#these two aren’t permanently bonded

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

It’s fairly common to see people think/write about Merry’s continuing friendship with Éowyn and, to a lesser extent, Éomer…but what about Elfhelm???

Merry had to recognize that it was only due to Elfhelm’s forbearance that he and Éowyn ever made it to Gondor and had their chance to do their great deeds. He was conscious of the “understanding” that Elfhelm enforced, whereby he and all of his men chose to ignore Dernhelm and Merry’s presence. He knew that going against the wishes of your monarch is a big deal, so he’d be aware of the risk that Elfhelm took on his behalf. And Elfhelm would obviously have heard the big tale of the slaying of the Witch King and how only little Merry, alone among all the men nearby, was able to rise to the aid of Éowyn and strike a decisive blow that helped to save someone that Elfhelm would have known for the better part of her life, seen her grow up, obviously felt very fondly toward or he wouldn’t have helped her, probably felt very responsible for since she was only on that battlefield in the first place due to Elfhelm’s own actions. So these two were meant to be friends!!!

Surely there was a time after the Pelennor Fields and before everyone went back to Rohan when the two of them found themselves sitting next to each other in a tavern in Minas Tirith, Elfhelm turns to Merry and says “Well, if it isn’t Master Bag! Good to see you healthy and back on your feet!” and then they proceed to talk for 3 straight hours because Elfhelm is very interested in the Shire and Merry loves gossip (which Elfhelm has a ton of) and they both have Thoughts and Opinions about the son of the steward making moves on Éowyn. And then when they get up to leave for the night and are standing alone in the street before going back to their respective rooms, slightly tipsy and with a lot of feelings and trauma brimming just under their happy-go-lucky surfaces, they have a very emotional conversation where Merry thanks Elfhelm for helping him fulfill his potential and Elfhelm thanks Merry for helping to save Éowyn and now they’re bros for life?

Where’s that?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

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Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have never known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. ��Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Bluejay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: gojo satoru – long fics (pt.1)

Part 2

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

☆ the way you love me by @peachsayshi [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing ◦ 29/? chapters] [smut!] [fwb!gojo] #pep's first fic she was OBSESSED with #real good good smut WITH FEELINGS

“We can stop anytime. If either one of us feels like... this ...might be too much. We stop, no questions .” “We can stop anytime,” Gojo repeated “... and nothing changes between us .” You swallowed hard at his last statement. You may not be able to read his eyes but you could hear it in his voice that he needed reassurance. “No matter what happens, we’ll still be friends...” you replied softly, “now kiss me before I change my mind.”

☆ you and me by tomodachi [AO3: ] [status: completed ◦ 5/5 chapters] [tear jerker] [eventual smut!] #pep cried #gojo just kinda loves you real hard

“Prisoners say the most comical things when their judgment comes,” you tilt your head, lifting a finger before him, “Who are you?"

--- History is written by the winners, Satoru knew this well. It was only when he lost and got sealed inside the Prison Realm he learned how to be weak and find out a long buried truth.

☆ ito by @peekamatcha [AO3] [status: ongoing ◦ 48/? chapters] [super slow burn] [shinto elements] #pep DIES with every update #the TWIST in that one chapter omg

You, a former sorcerer now working as a university lecturer, were hoping to maintain your distance with the sorcerer world for an eternity to come. However, with the reappearance of an upperclassmen from a decade ago, you are forced to go on a journey which you would rather sit out of. But somebody must save humanity from the impending apocalypse and apparently the job falls on the shoulders of you two.

It would have been alright had he not been everything you didn’t want to be reminded of. And the sacrifices to be made may be more than what had been bargained for. ☆moonlight by @septembersummer [AO3/tumblr:] [status: completed ◦ 10/10 chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #pep SCREAMED

Gojo Satoru is dying. And no, it's not his fault this time.

The curse which is withering Satoru into an early grave is actually the product of his great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather, who had a couple of sons that refused to procreate. And what does a proud, powerful man do when his sons refuse to fuck, and there won't be another heir to the clan?

He curses his own bloodline, of course.

