original headcanons you can read here.

Since this is a yandere platonic story, I believe you guys know what it contains, it's nothing new, just yandere themes, obsessive and manipulative behavior, characters trying to kill each other, yeah, the basic stuff. By the way, Irina is my original character and English is not my first language, so sorry if it contains grammar mistakes. Enjoy it ❤️

Irina Chase was special, at least to her sister, Annabeth, the famous daughter of Athena. She, just like her older sister, was also the daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom, but she was as well the spwan of Frederick Chase. This was what made Irina even more special to Annabeth, the two were daughters of the same mortal father and goddess mother, since she was little Annabeth wanted her father and mother to be together, when Irina was born, she felt that this dream was not so far away to come true, right?

She and Annabeth were 7 years apart, although the older one stayed at Camp Half Blood, she always made sure of visiting her mortal family, not to see them, but rather her dear little sister, Irina. Nothing and no one else was important, just her baby sister, she was everything to Annabeth and she would do everything to make Irina only for herself, after all she was proof that in the end she would have their family's dream together.

As Irina grew up, Annabeth did everything she could to be by her side, no matter what it was, whether it was family gatherings, birthdays, no matter what, she was always there to support her little sister and be the most supportive family member for her. Anything the younger Chase did, the older one would be there to celebrate, even the small achievements (excellent grades, learning to ride a bike, etc.).

The day Irina was ready to go to Camp Half Blood, now 11 years old, Annabeth was ecstatic, many things had happened like the wars, but everything was left aside when Irina was sent there, now the oldest could to have Irina by her side basically the entire time, as she had impatiently waited all this time. Of course she made sure that Irina stayed away from her half-siblings, after all, they weren't important, the two of them were.

Annabeth was extremely possessive and jealous, she hated seeing her little sister mixing with demigods that she thought weren't worthy enough for her, her little sister can't mix with those types of people, what if she forgets about her? No, there was no way she would let that happen, Annabeth made sure of limiting her little sister's contact with other demigods, if she had obligations she would take Irina along, she justified it by saying that it was just to ensure that she was always safe. Ha, big shit.

As if the possessiveness and clinginess that Annabeth had wasn't enough, it got worse when Percy Jackson got into the picture, yes, the super mega famous son of Poseidon. The moment he met Irina, he completely fell in love (platonically duh) with the young girl, she was like a young and shy version of her own older sister, and it wasn't long before Irina was considered Jackson's little sister, after all he wanted to protect her from everything and he was one of the only people Annabeth allowed to talk to and interact with on a daily basis.

But lately, and it took Annabeth a while to realize due to her illusions about family and such, Irina was moving away from her, very gradually. It's because? All thanks to Leo Valdez, who became friends with young Chase a short time ago, as he was one of the people Annabeth accepted for Irina to interact with, she didn't worry so much at first, after all Irina would come back to her like she always did.

How wrong she was. In a short amount of time, Irina began to idolize Leo, she saw the son of Hephaestus as an example to be followed, every time she found herself confused about something, she turned to him and no longer to Annabeth and worst of all, she began to refer to him as a big brother. This began to worry Athena's daughter. No, there is NO way Valdez would steal Irina from her!! She was HER little sister and not the Hephaestus's son’s, let him look for another child to satisfy his need.

“Irina, we need to talk.” Annabeth said dryly when Irina entered the empty cabin, where only she was. The young girl looked at her older sister with curious eyes.

“What is it Annie? You seem kind of angry…” She said hesitantly, you could see in Annabeth's facial expressions that she was angry, but she had reason to be.

“Oh no, Irina. I’m not, I just need to ask you something.” The blonde said, trying to hide it, but of course the young girl didn't let that go, but she decided to pay attention to what her older sister was going to ask.

“What is it, Annie?” Irina asked curiously, it was then that Annabeth took a deep breath and said dryly to her sister.

“I want you to keep your distance from Leo Valdez from today onwards. I already asked Percy to tell him about this too.”

Irina was static, not believing what she had just heard her older sister saying. Why? She finally had a friend she could trust and spend time with that wasn't just her sister or her boyfriend. Leo was intelligent and had a lot to teach her, she loved him, why did Annie want her to stay away from him? Did he do something wrong? But he wouldn't be able to.

“W-What? But why?"

“Isn’t that obvious, Irina? Oh please, don't act stupid to me! Do you think it’s cool to start ignoring me just to spend more time with Leo??” Annabeth questioned her, she didn't care if at that moment she was showing her true colors, after all, it wouldn't make any difference.

“W-What? But he-"

“It’s always ‘Leo this, Leo that…’, where is our partnership? We are sisters, blood sisters! From the same father and mother and you dare call that son of Hephaestus your older brother? Have you lost your mind??” Irina was increasingly scared, she had never seen Annabeth so angry with her, and it was for real. The young daughter of Athena, however, didn't understand why, until something finally made her realize and everything made sense.

“Are you jealous, Annie??” She asked her older sister, who looked at her with wide eyes and her anger grew significantly, never that she would admit it, not even to her little sister.

“As if, Irina. He is nothing compared to us, daughters of Athena━”

“That's why you're talking bad about him! You’re jealous of him, aren’t you???” Irina cut Annabeth off to continue her line of reasoning, her frustration and now anger made her realize everything. “You're insecure as hell, that's why you wanted to keep me away from others?? You… ugh, you are the one who ruined all the friendships I had and now I have no one, no one looks at me or talks to me….” Tears started to form in Irina's eyes, Annabeth immediately noticed, but instead of comforting her, like she always would, her pride didn't allow it.

“He’s not good enough for you, no, no one is! Only I, Irina, only I am good enough for you, why other people if you have me? You always had me in the end, now you're going to abandon me and go to someone else?! He’s worthless and a bad influence!” Annabeth argued and Irina had had enough of her, now with angry tears falling from her eyes, she screamed loudly.

“I HATE YOU ANNIE! I HATE YOU, I’M NOT YOUR SISTER ANYMORE!” She screamed and Annabeth fell silent, motionless and unable to properly process the words she heard her little sister, her precious Irina say out loud and with pure hatred. Before Annabeth could respond, Irina left the cabin in tears, leaving the older Chase contemplating her hateful words.

Irina ran into the middle of the forest in the camp, she ran until she tripped, she wanted to find Leo, he would be in his Bunker, but she couldn't take it and continued to cry, she hated her sister, she finally realized why she never had friends . This was all Annabeth's fault and her selfishness.

"Are you ok?" A not very familiar voice asked her, the young Chase looked around scared, but finally her eyes met with two black irises that belonged to a certain son of Hades.

“I-I am but… who are you?” She asked hesitantly before wiping her tears away, he wore an alternative look and Irina had definitely never seen him before.

“I am Nico di Angelo, son of Hades. You must be Irina Chase, sister of━”

“Yes, Annabeth Chase.” Irina said with a derogatory tone, which surprised the son of Hades. “I need to find Leo, I don’t want to be closer to her.”

“I think you'd better go to the infirmary. Your leg is bleeding a lot.” The Italian said pointing to the young girl’s leg, which indeed was. But Chase didn't care, she managed to get up with difficulty and was trying to walk around looking for Bunker 9. “Hey, where are you going?? You won’t go very far with your━”

“I’M FINE, I DON’T NEED HELP!” The child screamed in response, but stumbled again, letting out a groan of frustration and pain as she fell face first onto the ground.

‘Prideful like her sister.’ Nico thought, approaching the girl who was whimpering against the leaves. “Come on, I’ll take you to the infirmary. Will will take care of you.” He said picking the girl up carefully in his arms and before she could protest, he entered a shadow to take her to her destination.

But if she hadn't been taken, she would have faced Leo and Percy in a verbal confrontation, in the end, Leo actually wanted Irina as his little sister and he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of Annabeth to make that happen, after all, the young Chase deserved a better older brother and who would be a great candidate like himself?

That day, Leo Valdez and Annabeth Chase started a war over Irina, a war that would cost the young girl dearly.

[windrelyn]

[10th Anniversary] The Fellowship of the Ring

7/2013 - 7/2023

I've been joining Tolkien fandom for 10 years! I've met a lot of excellent, inspiring and admirable people. I've lost some authors and artists whom I loved most. Sometimes I stumble on toxic people (but I should get them out of my mind)

To be honest, when everything started, I didn't know how to draw or how to write a story. I think my drawing skills are still not good, but they're enough to describe my ideas. I'm so, so happy when I can share my love and my ideas with others.

Thank you for being there! Every comment, message, and donation that I've received from you means a lot to me. I'm fond of you all, and my heart will belong to Middle Earth forever and ever.

"The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began

Now far ahead the Road has gone

And I must follow, if I can"

[chairofchaos]

You Deserve Better, and Other Points for Reflection

Hey friends, listen up. Real talk for a second, because nobody deserves this. And, in case anybody cares, I want you to know I come with 12 years of learning on this exact debate we have been having, because I had some very excellent fandom mentors in my communities and in the form of my uncles, who to this day support me writing and reading whatever hell I please, even in the face of protest from my immediate family. There was a lot of learning I had to do to be here with you now, and I am thankful for those people who were willing to tell me so.

If you want to post memes and think pieces and jokes and poems about a fandom debate, go ahead! You create the experience you want to see on your dash, and you will find your people.

If you want to discuss a fandom debate (a little or a lot), go ahead! I’m all for thinking through how we live and act and exist as a fan community.

If you feel that you need to take those things and turn them into vitriol to pour into the DMs and Anons of people who are running a fan week, that is not okay. Not in the slightest.

There is a big difference between debate, discussion, creative protest, and joking around, and intentionally using your words to create harm in someone’s life.

“But, Chaos, this [thing not directly sent to you/not specifically intended for you] hurt my feelings!”

Okay. Get burned once? Great! You learned something: don’t touch the hot iron again. (To translate: block the tag, block the person, whatever you need, and move on. If it isn’t for you that’s ok.) Hurt feelings are to tell you what you can and/or are willing to handle. If you don’t want to see it, block. (I love blocking tags it’s one of my little joys in life lol)

“Chaos, somebody said something really rude to me to my (virtual) face! What do I do?”

Well, you can either respond or you can block. Either way, it will probably help you to move on.

If you are responding, I beg you to keep one thing in mind. I want you to picture 7 year old you at the other end of that message. Or 13 year old you. What kind of words did they deserve to hear in a moment when maybe they weren’t getting something? Use those. Use them kindly, not in a condescending way, but in a “I want to explain this as gently as I would to my younger self” kind of way. If somebody keeps being mean, it isn’t worth it. Please use the block feature and move on. They are not worth your time.