It's only natural that he forces them through some twisted form of sorcery to become uncontrollably, violently attracted to the person they're most genetically compatible with.

It's even better that the curse creates a permanent, unbreakable bond between the two unwilling lovers. That's right, it usually takes more than one fuck to make a baby-- so, why not force them to have twelve?

Satoru wished his ancestor would be resurrected from the grave, just so that he could kill him again. That is, before Satoru inevitably dies.

He's had a good run, he thinks. Now, all he has to do is make sure you don't find out that you can fuck him back to life and try to very stupidly save him from himself.

(here's a spoiler: you do).

☆ a typical family by @literalia [AO3/tumblr] [status: completed? ◦ 32/32 chapters] [non liner narrative] [dad!gojo] #pep absolutely MELTED #slice of life #pep's gojo comfort fic

"satoru. where did you get these kids?"

or

after a six month absence, satoru shows up at your door two little kids following behind. chaos ensues.

☆ and if i cant see by hollowdonut [AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 26/? chapters] [slowburn] [eventual smut!] [tw: ptsd] #pep loves the reader's dynamics with gojo!

They say eyes are the window to the soul, but Gojo’s eyes are almost always hidden behind a blindfold. Even when they aren’t, you can never tell what he’s thinking.

You wonder if you should’ve taken that teaching job in Kyoto instead.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ all hail the empress! by @chuluoyi [tumblr/AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 1/? chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #but THE END THO? OMGGG you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

[sootsz]

qsmp has accidentally stumbled into a psychology experiment that would make the stanford prison experiment sob in fear. they’ve gotten a bunch of cc’s, and tens of thousands of viewers, to be deeply emotionally connected to pixel eggs. in doing so they’ve presented a problem:

how the fuck do you get outta this

the eggs were obviously never intended to be permanent (logging on every day to do tasks isn’t feasible to upkeep forever) and they were even given a vague limit of When Mama Dragon Comes Back (and then, of course, the “6 days til they die” thing). now you’ve made it so quackity (and his team) have a big ol dilemma, where two things are true: 1) they can’t keep the eggs forever since it’s not sustainable 2) you can’t take away the eggs without, oopsies, emotionally damaging your friends that you invited to have fun on your server.

turns out, when you give a group of humans all their own fully-realized individual who presents as a (weak, vulnerable) child that is in need of care from them, whatever instinct has kept us alive for generations goes “!!!!!” which is both really cool and compassionate, but also kinda concerning!

because, well: not sustainable! and if the eggs aren’t sustainable, what’s the alternative? killing them?? no! just look at jaiden’s reaction to bobby “losing” a life, even when it wasn’t his last one. or bad’s genuinely heart wrenching reaction to dapper losing a life. or how quiet and angry phil got after chayanne and tallulah had a “nightmare,” before it was resolved. that’s not acting. that’s real. what the hell will they do if the eggs actually die? from what i see, the cc’s are taking the “6 days til death” thing as something that’s avoidable. a threat that can be overcome. and for their sake, i hope it is.

ever played a dnd game where you actually feel insulted bc of smth someone’s pc did? yeah. that x20 because there’s SO much overlap between “streamer persona” and “literally just who they are”. and this level of roleplay character bleeding is cool, but i hope the eggs are handled carefully, or all those involved might end up actually hurt.

there’s also the whole added element of fans, many of whom only tune into the streams for egg content. the plot is very egg-centric. the roleplaying and characterization that the cc’s are doing is all centered around the eggs in one way or another. it’s been going on for a month, but it does not feel at all resolved, and plot-wise it would completely mess up so many plot threads happening if the eggs were all to go (charlie’s unresolved deal with lil j, quackity’s goal to bond with tallulah, the trial, etc etc) so if you take away the eggs, you risk messing up the whole vibe they’ve got going on, and facing backlash from fans who are also emotionally compromised by pixel eggs

we inherently want to protect the cute and vulnerable, and by god are these eggs cute and so very fragile. (then, there’s another layer of people’s own issues that they project onto the eggs. be it desire for paternity, some kind of maternal instinct, or, even in the matter of chayanne, using chayanne as a sort of way to cope with loss by making connections between chayanne and technoblade. which is beautiful and very sweet but would give chayanne dying some additional emotionally charged elements which i think should be avoided at all costs). there’s a reason that movies and other media generally do not kill named children characters—audiences really hate it. it’s taboo for good reason.