Additionally, I would encourage you to do this: the “touch grass” mentality is something I only direct at myself. (I literally told myself to go touch grass yesterday, and there is at least one person who can corroborate that.) I stand by that decision every single day. It’s kept me out of a lot of trouble. Directing it at others does not end well, but directing it at yourself can be a good way to reflect and to consider sensible actions in the face of overwhelming situations or emotions (of which I experience many).

“Chaos, people are coming into anon and being hateful. Or just rude. Or they’re dumping triggering material into my anons.”

That is on them. That is not on you. They should not do that. And I am so sorry you are dealing with that. I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if you can block from anons (I’ve never even needed to look and so help you all if this is the post that makes me) but if you can, do. I will do what I can to help, if you need it. Regardless of where you stand on any of these issues, because I will not stand for hatred.

“I’m mad about [redacted] and I am going to be rude/mean/intentionally putting triggering material in people’s inboxes and activity feeds!”

You do that and you will be in a world of hurt, my friend. A world of hurt from yourself.

Because we create the experience we think we deserve. If you create an internet experience where it is acceptable to be hateful, vengeful, and downright cruel to other people, that is the experience you will receive in return. You deserve better than that. And if you believe that you deserve better than that but the people you’re directing cruelty towards don’t, then I want you to hear me: you will quickly find that you are not welcome anywhere. There will always be someone to disagree with. There will always be (at least) minute discrepancies in the way two or more people think, even people who are deeply similar.

Hurt the hand that reaches to help you- one day it will be raised against you in hurt as well.

As for me? Well, for that, I leave you with thoughts from George Washington’s Farewell address as paraphrased in Hamilton’s ‘One Last Time’:

“Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors.”

I am not a president (and thank god for that because who wants Chaos in charge of a country?). I am simply a fandom member. A writer. A little chaos gremlin lurking behind trees in the forest.

But like Mr. Washington, I am aware that I often fail to live up to my standards and principles. And I hope, truly, though it is wildly uncomfortable for me, that you would call me out for ways I have failed to uphold them, either in the past or in the future. (It would be super great if you like… called me out in DMs and didn’t put me on blast but oh well.)

I am in at least four other major (international, GIANT) fandoms. I am not hopeful enough to think that the ACOTAR fandom will learn from the fandoms of yore. We will have to weather these storms on our own, even with the knowledge and experiences already there. I think that’s okay. Disappointing, perhaps, but okay.

Since this post was much longer than it was intended to be, I will summarize:

If you are intentionally putting hateful materials in the inboxes, DMs, and activity feeds of people you disagree with, you will hurt yourself.

You create the experience you think you deserve, and in doing so, create that experience for others. Good or bad.

Block tags, block blogs, block what you need to enjoy the space. You will find your people.

Being intentionally cruel to other human persons is how you end up finding that nobody is “your people” because you created an environment where no one wants to be. You will be lonely and sad. Don’t make yourself lonely and sad.

I am certain I fail to uphold these principles at times. Feel free to call me out if you see me failing at these. DM appreciated, but I’m the one who invited you to do so so I’m not going to say “don’t blast me on main.” My funeral, I know.

[tunamayojazz]

Love your art, any Toge/Yuuta fanfic recommendations? Thanks so much!!

hi!! thank you so much...🥺🩷🩷 and i am SO glad you asked this. i have so many!! here are the ones i read/reread more recently along with some of the tags. tried to make every rec here different from each other hehe have fun reading!!! can't help it (if you look like an angel) by glimmiks (12.4k)

tags: college au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, IKEA

THIS WAS SO FUN TO READ PLEASEEEE i absolutely love college aus so much. and you just know the 2nd years would be the most fun and chaotic as college students. their dynamic is just chefs KISS, and it's written so well here. the mutual pining in here is truly a 10-course meal and i always go back for another round.

i'm alright if you're alright by anonymous (14.2k)

tags: spoilers up to ch146, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury recovery, fix-it, love confessions, pining

post-shibuya fic excellence. i always have such a great time reading this like inuokkos really do eat so well in this fandom. yuta pining is always so great to read like he is Longingly thinking about toge at all times im cry

Magnificently Cursed by diggingupthegrave (91.2k)

tags: dark academia, magic au, magic school au, slow burn, angst, mutual pining

i will always always recommend diggingupthegrave fics. they are easily my favorite inuokko writer pls you have to read all their inuokko fics...i saved this particular one of theirs to read for much later bc i knew it was going to change my life (7 chapters ok) and boy did it do exactly that. the way they implemented canon elements into a magic setting was so so brillaint and i savored every bit of it.

Beat the Turtle Drum by CasuallyScreaming (7.4k) tags: major character death, post-shibuya incident arc, angst, minimal comfort, no shibuya spoilers read this before sleeping the other night and honestly how i managed to still fall asleep after was my body trying to protect me from full out bawling and having a mental breakdown...i don't think i've read a lot of MCD inuokko but god this one shook me to my core. almost like the feeling of loss and grief were bleeding through my phone screen. so well written and while it's definitely mostly painful, the ending....well you'll find out :')

a special occasion by Cheshire (2.5k) tags: idiots in love, established relationship, first dates this was so so cute...!!!!!!! panda: but aren't you two already dating? yuta: well yes! no. sorta, kinda. super cozy and fluffy read!!

is this how every day begins? by mitgi (5.4k) tags: roommates, living together, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst i will always love me a roommate au. this fic was such a lovely read and i'm actually going to reread this right after i finish writing this! there's so much to explore in inuokko's relationship and also when it's in different settings. every time i think about how the actual source material are literal crumbs, i'm just even more amazed by how writers are able to draw out the most of what info we have and write their mannerisms so well. it all feels right and so WARM UOGHHHHH

haunted by sieling_fan (3.3k)

tags: pining, hurt/comfort, canon typical angst, character study

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you showed up just in time by diggingupthegrave (14.6k)

tags: time travel, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, slight age gap

another diggingupthegrave fic that had me crying screaming shaking throwing up because god. this was so so good. the build up had me at the edge of my seat bc like oh my god what happened? what's happening?? why is this like that? @#$%^&*()_!!!!!!!!!!!!! and when it's all pieced together? oh it ended me. read this again and again for DAYS you would think i was researching it for a thesis or something. take your time reading this btw like im so serious.

okie that's all for me from now, i have so many more to rec honestly....sending out 100000000000 hearts to inuokko writers you are my roman empire....

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

hi there!! i was wondering you knew anything about the relationship between robespierre and marat? ive been seeing some information that robespierre wasnt fond (or at least less fond??) of marat than marat was of robespierre, but havent found any other information about it unfortunately. thanks :)!

In total, Marat mentions Robespierre around 90 times in his journals from his debut in September 1789 up until his death in July four years later. The first time he does so (which also happens to be the first connection I’ve been able to find between the two) is already in the second number of l’Ami du Peuple(released September 13 1789) where he writes about a certain ”Robertpierre.” Then one day later, in number 4, he instead mentions a ”Robers-Pierre.” In both these instances, Marat does however appear to just give the exact same summary as three other journals, and there’s value put into it whatsoever.

It would appear Marat never got a hold on how to spell Robespierre’s name properly, as he throughout the rest of his career as a journalist inconsistently shifts between calling him ”Robespierre,” ”Roberspierre” and, in some rare instances, ”Robertspierre.” The next time he mentions him is in number 81 (December 29 1789). The following three times Robespierre is brought up in l’Ami du Peuple are the very first instances of Marat showing his own thoughts on him instead of just giving a neutral summary of things he’s said at the National Assembly:

M. de Robespierre and especially Mr. Charles de Lameth energetically fought against the inconsiderate proposal to give praise to officers, whose conduct has harmed the liberty and security of citizens. l’Ami du Peuple, number 101 (January 18 1790)

M. de Robespierre supports the motion of Mr. de la Salcette, with more or less solid arguments. l’Ami du Peuple, number 104 (January 21 1790)

…to remove from the fatherland its most zealous defenders, [the Municipal Research Committee] pushed its audacity to the point of directing its pursuits against Barnavre, Péthion [sic] de Villeneuve, the Lameths, d'Aiguillon, Roberspierre [sic]..., cherished names of the free France, to which it had added those of La Fayette and Mirabeau. l’Ami du Peuple, number 108 (May 20 1790) 

This praising of Robespierre is something Marat would consistently keep up throughout the rest of his journalistic career. Only throughout the rest of 1790, we find him calling him ”the wise Robespierre” (number 156 (July 7), ”the loyal Robespierre” (number 210 (September 3), an orator with ”great principles” and ”excellent views […] [that] we have no doubt he will develop in a way that will cause a sensation.” (number 265 (October 29) and ”[a man] who’s heart always appears to be animated with the purest of civism” (number 320 (December 24), listing him among deputies he considers ”patriotic” (number 156 (July 7), number 188 (August 11), number 210 (September 3), number 277 (November 11), number 288 (November 22), number 292 (November 28) and at one point even playing him on a higher level than so, calling him ”the only deputy who is educated in great principles, and perhaps the only true patriot who sits in the Assembly” (number 263, October 27).

February 2 1791 is the first instance where Robespierre in his turn is recorded to have mentioned Marat’s name. He does so defending the journalist at the Jacobins after an arrest warrant has been issued against him for an article recently published in his paper. Desmoulins’ Révolutions de France et de Brabant, the journal giving the most detailed description of the defence, summarizes it in the following way:

At the same session at the Jacobins, Robespierre, the only member of the National Assembly to whom the severe Marat would not have given the black ball, also took up his defense. He made us aware of the absurdity of the crime that the president of research attributed to the Friend of the People, of getting along with the English. Marat had never ceased to deplore the trade treaty of 1786 with the English, and to vociferate against Pitt, and against the intelligence of the cabinet of S. James, with the Austrian committee of the Tuileries. In favor of Marat was also this thing which militates so strongly for all patriotic writers: if the Friend of the People is extreme and angry, at least it is in the direction of the revolution. On what front did the research committee sign this order against him, under the ridiculous pretext of intelligence with the English, while it at the same time leaves Durosoi, as extreme, as bloodthirsty as Marat, in peace, and so many other friends of the king, the nobility and the clergy, who did not even hide their understanding with the Austrians, with all our enemies, and every day invite them with loud cries to come and slaughter the patriots. There is no reply to this reasoning; so Voidel, who saw his condemnation in everyone's eyes, recognized his sin, and promised to withdraw the order and remove the sentence.