which leads us to

schrodinger’s egg: until sunday, they r both alive and dead. and this is both good and bad. god help us all

[potatoplace]

loml

Azriel x Reader

my tears ricochet (part 2)

Story Summary: You met Azriel nearly six years ago. Your mate. The one person you want to spend the rest of your life with. While the bond has not been fully accepted due to safety concerns, the two of you live a blissful life, regardless of the anxieties that plague you. But, what if they turned out to be true...?

Warnings: Suicide, angst, infidelity, anxiety/self worth issues, references to sex (nothing explicit)

Words: ~5.7k

Author's Note: dun dun. It has arrived! Please make sure to read the warnings, and skip this one if it'll trigger you too much. I am very happy with how it turned out, I hope you all enjoy as well. *slides tissues over to you* Here are some in case you need them...

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🩷💙

You were walking home from the Palace of Bone and Salt, grocery bags loaded in your arms, when you saw him- your mate. The bond snapped for you the moment you looked up from the cobblestones and met his gaze, his hazel eyes so intense, you knew it had snapped for him too.

Almost in a trance, the two of you walked towards each other meeting in the middle of the street, his night chilled mist and cedar scent washing over you.

An awkward pause, then with his massive, hulking wings, he lifted into the air, taking off in flight.

Away from you…

Your mate didn’t want you. You could feel the thread, tethering you to him even when you could no longer see him in the sky. Tears filled your eyes, and you began to speed walk home, wanting nothing more than to crawl into your bed and wallow in your misery.

And you did just that for three days, only leaving once to inform the owner of the shop you work at that you would not be in for the rest of the week.

Which had given you three days to ruminate, seeing as it had been Wednesday when the male had left your life as quickly as he had entered it.

You had gone over every possible reason as to why he might not want you.

First was the obvious, your appearance. While you had dressed nicely, in a cute, lilac sundress, you had forgone any makeup and doing your hair, aside from brushing it. Perhaps that was what sent him running, you never were one to see the beauty in yourself, why should your mate? Or maybe it was your scent, rain and apples, that had repulsed him so.

And if it wasn’t anything physical… Could he have already sensed how plagued by anxieties you are? Decided you were not even worth the trouble of introductions, or getting to know in the slightest bit.

Maybe he had a lover already, one he’d been with for decades. Or he never wanted a mate, never wanted to be tied down in such a permanent manner.

The list went on. Most of them about how you were unfit to be anyone’s mate, unworthy of being gifted something so rare.

Two weeks after you had returned to work, two weeks since a scent had been stuck in your brain, haunting your every waking moment, the male it belonged to showed up on your doorstep an hour after you had come home from your shift.

“I’m sorry,” he started as soon as you opened the door, leaning against the doorframe and blocking the inside from view. “I was a coward, and left before we could truly meet. My name is Azriel. What is yours, if you will allow me to know?”

Azriel. The Spymaster of the High Lord, so high above your ranking. Of course you aren’t worthy of him, you thought to yourself.

You tell him your name, and he repeated it with a soft smile, the sound of your name spilling from his lips something more sensual and intimate than you thought it ever could be, and you barely know the man.

Azriel, your heart supplied, repeating it over and over again, working it into your heartbeat so easily and perfectly, you knew that if he breaks the bond, you will be damaged beyond the limits of what you thought possible before.

But still, you need to know.

“Why did you come back?” You ask, almost dreading the answer.

Azriel looked you in the eyes and said with the utmost sincerity, “I would like to get to know you, Y/N.”

Instantly, a smile spread across your face, and you step back, opening the door wider to let him in. “I would like that as well, Azriel. You can come inside, if you’d like,” you offered, color rising to your cheeks.