In a speech regarding liberty on the press held on May 11 1791, Robespierre also says that ”if it is true that the courage of writers devoted to the cause of justice and humanity is the terror of the intrigue and ambition of men in authority; the laws against the press must become in the hands of the latter a terrible weapon against liberty,” which according to the by publisher inserted footnote is an allusion to the situation of the journalists Desmoulins and, especially, Marat.

Marat in his turn continued his praising of Robespierre throughout the same year. Besides grouping him together with other men considered patriotic (number 342 (January 16), number 371 (February 14), number 382 (February 25), number 392 (March 7), number 455 (May 11), number 519 (July 15), number 526 (August 1), number 562 (September 30) and calling him things such as ”the loyal Robespierre ”(number 367 (February 8), number 478, number 443 (April 29), number 458 (May 14), (June 3), number 488 (June 13), number 520 (July 16), number 521 (July 17) ”the just Robespierre” (number 409 (March 24) and ”the virtuous Robespierre” number 438 (April 21) he also goes further in placing Robespierre on a higher level than his fellow representatives, frequently going so far as to call him ”the only pure member of the Assembly” (number 414 (March 29), number 462 (May 18), number 472 (28 maj), number 475, May 31, number 504 (June 28), number 510 (July 4), number 511 (July 5). He also starts to frequently refer to Robespierre as ”the Incorruptible”number 458 (May 14), (number 462 (May 18), number 504 (June 28), number 514 (July 8), number 513 (July 13), number 545(September 4), number 551 (September 10) In his Robespierre biography (2014), Hervé Leuwers writesthat, if it was Fréron who coined the nickname, Marat nevertheless did a lot to popularize it. Finally, his number 515 (July 9) Marat dedicates entirely to the ”superb speech” held by Robespierre regarding the flight to Varennes two weeks earlier. His admiration did not go unnoticed by other journalists besides Desmoulins, such as those behind Les Sabbats jacobites, who on April 10 1791 called Robespierre ”the hero of Marat” and those behind Journal générale de France who called him ”the god of Marat, Garat, Carra, Corsas and Marte” on June 13 the same year.

Once Robespierre on September 30 ceases to be a member of the National Assembly, the apperences of his name in l’Ami du peuple do however rapidly decrease, only appearing two more times (number 603 (November 19), number 618, December 6) until Marat temporarily puts it down on December 15.

The first actual meeting between Marat and Robespierre didn’t take place until January 1792, as revealed by the latter ten months later. By then, the two almost lived neighbors since about a month back, Marat having gone to live with the Evrard sisters on 243 rue Saint-Honoré in Decenber, not far from the Duplay house on number 366 on the same street.

One of the most terrible reproaches that people have aimed against me, I do not hide it, is the name of Marat. I will therefore begin by telling you frankly what my contacts with him have looked like. I could even make my profession of faith on his behalf, but without saying more good or more bad than I think, because I do not know how to translate my thoughts to appeal to general opinion. In January 1792, Marat came to see me. Until then, I had not had any kind of either direct or indirect relationship with him. The conversation turned to public affairs, about which he spoke to me with despair. I told him everything that the patriots, even the most ardent ones, thought of him; namely that he himself had put up an obstacle to the good that could be produced by the useful truths developed in his writings, by persisting in eternally returning to extraordinary and violent proposals (such as that of making five to six hundred guilty heads fall), which revolted the friends of liberty as much as the supporters of the aristocracy. He defended his opinion; I persisted in mine, and I must admit that he found my political views so narrow that some time later, when he had resumed his journal, which had been abandoned by him for some time, reporting on the conversation of which I have just described speaking, he wrote in full that he had left me, perfectly convinced that I had neither the views nor the audacity of a statesman; and if Marat's criticisms could be titles of favor, I could still place before your eyes some of his sheets, published six weeks before the last revolution, in which he accused me of feuillantism, because I, in a periodical work, did not say out loud that the constitution had to be overthrown. After this first and only visit from Marat, I found him again at the National Assembly.

In number 648 (May 18) of l’Ami du Peuple, Marat gives his own version of this meeting:

I therefore declare that not only does Roberspierre [sic] not have my pen at his disposal, although it has often served to do him justice; but I protest that I have never had any note from him, that I have never had any direct or indirect relationship with him, that I have never even met him but once; also in this instance, our interview served to give rise to ideas and to manifest feelings diametrically opposed to those that Guadet and his clique attribute to me. The first word that Robespierre addressed to me was the reproach of having myself partly destroyed the prodigious influence that my paper had on the revolution by dipping my pen in the blood of the enemies of liberty, by speaking of rope, of daggers, no doubt against my heart, because he liked to convince himself that these were just empty words dictated by circumstances. Learn, I replied to him immediately, that the influence that my paper had on the revolution was not due, as you believe, to these close discussions in which the vices of the fatal decrees prepared by the Constituent Assembly are methodically developed, but to the terrible scandal that it spread among the public, when I unceremoniously tore the veil which covered the eternal plots hatched against public liberty by the enemies of the fatherland, people conspiring with the monarch, the legislators and the main custodians of authority; but to the audacity with which I trampled underfoot every detracting prejudice; but to the outpouring of my soul, to the impulses of my heart; to my violent protests against oppression, to my impetuous outings against the oppressors; to my painful accents; to my cries of indignation, fury and despair against the scoundrels who abused the trust and power of the people to deceive them, rob them, load them with chains and precipitate them into the abyss. Learn that there has never been a decree attacking liberty and that never an official has allowed himself an attack against the weak and the oppressed, without me having hastened to raise the people against these unworthy prevaricators. The cries of alarm and fury that you take for empty words were the naive expression with which my heart was agitated; learn that if I had been able to count on the people of the capital after the horrible decree against the garrison of Nancy, I would have decimated the barbaric deputies who had issued it. Learn that after the investigation of the Châtelet on the events of October 5 and 6, I would have had the unfair judges of this infamous tribunal perished at the stake. Learn that after the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, had I found two thousand men animated by the feelings which tore me apart, I would have gone at their head to stab the general in the middle of his battalions of brigands, to burn the despot in his palace and impale our atrocious representatives on their seats as I declared to them at the time. Robespierre listened to me with fear, he turned pale, and remained silent for some time. This interview confirmed for me the opinion that I had always had [sic] of him: that he combined with the knowledge of a wise senator the integrity of a truly good man and the zeal of a true patriot, but that he also lacked the views and audacity of a true statesman.

In 1793, Jacques Roux also claimed to have gone home to Marat the year before and there have received ”a letter for Robespierre and for Chabot, the goal of which was to interest the Jacobin club to propagate an edition of your works.” I can however find no letter from Marat to Robespierre in the latter’s correspondence, nor even a letter to or from Robespierre that so much as mentions Marat (and the same thing goes for Marat’s correspondence). So did Robespierre actually receive this letter, we might assume he didn’t think all that much about it.

Despite Robespierre’s frosty attitude, Marat continued to hold admiration for him when he started up his journal again on April 12 1792, dedicating almost all of number 648 (May 3) and number 660 (May 29) with defending him against girondin attacks, a struggle which he describes as existing ”between the traitor Brissot and the Incorruptible Robespierre” (number 643 April 28 1792).

On September 9, Robespierre held a speech which he ended by recommending voting for Marat and Legendre for the National Convention (he did however deny that be had singled out Marat ”any more particularly than the courageous writers who had fought or suffered for the cause of the revolution” two months later). On September 21 1792, the day after the opening of said Convention, the last number of l’Ami du peuple appears, and a few days later Marat starts a new journal — Journal de la République française (it changed name to Le Publiciste de la République française in March 1793) that would run up until his death in July the following year. In total, Robespierre’s name gets mentioned around 35 times in this journal. As far as I can see, Marat does however appear to have cooled down a bit with his praising, mostly mentioning Robespierre in the context of reciting something he’s said or at tops mentioning him alongside other ”patriotic” deputies. In number 239, released the day before his death, Marat inserts a letter to Robespierre from a certain Labenette, ”orator of the people.”

The fact that Robespierre and Marat didn’t have any contacts with one another was not something that was believed by all contemporaries. Already in 1791, the journal Le Défenseur du Peuple had describedthe former as ”the friend of Marat, who he pretends to doesn’t know.” These allegations got a lot more serious in the fall of 1792, with the two plus Danton being accused of wanting to form a triumvirate, or having arranged the September Massacres together. On September 25 Marat openly denied that any of these allegations aligned with reality, that he had discussed the idea if a dictatorship or triumvirate with Danton and Robespierre, but that both had rejected it:

Certain members of the Paris deputation are accused of aspiring to dictatorship, to triumvirate, to tribunate; This absurd indictment can only find supporters because I am part of this deputation: well! monsieurs, I owe it to justice to declare that my colleagues, notably Danton and Robespierre, constantly rejected any idea of ​​dictatorship, triumvirate and tribunate, when I put it forward; I even had to break several lances with them on this subject.

The very same day, Robespierre made allusions to Marat when regretfully declaring ”it was then that the thoughtless phrases of an exaggerated patriot or the signs of confidence he gave to men whose incorruptibility he had experienced for three years were attributed to us as crimes.”

On October 19 appeared the first number of Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre, membre de la Convention nationale de France, à ses commettants. In number 6, when discussing Marat getting interupted when laying out some own theories on the battalions of Mauconseil to the point that the Jacobins have to move with the agenda due to the tumult, Robespierre writes: ”Whatever the deviations of Marat's imagination, good citizens nonetheless groaned to see personal sentiments make the interests of immocence and oppressed patriotism forgotten, and hateful passions banished from the sanctuary of the laws. dignity, calm and love of humanity.” In number 9 he also writes that ”in his wanderings, Marat often encountered the truth.”

Robespierre also mentioned Marat when the Lettres in January 1793 got renewed for a second edition, starting already in number 1, where he for long defended himself against the girondin Gensonné linking him and Marat together:

What obstinacy to want me to be someone other than myself? It doesn't even matter to you that everyone believes that I named Marat: having been unable to succeed, you have decided to repeat my name so often with his, that I was at least taken for an accessory of this great character, so celebrated in your pages; as if I had not had an existence of my own, several years before you had decided to strip me of it; as if my constituents and my fellow citizens had not been able to judge me by my own actions; while Marat wrote underground, and Brissot still obscurely intrigued, with the henchmen of the old police, his colleagues, and crawled in the antechambers of the men in power. In the past, I still remember, Brissot and a few others had entered into I don't know what conspiracy to make my name almost synonymous with that of Jérôme Pétion; they took so much trouble to put them together. I don't know if it was for love of me or of Pétion: but they seemed to have plotted to send me to immortality, in company with the great Jérôme. I have been ungrateful; and, to punish me, they said: since you don't want to be Pétion, you will be Marat. Well, I declare to you, monsieurs, that I want to be neither. I have the right, I think, to be consulted on this, and you will perhaps not dispose of my being in spite of myself. 