He nodded his head, and stepped inside.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

5 Years Later

You awoke from a peaceful sleep, as you always do when Azriel is home.

Something about his scent, night chilled mist and cedar and oh, so perfect, set you at ease, soothing the anxieties that normally plague you throughout the day.

You rolled over, arms reaching for the warm body next to you, only to be met by cold sheets and empty space. A frown covered your face, and you rubbed your eyes.

It wasn’t uncommon for Azriel to slip away in the middle of the night, called away for his duties for the Night Court.

You were, however, hoping to wake up to your mate today, as the dawn had marked the fifth year since you had met- well, formally met, that is, knowing more about him than his scent and Illyrian heritage.

But, alas, matters of security were more important. You understand it well, knowing that is the reason he hasn’t accepted the bond yet, as happy as you are together.

That was one fear of yours that had come to fruition.

The lack of a permanent, unbreakable tether between you bothered you, yes, but knowing Azriel’s reasoning, and that it is not a permanent thing, made it bearable, worth the fears that sometime crept into your brain.

“Why won’t you accept the bond, already?” You ask, throwing your hands in the air, aggressive towards Azriel for the first time in your relationship. “It’s been a year, Azriel, what exactly is the hold up?!”

“I want to accept the bond!” He yelled back at you, anger lacing his tone. “But I have worried, every day of knowing you, that you could be stolen away from me, used against me in a sick game! I am terrified that I will wake up one day, and you will have been murdered in cold blood as a warning to this court! I do not want to lose you, Y/N! I do not want the reason for you to be harmed to be that I carry your scent no matter how long I’ve been away from you, until I know that you will be safe,” he finished, considerably more calm after having finally let you know his reasoning.

“And when will that be?” You seethed, a storm brewing under your skin. You may not have much magic, much power like your mate, but the electricity you can wield was begging to be let out.

Azriel sighed, taking his head in his hands. “I don’t know, babydoll. But I promise to you, within the decade, we will be fully mated, if you will still have me, knowing how much danger there is lurking around the corner,” he offered gently, attempting to placate you, and your dropped your hands back to your sides, rage leaving your body with each word coming from his lips. “I love you, so much it feels impossible to explain, but every day I will try my best to let you know the depth of my love for you, my sweet mate. If you will have me,” he finished, walking over to you and grabbing your hands gently.

You bit your lip, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Within the decade…? You promise?” You ask, glancing up at him through tear filled eyes.

“I promise to you, we will have a formal ceremony and party, and have the most wonderful, blissful frenzy, and be forever connected within ten years. You are the love of my life, babydoll.”

At his reassurance, you tilt your head up and kiss him softly, and after a moment Azriel deepened the kiss, coaxing you toward your shared bed.

You look to the bedside table, smiling when you see the folded piece of parchment resting there, your name written in Azriel’s elegant handwriting, as well as beautiful bouquet of roses, dark blue and a pale yellow in color.

“My love, I am sorry I had to leave in the middle of the night, on such an important day for the both of us, but Rhys requires my presence in the Hewn City for a few hours. I hope to be back before you wake, but in case I am not, I have prepared some coffee for you in your enchanted mug, and next to it is something I picked out for you to read until I return. I love you more than my shadows, more than my wings my dear. I think of you in every moment, every breath I take is for you. I will see you for breakfast, my mate.”

Your smile only grew as you read, your mate is such a thoughtful male. In the four years since you agreed to wait to be mated, he had, without fail, assured you of his love, either through notes he sent to you by shadows, or in person.

You sighed in contentment, and stretched before getting out of your bed, walking over to the bouquet and sniffing it, loving the gentle fragrance they emitted. You then threw on a dressing gown and padded into the kitchen, immediately catching sight of your pretty, dark blue mug that matched Azriel’s siphons, and book laying next to it.

You grabbed both and made for the cushioned bench in the bay window that faced the street, and settled in. Seeing the title of the book and author’s name, Faren Grey, you squealed in excitement. A mystery by him that you hadn’t read before! You eagerly began reading, occasionally sipping your coffee, a delicious mocha, until your mate walked in when you seventy pages in.

You instantly set your mug and book down and bounded over to him, flinging yourself into his open arms.

“Hello, babydoll.”

“Hello, honey,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. He doesn’t disappoint, meeting you halfway in a heated kiss. “I absolutey love the book! Where did you find it?!”

“I might have visited his house a few weeks ago to ask if I could have an advance copy of his newest work,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

He is so cute. “Thank you, you are such an amazing mate! I love you.” You hugged him tighter as you said it, loving the way his arms squeezed you into him further as you did.

“I love you too, babydoll. Come on, let’s go get ready for a late brunch,” he dragged you back into your bedroom, right into the bathroom. He removed your silver dressing gown first, hanging it on one of the hooks on the wall. Next, he removed your soft, baby blue nightgown, leaving you in just the underwear matching it. He leaned around the corner and tossed it into your laundry bin, then turned back to you.

You were blushing, your nipples hardening in the cool air of the bathroom. He kneeled before you and hooked his fingers in the band of your underwear, slowly pulling them off your hips and down your legs. He tapped your left foot, coaxing you to lift it up. You did, then he repeated the action with the right foot. Once they were off, he dropped them onto the floor. He lowered his mouth to your navel, slowly kissing a trail down to the apex of your thighs.

He tapped your legs and you parted them, and he went to lick a stripe up your center-

Your stomach rumbled.

Both of you laughed, locking eyes.

“After breakfast?” You suggested, your tone full of mirth.

“That sounds like a good plan, babydoll,” he laughed, rising to his feet. You undressed him quickly, your goal clear now: bathe as quickly as the two of you could manage without… wasting time… have a lovely breakfast, then come home and devour each other as dessert.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

A few hours later, you laid with your head on Az’s chest, listening to his deep, rhythmic breathing and hypnotic heartbeat. You could almost hear your name, beating in his chest.

“I made dinner reservations at Sevenda’s,” you whisper into his skin, knowing he’ll hear you no matter how quietly you say it.

“My favorite,” he sighs into your hair. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock. I figure we can take a nice walk along the Sidra, then pop into a store to pick up your gift before dinner,” you suggest, running your hand along his chest.

“That sounds wonderful, Y/N.” He smoothed his hands over your back, tracing his fingers along your spine. “What should we do in the meantime?”

You grinned, lifting your head to look at him. “I can think of a few things…” you said, trailing your hand down his abdomen.

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you show me, babydoll?” He smirked down at you, trouble in his eyes.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

A few rounds later and after another bath, more leisurely and filled with soft, heated touches than the first, and the two of you were dressed and walking out of your door in the direction of the Sidra.

A worry that had been plaguing you recently came to mind as you looked out at the beauty of the river, Az’s hand clutched in yours. The High Lady, Feyre, had gifted you a painting last Starfall, given to you via Azriel. It was of the Sidra at night, your silhouette watching the stars above. You remembered the moment well, it was the night that you and Az had made it official and he had moved into your house. You had taken a walk along the Sidra, much like the one you were taking now, when a comet had flown overhead, and you watched with rapt attention, making a wish, that you and Az would be together forever.

So far that wish has come true, so, wonderfully true.

It wasn’t the painting that had bothered you, it was the fact that your mate has a family, but five years into your relationship, you had never met one of them, as far as you were aware.

“Why…” you hesitated, unsure if you should ask. But you needed to know, know if he was hiding you and ashamed of you. “Why haven’t I met your family yet?”

Az’s footsteps faltered for a moment. “I didn’t know that you wanted to meet them.”

“I’d like to, if that’s okay. It would be nice to know the people that you’ve talked so much about, put some names to faces.”

Azriel stopped, and as he still had a grip on your hand, you came to a halt in front of him, the turned to face him. “I’ll mention it to them before the next family dinner, make sure to save a spot for my lovely mate,” he said, punctuating it with a kiss.

“That sounds fine to me, Az. Now, let’s go get your gift,” you declared, pulling him by the hand towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels. In just a few minutes, you had arrived outside of a small, rundown shop. You pushed the door open, a bell jingling and alerting the shop owner to your presence.