It's not that I want to deny Marat the justice that is due to him. In his papers, which are not always models of style or wisdom, he nevertheless stated useful truths, and waged open war against all powerful conspirators, although he may have been wrong about a few individuals. I know that he did not spare you yourselves: but this merit has not erased in my eyes, these extravagant sentences which he sometimes mixed with the healthiest ideas, as if to give to you and to your likes, the pretext of slandering liberty. It was said a long time ago that, in this respect, Marat was the father of the moderates and the feuillans; we could say for the same reason that he is also your boss; and we would be tempted to believe that he only punishes you because he loves you. I bet you love him too, although you pretend to shout very loudly at the slightest correction he gives you. Indeed, what would you be without him? What would become of all your newspapers and all your harangues if he had not written these two or three absurd and bloodthirsty sentences, which you constantly strive to repeat and comment on? You would have perhaps been reduced to becoming patriots, if he had not provided you with the pretext of disguising patriotism as maratism, in order to give to incivism, feuillantism, royalism and rascality, I don't know what air of wisdom and moderation. 

It is so convenient for the enemies of liberty to simply appear to be the adversaries of Marat, and to confuse the cause of liberty with the person of an individual, in order to be excused from respecting it. Such was the policy of the first aristocrats, and of the heroes of the intrigue, whose disgraces you will share, after having imitated their exploits. Like them, you want to persuade all of Europe that the Republicans of France, that the partisans of the principles of equality, are only one faction, and that this faction is Marat himself. Thus, thanks to the gift of metamorphoses with which you are eminently endowed, Paris, the Jacobins, the members of the Convention, who do not bend to the views of the intriguers, and Marat are precisely the same thing. All the energetic friends of liberty are, at most, only satellites drawn into the whirlwind of this new star. With this magical name, you claim to overthrow the entire work of our revolution. It is to carry out this great work that you write, that you print, that you speak, that you plot tirelessly: but the revolution will triumph over the name of Marat, as well as over your intrigues; we will do justice to you and to him, by disproving his deviations and by disconcerting your plots. A journalist's sentences have never made a guilty head roll; but the plots of ambition that you seem to forget have caused torrents of human blood to flow. The crimes of tyranny cost humanity more disasters than the most heroic periods of the most atrocious writer. Only you, gentlemen, can give importance to an exaggerated man, much less through your declamations than through your conduct. It would not even be noticed under a wise government. It is only oppression that forces the people to pay less attention to faults that they themselves do not believe, than to the courage of those who unmask their enemies.

He defends himself against the charge of him and Marat being the leaders of a coalition, ”when these deputies, too independent to form a coalition, even with a view to the public good, see every day the coalition of factions.” again in number 3. In number 9, the second to last number, he rhetorically asks whether ”giving ridiculous importance to some inconsistent and bizarre journalist, to charge him with all the iniquities of Israel, and to identify with him all the defenders of freedom?” really is such a good way to ensure tranquility.

Between December 1792 up until the death of Marat, we find him and Robespierre taking part in the same debates at both the Convention and the Jacobin club, sometimes agreeing (December 26, February 21) and sometimes disagreeing (December 16, March 3, June 18) with each another.

On January 4 Robespierre complains that a speech made by Barère regarding the fate of Louis XVI ”contains the most violent diatribes against the patriots” for having stated ”If anything could have made me change my mind [on an appeal to the people], it would be to see the same opinion shared by a man whom I cannot bring myself to name (Marat), but who is known for his bloodthirsty opinions...” A month later, February 11, Marat and Robespierre together calmed down a group of petitioners, disgruntled over not having received a hearing at the Convention. When a representative on February 26 asked ”that Marat be temporarily expelled from the Assembly and be locked up so that it could be examined whether he was crazy” and another one ordered the referral of the denunciation to the ordinary courts, ”Robespierre approaches the president, and there he announces that if the decree passes, Paris will be burning today.”

On 12 April Robespierre spoke against the arrest order issued against Marat the very same day — ”One has requested a decree of accusation be drawn up against the warmest patriots […] Marat spoke with force, precision, and at the same time with moderation. He painted the crimes of our enemies with colors capable of making any man who has any sense of modesty blush.…”

When the indictment against Marat was presented on April 13, Robespierre took to the floor a total of three times to speak against it:

To the question that agitates us, we will not disagree that the man in question excites very strong passions; you are asked if you will decree a representative of the people immediately, or if you will postpone until Wednesday; there is no respect there for the principles, and for what we owe to the character of representative of the people: what, you would send a slanderous report, when nothing is proven, and is it not barbaric to put a representative under accusation without examination; this report is the fruit of passions and liberticidal conspiracies. […]

Yes, it will be proven that this man, whom I have always seen as patriotic, was only attacked to prove that all the Republicans in this Assembly are exaggerated and must suffer the same fate. 

…As I see in this whole affair only the developed spirit of the Feuillants, the moderates and all the cowardly assassins of liberty, only a vile intrigue hatched to dishonor patriotism, the departments infested for a long time with the liberticidal writings of royalists, I reject with contempt the proposed decree of accusation.

Marat was acquitted on April 24, and four days later, a motion proposed by him with an amendment from Robespierre was passed at the Jacobin Club.

One day after the murder of Marat, July 14 1793, Robespierre spoke against the idea of granting him a state funeral, arguing that there were much more urgent things that needed to be taken care of before that could happen:

Robespierre: I have little to say to the Society. I would not even have asked to speak had the right to do so not somehow devolved to me at this moment; if I did not foresee that the honors of the dagger are also reserved for me, that priority has only been determined by chance, and that my fall is fast approaching. When a man, deeply sensitive and imbued with a love of the public good, sees his enemies raise their heads with impunity, and already share the spoils of the State, and his friends, on the contrary, frightened by oppression, flee a murderous soil and abandon it to fate, he becomes insensitive to everything, and no longer sees in the tomb anything other than a safe and precious asylum reserved by Providence for virtue. I believed that a session which followed the murder of one of the most zealous defenders of the fatherland, would be entirely occupied with the means of avenging him by serving said fatherland better than before. We haven't talked about it, and what are you occupying yourselves with in this precious time, for the use of which we are accountable? We are dealing with outrageous hyperboles, ridiculous and meaningless figures, which do not provide a remedy to the thing at hand and prevent it from being found. For example, you are seriously asked to discuss the fortune of Marat. Well! What does the fortune of one of its founders matter to the Republic? Is it a memoir that we are going to occupy ourselves with, when it is still a question of fighting for it? One is speaking of the honors of the Pantheon. And what are these honors? Who are those who lie there? With the exception of Le Peletier, I can’t see a single virtuous man there. Is it next to Mirabeau we will place Marat? Next to this intriguing man whose means were always criminal; this man who only earned his reputation through profound villainy? Here we have are the honors requested for the Friend of the People.

Bentabole: Yes, and he will obtain them in spite of those who are jealous of him.

Robespierre: Let us occupy ourselves with the measures which can still save our fatherland; let's make the effect of Pitt's guineas null. Let's bring the Cobourg and the Brunswick back to their territories. It is not today that we must show the people the spectacle of a funeral ceremony, but when finally victorious, the strengthened Republic will allow us to take care of its defenders; all of France will then ask for it and you will undoubtedly grant Marat the honors that his virtue deserves, that his memory demands. Do you know what impression the spectacle of funeral ceremonies attaches to the human heart! They make the people believe that the friends of liberty are thereby compensating themselves for the loss they have caused, and that from then on they are no longer required to avenge it; satisfied with having honored the virtuous man, this desire to avenge him dies in their hearts, and indifference succeeds enthusiasm and his memory runs the risk of oblivion. Let us not stop seeing what can still save us. The assassins of Marat and Peletier must come and atone on the Place de la Révolution for the atrocious crime of which they are guilty. It is necessary that the perpetrators of tyranny, the unfaithful representatives of the people, those who display the banner of revolt, who are convinced that they are sharpening the daggers on their heads every day, of having murdered the fatherland and a few of its members; it is necessary, I say, that the blood of these monsters responds to us and avenges us for that of our brothers which flowed for liberty, and which they shed with such barbarity. We must share the most painful burdens of the State; one must instruct all the people and gently lead them back to their duties; the other must render them exact justice: one must make food flow everywhere; the other deals exclusively with agriculture and the means of multiplying its relations; another must make wise laws; someone else must raise a revolutionary army, exercise and harden it, and know how to guide it in battle. Each of us must, forgetting ourselves at least for a while, embrace the Republic and devote ourselves unreservedly to its interests. The municipality must rule out, for the moment, a funeral celebration, which at first seemed dear to our hearts, but whose effects, as I have demonstrated, can become disastrous.

The following day, July 15, Robespierre asked that Marat’s printing presses be obtained by the Jacobins, a request a different member had already made the day before. A week later, July 22, the club tasked Robespierre, Desmoulins, Dufourny and Le Peletier’s brother with writing an adress to the French people about the murder. Said adress was printed and read aloud at the club four days later, obviously deploring of the event and praising Marat.

On August 5, Robespierre denounced Jacques Roux and Jean Théophile Victor Leclerc as ”two men paid by the enemies of the people, two men that Marat denounced [that] have succedeed, or think they have succeeded this patriot writer.” Three days later, August 8, Simonne Evrard, ”the widow Marat” presented herself before the Convention and held a long speech defending her dead fiancé’s memory, that in her view had gotten hijacked by ”scroundel writers” and in particular the two men already denounced by Robespierre. After her speech was finished, Robespierre again took to the floor to demand that the speech be printed and ”that the Committee of General Security be required to examine the conduct of the two mercenary writers denounced to it; the memory of Marat must be defended by the Convention and by all patriots.” Indeed, Roux and Leclerc would soon thereafter find themselves imprisoned, the former in September 1793, the latter in April 1794. How much of this was Robespierre being genueinly concerned for Marat’s memory and how much it was him using said memory to rid himself of a political rival I will leave unsaid…

On November 23, when Robespierre gives clarifications regarding the CPS changing the general in charge of the taking of Toulon, he says that it was on the recommendation of Marat that the new general had been promoted to rank of brigade leader. ”Marat could have been wrong, but his recommendation was a very favorable presumption in favor of an individual; he has always justified it since.” On 10 January 1794 he exclaims that ”my dictatorship is that of Le Peletier, of Marat. Or I don’t mean that, I don't want to say that I resemble them: I'm neither Marat nor Pelletier; I am not yet a martyr of the Revolution; I have the same dictatorship as them, that is to say the daggers of tyrants.” In an undelivered speech written shortly thereafter he again describes Marat and Le Pelerier as martyrs and Leclerc and Roux as”mercenary writers, daring to usurp the name of Marat, to desecrate it.”