“Ah, the beautiful Y/N, here to pick up your custom order, I presume?” He asked, already turning to the counter behind him to retrieve the dagger you had designed for Azriel.

“Yes please, Oswald. You can even present it to the Shadowsinger himself, I know how excited you were to learn it was for him,” you add, a teasing tone in your voice. You had no problem poking fun at him, having spent so much time with the male. You had given him over ten drafts of the dagger’s design, plus the two of you searching together for the perfect gems to go in the hilt and along the guard. You also had him make a special holster for the curved blade, wanting to make sure Azriel has everything he needs for it.

The older male brought it over, wrapped in a cloth to keep it a surprise.

“Happy anniversary, Azriel,” you said, pushing the gift towards him. He lifted the edges of the cloth, revealing the beautiful silver dagger with glittering sapphires and diamonds decorating it, and a wickedly curved end to the blade. The holster was beautiful as well, made of a pitch black leather, fire and tear proofed with an enchantment.

“It’s amazing, Y/N,” he said before hugging you, lifting you up and spinning you in a circle. You picked up the holster and fastened it around his waist, underneath the jacket he was wearing. “I love you so much, babydoll. Let’s go get dinner.”

“Thank you, Oswald. I’ll come again soon, I promise,” you said as Azriel led you out of the shop, a hand on your back guiding you all the way to Sevenda’s. The two of you had a delicious meal, and returned home to watch the stars on your patio. You drifted in his arms on the swing, his scent and heartbeat making you so comfortable you couldn’t help but drift off.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

About a week later on a Friday, you were going to your first ever family dinner with Azriel. You were nervous as could be, Azriel’s hand rubbing circles on your back doing little to calm your gut as you walked to the High Lord and Lady’s townhouse.

“Babydoll, they will love you. I promise. Just remember, not too many relationship details, or any kissing, I share everything about my life with this lot, no need to share all of you with them as well, my sweet mate.”

You nodded your head, still mildly uncomfortable with the thought of being unable to kiss him during their time here, but understanding that he isn’t one for public displays of affection made you agree to the plan. It was only in the last year that his soft kisses and loving hugs began to happen outside of the four walls of your shared home.

Still, even with the nerves, you were ready and excited to meet his family.

All too soon, the two of you approached the door of a cozy looking townhouse, a lovely looking garden attached in the back. Azriel raised his hand to twist the doorknob, but paused to look at you, a broad smile on his face. “You ready?” He asked gently, and you nodded in confirmation. He swung the door open, entering and pulling you inside by the hand, not giving you an opportunity to bolt, if the urge struck you.

The inside was absolutely lovely, decorated in a cozy fashion and looking well lived in. He pulled you further inside, and you passed a small sitting room before stopping in the dining room, people milling about while they set the table, or relaxed on the couches in the attached living room.

“Ah, you must be Y/N!” One of the females said, her soft lilac and pear scent washing over you pleasantly. “I’m Feyre, it’s so lovely to finally meet you!” She exclaimed happily, extending her hands to you, grasping yours in them, and Azriel walked off to say hello to one of the males in the kitchen, probably Cassian, if the large wings and dark red shirt he was wearing were any indicator.

“It’s wonderful to meet you as well, High Lady,” you say, anxiety running through you as you thought of the proper way to greet her, but she interrupted your thoughts quickly.

“Oh, none of that, you are welcome to call me Feyre,” she replied, her voice sweet and reassuring. “You are a part of our family, after all.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding left you, the relief pouring into your veins. “Oh, we’ll then it’s very nice to meet you, Feyre. Azriel has told me so much about all of you, it will be nice to finally put faces to the names.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose some introductions are in order, hmm?” She asked, leading you over to the living room.

Everyone was so kind to you, and happy to finally meet you as well.

The one person you were most excited to meet, however, was Azriel’s best friend, Elain. And when you finally did, the breath left your lungs again as her beauty overtook you. She was classically beautiful, her delicate features and even more delicate frame a perfect combination to make one of the most stunning fae you had ever seen. Her jasmine and honey scent complimented her perfectly, and you almost through you had met her before based on her scent alone- but you knew you could never have forgotten a face such as hers.