Finally, on 9 thermidor, we find the following two claims made against Robespierre that involves Marat. (1, 2) I will leave them as they are as it’s very hard to know if they’re legit or not:

Dubois-Crancé: I must pay tribute to the sagacity of Marat: at the time of the judgment of the tyrant Capet, he said to me, speaking of Robespierre: ”You see that rascal? That man is more dangerous for liberty than all the allied despots.” 

Collot d’Herbois: I am going to cite a fact which will prove that Robespierre, who for some time spoke only of Marat, always hated this constant friend of the people. At Marat's funeral, Robespierre spoke for a long time on the platform that had been set up in front of the Luxembourg, and the name of Marat did not come out of his mouth once; Can the people believe that a person loves Marat when he angrily declares that he doesn’t want to be assimilated to him? No, although these hypocrites talked incessantly about Marat and Challier, they loved neither of the two.

Alphonse Esquiros, who tracked down Marat’s younger sister Albertine for an interview in the 1830s or 1840s, reported that it was ”with bitterness” she spoke of Robespierre. ”There was nothing in common, she added, between him and Marat. Had my brother lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmoulins would not have fallen.”

Robespierre’s little sister Charlotte (who Albertine despised) did in her turn write the following regarding the relationship in her memoirs (1834). This anecdote is however suspeciously similar to the meeting Marat and Robespierre describe as having happened in January 1792, in which Charlotte impossibly could have taken part, still not having gone to Paris by then:

I have often heard my brother’s name attached to that of Marat, as if the way of thinking, the sympathies, the acts of those two men were the same, as if they had acted in concert. It is thus that the portraits and busts of Voltaire and Rousseau are placed side by side, as if those two great writers had been the best friends in the world when they were alive, while in truth they found each other insufferable. I do not claim to discount Marat’s merit, nor make an attempt on the purity of his devotion and of his intentions. Some have dared to say that he was in the pay of foreigners; but have they not said that of my brother? The field of the absurd is immense and limitless. Have they not said of Maximilien Robespierre that he had asked the young daughter of Louis XVI in marriage? After such an accusation nothing should be surprising anymore; more burlesque and impossible assertions must be expected; it is the nec plus ultra of inanity. To return to Marat, I will dare to affirm that he was not an agent of foreigners, as it has pleased some to say; Marat had felt the infamies of the Ancien Régime and the poverty of the people strongly; his fiery imagination and his irascible temperament had made him an ardent, and too often even imprudent, revolutionary; but his intentions, I repeat, were good. My brother disapproved of his exaggerations and his rages, and believed, as he said many times to me, that the course adopted by Marat was more detrimental than useful to the revolution. One day Marat came to see my brother. This visit surprised us, for, usually, Marat and Robespierre had no rapport. They spoke first of affairs in general, then of the turn the revolution was taking; finally, Marat opened the chapter on revolutionary rigors, and complained of the mildness and the excessive indulgence of the government.  “You are the man whom I esteem perhaps the most in the world,” Marat said to my brother, “but I would esteem you more if you were less moderate in regard to the aristocrats.”  “I will reproach you with the contrary,” my brother replied; “you are compromising the revolution, you make it hated in ceaselessly calling for heads. The scaffold is a terrible means, and always a grievous one; it must be used soberly and only in the grave cases where the fatherland is leaning toward its ruin.”  “I pity you,” said Marat then, “you are not at my level.”  “I would be quite grieved to be at your level,” replied Robespierre. “You misunderstand me,” returned Marat, “we will never be able to work together.”  “That’s possible,” said Robespierre, “and things will only go the better for it.”  ”I regret that we could not come to an understanding,” added Marat, “for you are the purest man in the Convention.”

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Thanks for the tag @artemisia-black 🥰🥰🥰!

1. Are you named after anyone? No- my parents just liked my name.

2. When was the last time you cried? Not sure, probably about 3 weeks ago talking to my sister about a family member who isn’t well.

3. Do you have kids? Yes 🥰🥰

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Occasionally with annoying people (mostly just online if I see an extremely rude eejit)

5. What sports do you play/have you played? I have played basketball, tennis (horrifically badly), table tennis. I used to go horse riding for years but stopped when I went to university

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Their smile, and how they make me feel (comfortable, relaxed, excited, nervous etc)

7. Scary movies or happy endings? If by scary movies you mean horror - I hate horror films except for Blair Witch Project, and happy endings win nearly always!

8. Any special talents? I’m ok at art, but honestly nothing extraordinary

9. Where were you born? Abroad 😉

10. What are your hobbies? HP (obvs), (trying to) writing, hiking, reading, going to cinema and theatre. I agree with you that buying books is also an expensive but excellent hobby. Recently also gardening (scary sign of my age!!)

11. Do you have any pets? Had dog but he died :(

12. All-time fave piece of media? I don’t have one. I have lots of books and films and plays and music and art I love

13. Fave subject in school? History, English and biology

14. Dream job? Current but less busy. Or ideally also/or a full time writer

15. Eye colour? Eh, grey/blue/green - I never know WTF to put in my passport! They seem to change with light, it’s probably actually greyish blue with bilateral inner heterochromia (hazel ring in centre) like a less nice/exciting/clear version of this:

Tagging @mollymarymarie @therealrjlupin @tracingpatternswrites @squintclover @breathing-and-stuff @mppmaraudergirl @theresthesnitch @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @stonecoldhedwig and anyone else who wants to <333

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 7

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, Discussion of Murder, Arranged Marriage

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

The fact that Oriana had taken off her necklace after nearly a century and then promptly left the mountain again after breakfast that next morning…well that probably would leave plenty of Tartera foaming at the mouth. 

Enya promised to write to her about all the gossip and theories that would swirl around the mountain after her departure…her grandmother gave her a secret smile, and her mother hugged her…

And then Cyrus and her made their way out of the mountain. 

“How are you feeling now that it’s gone?” he asked her. She thought about it for just a moment, swallowing against the feeling of a free throat…nothing, absolutely nothing holding her to Wynstan anymore…

“Free,” she answered. “I feel free.”

“So putting yourself through that was worth it?” Cyrus asked her, no judgment in his voice. “You could have died. I do not have enough sisters that I could afford to lose you.” He said it lightly but she could read between the lines. 

She tucked herself under her brother's arms in response. 

“You aren’t going to lose me,” she promised him. “But I wanted nothing to tie me to him anymore. Not after what he did.”

“You didn’t tell Grandma or Mama about it,” Cyrus said softly. 

“Would it result in anything but to hurt them?” she asked him. “It has been nearly a century.”

She was over it. Or at least she liked to pretend she was. Could somebody really get over something like that? Oriana wasn’t sure. 

But she could try.

“Will you tell Azriel?” he wondered as they reached the entrance. 

She hummed. “I think I owe him the truth.”

She owed him an explanation…and…well. She didn’t want there to be secrets like that. There was no need for that. Not about this. 

He was her mate. Created by the Mother to be her second half. 

And she did trust him. So why not trust him with this as well? 

She was thinking about it when they finally reached the Rainbow. The hike down the mountain had been enough for her, especially with her magic still being weak after she had expelled so much of it, just two days ago. 

The tell-tale cramp that nearly made her double over as soon as she walked up the stairs made her groan. 

Were six months over already? 

It clearly seemed like that. 

There wasn’t much she could do against it. High Fae cycles were notoriously bad. Tartera were more lucky about it, less painful but seemed to take an awfully long time…well, Oriana already hated the 3 or 4 days that she needed to spend in bed twice a year. 

It sucked. 

Especially right now. 

She just about managed a shower, before the worst of them hit, and she crawled into her bed, downing the first of many pain relief potions she kept stocked in her apartment just for that. 

Enya made them especially for her, different for day and night, though right now Oriana really considered just knocking herself out cold to get some relief. 

The shadows were swirling around her like they were being worried, but they didn’t ask. 

Still, crawling into bed under a mountain of blanket and closing her eyes for just a moment seemed…nice. 

She woke up to the sound of steps in her living room. She had enough trust in the wards she set that there really was just one person that it could be. 

“Bedroom, Azriel!” she called her voice hoarse, forcing herself to sit up. 

She heard him hesitate for just a moment. “If you want a conversation, you’ll need to come to me,” she mumbled, sure that his shadows were going to tell him what she just said as she let herself fall back into her pillows. 

She had really hoped that the first time she got him into her bedroom would be under different circumstances. 

Like this, she saw his nostrils flaring as he entered her room, freezing in place. 

“I smell blood,” were his first words to her, eyebrows furrowing.

She sighed. “Yeah, that’s me,” she quipped with some amusement. “Azriel. You are 500 years old. You can surely figure out why I smell like blood and don’t have an injury.”

He swallowed and she watched dark hazel eyes widen. “It’s your cycle?” he asked her, his voice quiet. 

“Congrats. You aren’t an idiot,” she gave back drolly. “Are you gonna come here, or will I need to continue to crane my head?” she asked him with a sigh. 

She hoped he wasn’t going to be too angry with her. 

That was all the permission he needed to carefully sit down on the edge of her bed. 

He reached out with a shaking hand, a broad palm curling against her cheek and she leaned into his touch. She met his eyes, seeing the softening nearly imperceptively. 

Not that angry after all.  

“You are looking horrible ,” Azriel said quietly. 

Her lips pulled into a smile. “You really know how to treat a lady,” Oriana responded, her voice hoarse. “You know, this really sucks. I took off that stupid necklace and I was in a celebratory mood, even if my magic was around as weak as a kitten. And now this .”

“What happened?” Azriel asked her softly. “The shadows said something about a fire chamber?” he prodded her and she sighed. 

“Are you sure you want to know the whole story?” she asked him. 

He nodded. “Yes,” Azriel said. “Everything. I can’t demand your secrets, I know that. But whatever you want to share with me…” he trailed off. 

“Alright. But can you do something for me first?” she asked him. If she was already going to recount everything that happened, then…well the least she could do was to make sure that she was comfortable. And he was as well. 

She knew it was going to take a little while. 

“Anything,” Azriel said softly, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss against it. 

“Lay down next to me?” she requested softly. 

He nodded at that, standing up and walking around the bed, kicking off his shoes, and then crawling on the bed next to her. 

He held out his hand questioningly and she turned to her side so that it was the two of them facing each other, her head tucked under his. Oriana heard his wings rustle behind him, probably stretching out so that he was comfortable. 

Feeling him so close to her, a warm, broad hand settling on her back, the other still holding hers…it made her forget her pain for just a moment. 

“I’ll start at the beginning,” she said softly. “I was born as the third daughter of the first daughter of Cyra, the Custodian of the Mountain. Do you know what that means?” she asked him. 

If he didn’t, now was the time to explain it to him. 

“It means that you are the closest thing your kind has to a princess ,” Azriel said drily. “You never mentioned that before though,” he pointed out and she shrugged, closing her eyes. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” Oriana said softly. “I don’t claim the title, I don’t even live in the mountain anymore. The shadows told you?” she wondered. 

He hummed his agreement. 

“That also told me that you took your knives with you,” he told her, his voice sounding proud. “Thank you for that. And they said that you are called Oriana Fireborn.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up at that. 

“Well, I was. Fireborn that is,” she said with a shrug. “I use Belmonde as a surname…but Oriana Fireborn is who I am in the mountain.” 

“200 years ago…None of us was married when I reached the age of majority. Not Titania, my oldest sister…nor Enya, the middle sister,“ she explained softly. “There had been talk about a marriage alliance of our family to Wynstan’s family for decades, but it was coming to a point where... It was going to happen. One way or another,” she started her story quietly. 

“Let other creatures make war, let Tartera marry,” Oriana recounted. “That has always been our unofficial family motto.” 

They had taken their pacifist leanings as far as they could. They didn’t want to make war. They wanted to make art. 

But that only worked if people knew that it was very stupid to fight with them for the mining rights in the Mountains. 

Azriel made a soft noise and she curled nearer to him. Right here in her bedroom, surrounded by him and his calming scent, it only seemed half as bad. 

“My mother made multiple marriage alliances throughout her life. Titania and Kiran are from one male, Enya and Samson from another. And then me and Cyrus,” Oriana continued. “From a political standpoint, I was worth less than Titania and Enya. I was only a third daughter, after all.”

Azriel nearly growled at that. She held his hand a bit tighter. 

“I am only half Tartera. But my magic made me attractive. A more powerful female promises more powerful offspring,” she recounted, not letting bitterness bleed into her tone. “Titania was in love with Toron. But Toron was not coming from any kind of prominent family…and for the heiress to Cyra, that was…well….” she trailed off, searching for the right word. 

“Not good?” Azriel offered and she just nodded in agreement. 

“Grandmother wouldn’t have cared, but my mother was displeased ,” she said quietly. “Which is ridiculous because she herself picked my father. But in her mind, she had already given birth to two heiresses that could take on the mantle of my grandmother and now she was really allowed to have some fun. Or something like that…But she wanted Titania to marry Wynstan’s brother, Titus. And if not Titania should marry him…then Enya,” she explained. 

“Titania was in love with Toron. And Enya…Enya has never wanted any kind of romantic companionship. She’s stonehearted. That’s what we call it. She never outright stated it…but…It’s obvious,” Oriana continued. Neither of her sisters had been options. 

She couldn’t watch one sister lose the male she loved…or see the other being absolutely miserable by playing at being a wife when all Enya had ever been was a healer. 

Enya wasn’t interested in anything but friendship from anybody. 

And it wouldn’t have been fair to put her into a position where she was expected to…

“It was either going to be my sisters, both of which would be absolutely miserable in an arranged marriage… Or it could be me.”

Azriel was silent, and then scarred fingers reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, stroking the lightly pointed tip of it. “And you wouldn’t be miserable?” he said softly. 

Oriana grimaced. “I would have been if I married Titus. But I didn’t. I set my sights on his younger brother. Wynstan. He was my age. Not as magically gifted or strong as me, but he was a gifted silversmith. Not the best but far from the worst. And if I married him, his father would get the alliance he wanted…” she trailed off pointedly, opening her eyes and looking at him, begging him to understand. 

“And your sisters would be free,” Azriel ended her sentence. She just nodded. 

Her voice shook as she continued, as she thought about these days, so long ago…and still so fresh in her mind. “I thought I could be happy with Wynstan. If not that, then at least content,” Oriana recounted. “He was a friend. I thought���I could grow to love him.”

And by the cauldron, she had tried. 

“And did you?” Azriel wondered, nearly sounding curious. 

“As a friend, yes. As anything else? No,” she whispered. She couldn’t even look at him as she admitted that.  “I never loved him like a wife should.”

It was a harsh truth that she didn’t like to dwell on.

Maybe it was her fault.  

“Wynstan was more similar to his father and brother than I thought he was,” Oriana finally said. “He couldn’t deal with the fact that I was only a half-breed, but I still had all the inborn abilities of a full-blooded Tartera. I was better silversmith than him, even when that was never my passion…I was the foremost enchantress of the mountain after my father’s death. I took over his place, without a moment of hesitation. I made money hand over fist.  I was good , Azriel. I was the best ,” Oriana whispered as he cradled her face. It wasn’t even arrogant that she said that. 

It was the simple truth. 

“What happened then?” Azriel asked softly. 

She took a deep breath before she let it escape again. 

“A few decades into our marriage… Wynstan wanted children, but by then I was…hesitant because our marriage was not going smoothly at all,” Oriana recounted, grimacing. “We fought. Constantly. About that, about my work, about my place at my grandmother’s council table…And then..well. It all came to a head.”

She closed her eyes again, her hands tightening against his hand, a warm broad hand on her back keeping her anchored in the present, as she fought her way through memories. 

“I still don’t know what it was that finally made him decide… that… that getting rid of me was the way to go,” she forced out. “Maybe…I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to kill me. Maybe he just wanted to hurt me badly enough that I was going to be…crippled in some way.”

She was in a way. 

“Everybody thinks it was an accident,” she whispered. “But it wasn’t. I know that.”

“Maybe he just figured that if I didn’t have children with him, I should have never had them with anyone. Maybe…” she trailed off, pressing her eyes closed, because she couldn’t look at Azriel when she recounted the worst of it. 

She felt his hands tighten against her. 

“Wynstan…said he was experimenting,” she whispered. “It’s…different metals can carry different amounts of magic. You can get around it with a few tricks, but…if you aren’t careful…then you overload them. And they each react differently to that. You need to be really careful with silver,“ she explained to him, her voice shaky. “If you pour too much magic into it and you don’t have the control you need... it doesn’t end well. Wynstan used to have that control. He was a good silversmith and he knew what he was doing.”

“He made a silver sword that day,” Oriana said softly. “I remember that…He didn’t do weapons. Neither of us did. Not really. He forged it and he dunked it in this pool of magic-infused…potion and…It… One moment it was all fine,” Oriana whispered. 

“ One moment he was showing me the sword…and then…then he dunked it in the potion…and…then the sword was in… me .” Every word came out haltingly. 

She felt more than heard Azriel pulling in a sharp breath. 

She remembered everything. The pain. She remembered. She remembered looking down and being impaled and…

“And…I didn’t do it on purpose…but…the magic…my magic…it…it lashed out.” She begged him to understand. 

“You killed him,” Azriel said, his voice quiet in realisation. “Your magic defended you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I…I burned him. I burned everything . I don’t know how. There was nothing but…a corpse, burned to a crisp. I must have made a magical fire, but I was…unscathed. Just that…sword. Buried in me…” She could feel the tears bite in her eyes, felt them drip over her face…

and then Azriel was enveloping her in his arms, pulling her even closer to a broad chest, until they were intertwined. 

“It was self-defence, Oriana,” he whispered. “He tried to kill you.”

“I took his life without a thought,” she whispered, her fingers weakly curling against him. “It wasn’t even on purpose. I just…I burned him. I burned everything.”

He shushed her, broad hands spanning her body. 

“The sword…” he finally asked…”

“I melted that,” she whispered. “While it was still stuck in me. I…Enya doesn’t think I’ll be able to have…” She didn’t need to end the sentence. 

Wynstan hadn’t taken her life. But he had probably taken her ability to have children. “I should have told you before,” she whispered. “You deserved to know that.”

It wasn’t something she liked to think about, to dwell on. And she hadn’t needed to. For decades. Until now. 

“No,” Azriel disagreed. “That’s alright. That’s wasn’t…I don’t care,” he promised her, fiercely. 

“You don’t want children?” she wondered and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. 

“I never even thought about it,” he admitted quietly. “I never even thought I would get to have a mate, to have you. So no. It doesn’t matter. I can have you and that’s all I need.”

That was everything she wished to hear, she tipped up her head and he brushed a kiss against her lips before he leaned his forehead against hers. 

“You are the only one who thought that the experiment going wrong was on purpose?” Azriel asked, puzzled and she just nodded. 

“Wynstan knew better than that,” she said quietly. “I…it was nothing that he hadn’t done dozens of times. There was no reason to repeat it. There was no reason to even make the sword. He was a silversmith, not a blacksmith,” she recounted. “He was upset with me, from a fight the evening before,” she explained. “I think he acted out of anger. Maybe he realised that I was never going to love him.”

Azriel said nothing, still holding her tightly. 

“Enya saved my life. But even she could do nothing against the scar. Not with the magic that was still pooling there,” Oriana continued softly. “And then…I overheard my mother talking later…And I made the necklace into what it eventually became. I protected myself. I couldn’t let any male do this to me again.”

“She was talking about marrying you off again after you just nearly died and your husband was dead,” Azriel said flatly and she sighed. 

“The alliance of our families was on very thin ice. Their youngest son dead,” she agreed. “I understand where she was coming from. But I couldn’t let them do that again…So I…played the grieving widow,” Oriana whispered, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.  “And then I moved out of the mountain…and for 80 years, I was completely fine with just being myself and never worrying about any male ever again. And then you came, Azriel.”

And suddenly…she had been in love again. 

“What happened two days ago?” Azriel finally asked her. “You wanted to remove the necklace?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I figured out that the safest way to break the enchantment I placed and get rid of the necklace…well, that was to cancel out the anti-melting charm and let the fire have at it,” she admitted. “Fire has never hurt me. I had trust in my abilities.”

“The necklace burned you last week.” 

“Yeah…It wasn’t the best idea I ever had,” she admitted drily, making him snort in dark amusement. “We have a…There is a chamber. Deep in the mountain. We call it the fire chamber. It’s home to the Eternal Flame. It’s our…religious focus,” she said softly. “If the mountain has a beating heart, this flame is it. As long as it burns and burns and burns…the world is alright. If it ever goes out…the world as we know it will be ending,” she said softly. 