“Y/N, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Az talks about you so much to me.” Her face held a sweet smile, and her eyes were full of warmth as she looked over you. “I’d love to have tea with you some other time, if you’re open to it.”

You nodded your head immediately, hoping beyond hope that you would finally have a friend outside of your coworkers, who, while lovely, you sometimes wanted a break from to not discuss work. “I would love that, Elain. Sometime soon, I hope?”

She nodded her head, saying “Yes, would next Wednesday work for you? We could meet here or at a café, if you’d like.”

“The café next to the Sidra in the Palace of Bone and Salt has a wonderful selection, if that works for you,” you suggest, internally celebrating when she nods her head again.

“That sounds like a wonderful time, it’s a date.” And with that, she walked away from you to continue setting up the table, now filled with various dishes that all smelled heavenly.

The dinner passed quickly, your undercurrent of anxiety constantly soothed by Az’s shadows caressing your legs and pooling around your ankles. It was nice to see him interact with them, see how they brought out different facets of his personality than you usually do. Especially Elain, they made little jokes between them every now and then, snickering softly to themselves.

Everyone was kind to you, yes, but you still felt… you still feel like you stick out, as though you don’t belong. Here you are, sitting among some of the most powerful fae, nothing but a shop clerk with a mild amount of lighting magic running through your veins.

Of course you couldn’t help but feel like you’re only here because of your bond to Az, because, well, you are.

Someone like you would never have earned themselves an invitation to the High Lord and Lady’s residence, let alone eat a fantastic, amicable meal with them without the tear between you and Azriel. Maybe that was why he had waited so long to introduce you to them. He already knows how inferior you feel to him, your self-worth making you feel like the Mother had made a mistake in pairing you together, as ecstatic as you are to be bonded to him. He probably doesn’t want you to feel any lesser.

Your thoughts continued like that through dessert, no amount of Azriel’s shadows’ touches soothing you now. What you need was a hug from your mate, maybe even just a peck on the cheeks.

But you could wait. You could wait until the two of you are retreating back to your home or have the affection you crave from your mate, if that will keep him comfortable.

So you do, attempting to do subtle breathing exercises to calm your mind. It helps a little, but it isn’t until you’re in the cooling air of Velaris that you begin to settle.

“Do you think they liked me?” You ask in a small voice as the two of you continue your leisurely pace back home.

“Of course, babydoll. What’s not to love?”

You exhale heavily, sleepiness crashing into your bones after being worried for so long. “Nothing, you just know how… you know how I struggle sometimes, being so plain in comparison to you.”

Azriel halted in his movements, and you turned to look at him.

“Nothing about you is plain, or simple. I love you for who you are, and the force of your love is more than enough to topple armies, my love. You are extraordinary,” he proclaims, wrapping you tightly in his arms for a few moments. You gently push away to look up at him, and he places a sweet kiss upon your lips.

“If you say so, mate,” you reply, and kiss him once more before pulling him back into motion.

“And I do, mate. You will always be the one true love of my life.”

💙🤍💙🩷💙

It had been five months since that first family dinner, you had attended one more since then.

You and Elain had become fast friends, bonding over your shared interest in medicinal herbs and plants, as well as your love for a good tea blend.

The rest of the family, however… Not matter what Azriel said, no matter how he reassured you, you couldn’t help but feel as though they did not care for your presence.

Hence the one other family dinner. It had felt awkward enough for you that you had told Azriel to go to them alone, unless he desperately wanted you there that evening. It was fine by you, you stayed home and curled up with another mystery novel in the window, waiting for Az to return and fill you in on the latest drama among his family.

Today, however you were at the Feyre and Rhys’s townhouse door, arms overloaded with the bags you were carrying.