“If we are old…and ready to depart from this world, Tartera walk into the flames. We bless children when they are born by passing them through it…and if the eternal flame gifts you a piece of herself…you are blessed.”

Like it had given her.  

“It…purifies,” she explained softly. “But to come to the flame in the middle…you need to walk through the rings of fire. We only ever use the outermost rings for our ceremonies. That was the one I was planning to use…Use the containment in the fire chamber, burn off the necklace, and return it to the flame and the mother. I was…going to walk through the first ring…and that was it.” 

“But it wasn’t,” Azriel said quietly. She nodded. 

“It wasn’t,” she agreed. 

“How many rings are there? 

“Three.”

“Through how many did you walk?” 

“Three…then I reached the Eternal Flame.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand and he reached out for her neck, for the dark skin that lay there, unblemished, free. 

“The necklace was still there. I was desperate,” she continued. “So I walked into the Flame…I knew the risks. I knew that if I…if the Flame didn’t think that my purpose was pure…It would judge me. But I…I couldn’t live like this. I wanted no part of him anywhere near me anymore. I didn’t want this reminder of a marriage I never really wanted in the first place around my neck like a noose,” she whispered, desperately.  

“You could have died,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I thought you died. For just one moment, I thought...”

“I am sorry,” she apologised. She had never wanted to hurt him. Not like this. Not…ever. 

“I would have rather never kissed you again than have you die because of it,” Azriel finally said. “I need you to know that.”

“I was selfish. I did this for me.”

“If you ever do anything like this ever again, I am going to be so angry with you,” he whispered, and then kissed her again, desperation bleeding into it. 

And she curled her hands against his chest and held on. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her whole life was there, laid out for him to see. 

Every bit of trauma, everything she had gone through…her reasoning of why she had done what she had done. 

And he looked at her. 

He wondered if she had worried that his view of her was going to change. 

Maybe it had. 

Azriel had seen Oriana as pure light and sunshine. But now he realised that he had been wrong. 

She was the fire. Beautiful and deadly all the same. 

She hadn’t killed on purpose. He didn’t think that she would be able to live with it if she had. 

But she had killed nonetheless. for her own protection. Her magic and her fire had protected her. 

Good. 

That was what it needed to do. 

Still, as she fell asleep against his chest and he ran his fingers through her hair, for once urged down her back into one long braid, not pinned up, he suddenly realised how long it was.

The smell of her blood and pain was still lingering, even with the potions she had taken and he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it any better. 

But he could be there. 

And that was all he wanted to do. 

So he waited, looking at her, committing everything to memory, the way her brows furrowed, her hand stayed curled into his shirt. 

She had told him everything. And he…he still hadn’t.

She had told him about her family…about her husband who had tried to kill her (And he agreed with her assessment that it had been on purpose. Otherwise the pieces just wouldn’t have fit together.)...she told him that she never would be able to have children. 

He had never really thought that he would ever be in a place to have children in the first place. Didn’t think that a mate was waiting for him that thought that he would be worth the trouble. 

He hadn’t thought any of that. 

But he had Oriana now. And the idea of having children with her…that would have been…nice. And still…if it never worked out, then that was fine. He would never love her less for that. 

And he did love her. 

She moved in his arms lightly. “You should have kept me awake,” she murmured and he just pressed another kiss to her brow, delicately tracing his fingertips over her soft skin. so different to his own. 

“You need to rest,” Azriel disagreed softly. “What do you think, I’ll make dinner?” he suggested. 

“You can cook?” Oriana wondered with a yawn and with a grimace he thought back to rabbits over open fire in the Illyrian Steppes. If you could call that cooking…

“I can make a mean spit-roasted rabbit,” he finally answered drily and she stared at him. 

“If I am like that, all I can keep down is Porridge,” she warned him. Ah. Well, he could manage that at least. 

“I can do that,” he agreed. 

“My kitchen is yours then,” Oriana said, giving him one of these soft smiles of hers. “If you want to make yourself something else, be my guest too.”

He did manage to make porridge without burning down her kitchen. He even managed to scrounge up a handful of blueberries to put on top of it, mostly thanks to some curious shadows that slithered through Oriana’s cabinets.

“Here,” he finally said as he handed her the bowl. She had made her way to her couch, pulled that ugly blanket over her and he sat down next to her.  “Your kitchen has not burned down.”

“I wasn’t aware that that was an option,” she gave back with some amusement. “Thank you. This is good,” she told him with a smile. It was. 

It was so domestic and he loved every minute of it. 

“Will you stay the night?” Oriana asked him suddenly and he stared at her. What?

He hadn’t expected that invitation. It had been their unspoken truce that he never stayed the night. He would go home. 

“I…If you do, I can…take a stronger potion. I don’t do it if I am alone,” she said softly. “And…I missed you, Azriel.” 

These words from her…there were…

His salvation. 

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay. I missed you too.” She smiled at him, a secret lovely thing. 

“Good,” she agreed like she hadn’t just offered him…This. 

They were both quiet as they ate their porridge, though he couldn’t help but stare at her, take in the flawless column of her neck, the necklace that had never really seen to fit her no longer there…just her uninterrupted dark skin. 

“Come to bed, Sweetling,” Oriana said, holding out her hand, as they were both finished with dinner and he stood to take it, letting her lead him to her bedroom. 

The room was somehow so her, with dark red bedding stretched over a metal wrought frame bed, that he half wondered if she had made it herself. 

It was a canopy bed, the metal wrought to be tree branches and there were even tiny leaves and flowers all over it, dotted with precious stones. He took it in for the first time, wondering where one even found something like that. 

It was such a…distinct piece. 

“I made it,” she answered his unspoken question, sitting down on the edge of her bed, and pulling out a corked bottle from her bedside table.

“I need to warn you, there is mirthroot in this. I am mostly just going to fall asleep, but I can’t be held accountable for anything I say while under the influence,” Oriana said drily and he couldn’t help but chuckle at that. 

“All good,” he promised her, thanking a shadow as it dropped a pair of simple linen pants on the other side of the bed. He slipped out of his shirt and put them on, while Oriana stepped into the bathroom. 

She curled up under the blankets as soon as she was back and he joined her there on his side, wings tucked in. 

“Is that comfortable with your wings?” she asked him curiously, pupils already blown wide, probably thanks to whatever concoction she had just taken. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Azril said. He had slept in worse places than a comfortable bed with his mate. Even if he needed to keep his wings tucked in. 

“But I do. Is that how you normally sleep?” she asked him and he sighed. 

No, not really. 

“If it’s just me… I normally sleep on my stomach and stretch them out,” he explained. “But I don’t need to do that to be comfortable,” he hurried to assure her. 

“Do it,” Oriana told him, eyes already closing. “I can sleep through anything.” 

He hesitated for just a moment before he turned and stretched them out, carefully so that he wasn’t accidentally going to hit her with them. Still, one wing came to rest on top of her and Oriana just hummed softly. “Like a leathery blanket,” she mumbled and he couldn’t hold back the quiet laugh as she burrowed herself under his wing and promptly fell asleep. 

If that was the worst thing she said while high on pain potion, that was more than harmless. 

He slept better that night than he had in what felt like centuries. 

All thanks to her. 

The next morning, he woke up before her, once again watching her sleeping face. 

“What are you thinking about?” Oriana said quietly, not even opening her eyes and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. 

“I know all the worst parts of your life. You don’t know mine,”  he admitted honestly. That opened her eyes, the fire in them burning once again. He loved her eyes. 

He had never thought that he would love fire, not after what was done to him. But…her fire…he loved that. 

“Sweetling,” Oriana said quietly. “You don’t owe me this. This is not a transaction,” she told him fiercely, a hand reaching out to curl against his neck, fingernails scratching his scalp. 

He knew that. 

But it still didn’t seem fair. 

He lifted his hands, staring at the scarred flesh, where once skin had melted away, giving free sight of the muscles and tendons and bones underneath. 

“My half-brothers did this to me,” he finally said, the words not sounding like his own voice to himself. “The results of an experiment. How does oil and fire mix?” he continued. 

“Azriel,” Oriana whispered, her voice shaky. But he continued. If he didn’t…he would never get the words out. 

“I was…the result of an affair my father had. My mother spent years working off that particular punishment.  He took me from her and he put me in a cell in the bottom of his keep…and then he kept me there,” Azriel said, his voice even, near without emotions. If he didn’t, then… 

“I think he hoped that I disappear. That I die and just…My stepmother…she wasn’t very pleased with me being the obvious evidence of his infidelity. And her sons, well, they…hated me,” he continued. “I… was…5 years old? Maybe? I don’t even know. Young. A child. My father’s guards came to rescue me when they heard that my screams didn’t stop.” 

Not that that had stopped the pain. It had stopped them from killing him though. 

He had used to wonder if dying in that keep wouldn’t have been a blessing. 

“Azriel,” Oriana whispered, warm hands cupping his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. 

“The shadows…they came to me just days later,” he admitted. 

We did, Master.

“They did?” Oriana asked softly. “Did they keep you safe?” she wondered. 

“They tried,” Azriel whispered. They had tried. Not always succeeded, but they had always, always, been on his side. Unapologetically. 

We are, Master, they agreed quietly. We’ll protect Master and Mistress.

It was like they seemed to want to prove it as they wrapped themselves around Oriana’s wrist once again. 

Oriana caught one of his hands in hers, lifting it to her lips. She pressed a kiss against the scarred skin. 

It was such a sharp contrast to him. Her beauty against the ugliness of his scars. How she even could stand to touch them…he didn’t understand it. 

“I tried everything to get rid of the scars. Nothing worked,” he recounted. “But then…they match. Maybe that’s what I deserve.” 

“What do they match?” Oriana asked him, her brows furrowing. 

He couldn’t help the grimace, the pain that spilt over his face. “They are as ugly as everything these hands have done,” he finally whispered, the self-loathing apparent in his voice. 

For a moment Oriana was quiet. Then she grasped him at the scruff of his neck like a mother cat would do to an unruly kitten. 

“You know for somebody as smart as you are, you are being ridiculous,” she spat out and he was so shocked by her outburst that he just stared at her. “For cauldron’s sake, Azriel! Nobody deserves scars like that! They aren’t some kind of cosmic revenge for whatever bad deeds you may or may not have done in your life.”

“You don’t know what I have done,” he disagreed quietly. “If you did, you wouldn’t…”

“I wouldn’t what? Love you?” she questioned him sharply. “Newsflash, sweetling, there aren’t that many things that you could do that would make me hate you. Unless you murder somebody in cold blood that I love, you are stuck with me,” she told him tightly. 

He was still stuck on her loving him. 

Oriana just barrelled on.  

“So what? You killed in a war. You work for the High Lord. You told me once that you thought you were being righteous. Do you doubt that?” she asked him. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted in a whisper. 

“I think I would worry more if you never doubted it,” Oriana gave back fiercely. “But you do. And there isn’t really enough room in this bond for you, me and your guilt complex, Azriel. You are beautiful. Inside and Out and I am going to tell you that every damn day for the rest of our immortal existence. And don’t you ever think again that you deserved any of the pain somebody else decided to inflict on you again. Because you don’t.” 

[encyclopediacr]

Wiki Survey results: Feedback Pt. 1

Some useful background: Encyclopedia Exandria is a fork of the Critical Role wiki from Fandom. We began initial work in April/May of 2022, and formally announced the split around the time that EXU Calamity aired (early June 2022). A wiki is a living document, so many pages originally created on the Fandom wiki have since been heavily edited, but others have not. Feedback on all pages is helpful, but this is mentioned to give everyone some context on some choices, stylistic changes, and inconsistencies.

Another thing we want to address up front: our editorship is fairly small, and this is a volunteer endeavor. Additionally, within the past year, Critical Role has added both Candela Obscura and Midst - both of which we cover - to their repertoire. Darrington Press has put out two new full games, both of which we cover to an extent; and there are three separate comic series. We are pretty much entirely occupied by keeping up with new content and have not been able to go back to older material in depth. It may put things into perspective that unlike many other fan wikis, we summarize at least 4+ hours of new material almost every week, year-round. The single greatest way to address the majority of this feedback is by becoming an editor - even an infrequent one.

To that end, we are thinking about ways to make editing easier based on some of the feedback we received. Also: there are no qualifications! You do not need to have an encyclopedic knowledge - you just need to be able to look things up and make a good faith effort in citing them. 

We also want to direct you to other fandom projects and official sources, as some of the items we do not cover can be found here:

CR Stats stopped adding new episode information as of the beginning of this year, but has full detailed statistics for Campaigns 1 and 2 and Campaign 3 through episode 81. If you are looking for specific castings of a spell, detailed stats by level, or other granular discrete information, please check out the years of great work they did!

The Omen Archive intends to take up at least part of the mantle from CR Stats and has recently gone live!

The transcript search is an excellent resource as well; we rely on it heavily.

CR's fan art gallery and cosplay galleries are great resources if you are looking for a place to start for fan art and cosplay.

Finally: some of these questions are answered or addressed via the wiki's policies. These are available in the sidebar menu under “Wiki policies and help”. We'll mention some specific examples.

The following addresses constructive feedback from the survey, but thank you to everyone who left positive notes as well as to everyone who provided information on why and how they use the wiki!

The Feedback, Part 1: Existing Pages

The one to address first is quicker updates for new episodes. This is a volunteer endeavor, and the editor who writes the summaries works full time and lives on the East Coast of the US. The summary usually up within 36 hours of the episode's start (ie, by 7 am Pacific time on the following Saturday), and is often up within 24 hours. With the exception of current PC pages and relationship pages, which require some degree of analysis, most pages judged to be relevant to the latest episode are updated before the VOD drops on Monday. If there is someone who has a schedule such that they can immediately write the summary and would volunteer to do so that would be great, but until then, this is a turnaround we are satisfied with.

Relationship pages have recently been updated! These are difficult to keep up to date, and more editors are highly encouraged, especially since relationship pages are one of the more likely sources of bias and so multiple editors and perspectives are helpful in trying to avoid this.

Official images vs fan-created/galleries: All of our images are at this time from official sources (though many official artists are also fan artists). While in theory we would accept fan art and would distinguish that from official art, in practice we have chosen not to. The main reasons are that we want to prioritize canon depictions rather than pushing forth a specific fan's interpretation (with the understanding that there is variation even in official depictions), and, again, time. It takes time to seek out fan art, acquire permission, upload it, and post it. It can become outdated or even in contradiction with canon if we learn new information, and keeping up with permissions can become difficult if the fan artist leaves a social media site or the fandom. We love and support this fandom's artists and hope you check out their work - and our RSS feed on the main page is a great way to get to the fan art gallery - but we have decided not to pursue posting fan art for the above reasons. For more see our Image policy.

Google Search Priority: FANDOM is a for-profit business with an entire SEO team. We are a small group of volunteers. We would love to appear above them in Google searches, but FANDOM's entire business model is ensuring they appear first; they often appear above official materials for various fandoms. We do however own the domains EncyclopediaExandria.com and criticalrolewiki.com, and you can access us through those (which will redirect to our main page).

Style inconsistencies, page length, etc: different editors do different summaries, and have different thoughts re: relevance. The same editor may try new things. The nature of the episode also drives the exact stylistic choices: an all-combat episode will necessarily focus in more depth on the round-by-round combat since that is the content of that episode, whereas a brief skirmish in a more RP-heavy episode might be summarized more succinctly, even if neither combat is particularly heavy on RP or plot. If a difference in style seems to indicate a bias, or if you feel something isn’t being adequately covered in the summaries, please let us know; but as anyone can edit and is encouraged to do so, expect some variation.

Showing the abilities of magical items in table form: We are unsure of the benefit of this, particularly as many items are not terribly complex. If you'd like to elaborate, please feel free to follow up.

E69 or episode 69 or c3e69 not pulling up the episode: C3E69 (and other capitalizations) should work, as does 3x69, so if you have run into issues (especially recently after the server upgrades) please let us know. E69/Episode 69 will not, because if you don't specify a campaign, there are three episode 69s (nice). To make this a bit clearer, imagine you search on episode 1: at this point this could mean the first episode of three different campaigns; the first episode of four Candela chapters; the first episode of two TLOVM seasons; the first episode of three Midst seasons; or the first episode of three EXU miniseries. With that said, we can make a page on episode code conventions if that would be helpful.

Navigability in general: CirrusSearch has recently been turned on and is being stress-tested, so that may help with searching, but we'd love to hear more. We have improved some of the categories, but we’d appreciate more specific feedback.

Covering no longer available content: people are working through old Talks pages. It is a long and ongoing project, and as with everything else, your assistance and patience are appreciated, but it is actively being worked on! We also have a summary of the Feast of Legends, and a number of other since-removed one-shots such as Bar Room Blitz. See above regarding one-shots generally. Summaries for removed one-shots are of a higher priority of this lower-priority group.

Articles that don't correlate with fact or read like meta: This is something we take seriously, and if you could provide specific articles so that we know what it refers to, that would be a major help (the response did not provide any examples of articles) especially because this was an identified issue when a similar survey was run for the Fandom wiki. You can also flag these yourself if you wish; see the Neutral POV policy here, which includes instructions on how to mark a page as needing review.

Requests for a spoiler free option: The choice to not hide spoilers is a conscious one and is outlined in the policy here.

Thank you everyone, and we'll finish up our report of the survey results tomorrow!

[kitkatkey]

HarryKim AU fic recs? I gotcha. Heed each fic tags and double check for smut if you'd rather avoid that.

1) "in the car outside" by paisleycowboys, gym teacher Harry/rcm Kim au fic. They're neighbors, Kim's new in town, and Harry can't help but observe Kim observe him who's observing Kim. They don't get along at first but when feelings catch!!! Oh boy. Oh brother. They're so good for each other.

2) "at this point it was years before..." by RaccoonScientist, originally written in Mandarin translated into English, BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN AND SO MUCH FUN!! Harry and Kim met as children, grow up together as best friends, alternate universe where they do not become cops. I read and reread this fic bc I couldn't get it outta my head.

3) "Static over voice" by sosioban, SO SO SO SO FUCKING GOOD I REREAD THIS RECENTLY (March '24) OOOOOO FUCK!! Harry and Kim meet by chance online playing video game. It is silly. There is pining. They do figure it out.

4) "Du bois coffee" by harvestar, modern au where they work at Harry's coffee shop. Of course they fall in love. Of course they inevitably kiss. Cute fluff. Cuno is mentioned, wish there was more of him in this one.

5) "My Dear Elf with the Clipboard" by Sosioban, more fluff!! Set modern day during Christmas. Kim is a pining mess. He wants Hot Santa so badly it's stupid. Hot Santa is ofc Harry.

6) "Your Turn with the Frog" by sosioban, OH GOD ANOYHER ONE BY SOSIOBAN??? YES!!! love this, read it in one day instead of doing schoolwork. Rushed all that work. Don't regret it. So silly and filled to the brim with smut. Alice, Soona, and Ruby are Kim's friends, Kim is gay, Harry is trans, they're fuck buddies who are both teachers, what can wrong? Kim definitely won't catch feelings. Definitely... WILL BE REREADING THIS ONE

7) "All In Due Time" fic series by Oxycontin. Love love love- so sad sad sad. Kim ages in reverse. His days are numbered. He slowly relearns how to live and how to love and what comes next for everyone else has already happened for him. As time goes on he forgets things. He grows younger. Aging in reverse like Merlin. Some good ol Pale fuckery ya know? I love this series. Extremely well written. Tears my heart up. Read it. I promise it does not disappoint with the angst.

8) "Pale Moon" by greatdistractions, is a werewolf Harry fic set post game. Harry doesn't remember being a werewolf, Kim goes to find him when he doesn't go to work and doesn't answer any calls, and finds a wolf in his apartment instead. They go back to Martinaise. Some cute shit happens. Quick, simple, cute read.

And these last two are set post-game and serve more as continuations than AUs but they're still So Fuckin Good:

9) "birds of a feather flock together" fic series by Thegrimreaperisanerd. OH OH OHOHOHIHHHHHH!!!! I love this series, the second fic is currently in progress and is getting so so so so good!! Taking place post canon, the first fic (Imprinting) is a casefic with Harry and Jean and Harry is so desperate for his new bestie (Kim) he buys a pink phone second hand and does some very illegal very questionable things. DUCKLINGS THAT DROWN is the sequel exploring more of their (Harry and Kim) relationship and their relationships with the 41st. The author is incredibly sweet, highly recommend yall to read and leave em a kudos/comment trust me they'll notice.

10) "Birdcage-verse" fic series by Sarielle, phenomenal writing, excellent execution of a case fic- ADOPTED CUNO ALERT!!! SEAMLESS ORIGINAL CHARACTERS!!! There is so much world building that has gone into this series. I cannot recommend this series in particular enough. Really it has it all.

Wow, genuinely thank you anon, I wasn't expecting such a detailed response! I've read some of these already (incredible tho so i should reread) but I will absolutely check out the others!