On your hips and over your dress was a knife belt, tightened as far as it could go, one that you had designed specially for him, filled with five knives that you had Oswald design. Your only request for Oswald had been to have your and Azriel’s first initials carved into the blades. No last names, just to be safe in case one got left behind on a mission somehow. They were lovely throwing knives, simple and sleek in design.

You had been planning this day for a couple of months now, asking Elain for her input on how to surprise Azriel.

“Do something simple, like a practical gift and breakfast in bed,” Elain suggested over the rim of her tea cup.

“I already have the gift lined up, I’m having a throwing knife belt designed for him,” you said, sighing after you did. “But I’ve always done breakfast in bed for his birthday…” you trail off. It was his 555th birthday, and you wanted to do something different, more special than before.

“Hmm…” Elain hummed, before gasping. “Oh, you could tell him to stay at the townhouse the night before, saying you’re getting something ready at your house for him the night before, then surprise him with breakfast there!”

You bit your lip, unsure of the plan. But, it was something different… “I suppose I could do that, but do you really think he’d go along with that?”

“Of course!” Elain exclaimed, setting one of her hands over yours. “Azriel will do whatever you ask, especially if you seem excited about it.”

You considered her words, the nodded your head, accepting the plan.

So, here you are, standing in front of the townhouse on Azriel’s birthday at eight in the morning. You knocked on the door, careful not to jostle the parcels in your arms too much.

In them, you were carrying a bag holding five of Azriel’s favorite pastries from the café the two of you had gone to on your first date, a bag filled with all his favorite lingerie, and one other small bag. Inside of it was a sapphire blue ring box, containing a pair of rings.

Today, you were planning to propose to Azriel.

Five years into your mateship, and with no bond acceptance likely for the next six, you wanted to move forward somehow. You wanted to be able to call him yours permanently, even if just through a wedding ceremony and vow.

You had matching silver rings made, each inlaid with a small sapphire. Simple but beautiful, just as Azriel would want. Something to mark the two of you as each other’s.

Feyre answered the door.

“Oh, hello Y/N,” she said brightly. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m here to surprise Azriel for his birthday,” you say excitedly, joy bubbling through you.

“Ah, come in,” Feyre says, opening the door further and welcoming you in. “His room is just down the hall, first one on the left Y/N.”

“Thank you.” You move in the direction she pointed to quickly, not wanting to waste another second of this day without your mate. You reached his door and turned the knob without hesitation.

You wished you had knocked.

Because, in that moment, your world ended.

The smell of sex slammed you in the face, and you dropped the bags in your arms to the ground, for on the bed in front of you, Azriel was still slamming into a female, his pace only faltering when you gasped in horror.

Underneath him- you couldn’t believe it. Could not believe your eyes nor your nose, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar mixed so thoroughly with jasmine and honey that your stomach turned.

Underneath him was Elain.

His best friend.

Your friend.

Your mate.

You turned on the spot, booking it for the door to the garden.

You vomited when you saw it.

Every flower of every bouquet he had ever given you had a match in this garden. The dark blue and pale yellow roses he had gifted to you on your fifth anniversary were there. The beautiful white lilies, blush pink roses, carnations- all of them had come from here.

“What’s happened, Y/N?” Came a voice from behind you, and you turned to look at Feyre.

“Azriel and Elain…” you started your voice trialing off as you choked up with tears.

“Oh, were they going at it?” She asked while wrinkling her nose, and you balked at her.

“You… you knew?” Your voice came out quietly, filled with sorrow and betrayal.

Feyre’s face scrunched in confusion. “Azriel and Elain have been together the past fifteen years, Y/N,” she said, and your heart broke further.

“I… what?”

“Azriel said that you knew,” Feyre said softly.

“He… he said that I knew… that he was cheating on me… with Elain?” You ask slowly, so hurt that you could barely process her words.

Feyre shook her head, “He can’t cheat on you if you aren’t together,” she finished plainly.

“WE ARE TOGETHER!” You screamed at her, lightning rising to your skin. “WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER OVER FIVE YEARS!”

“Oh… um… Azriel had told us that you were better suited to be friends, if I had known you were together I would have… warned you,” Feyre said, obviously unsure of what to do, holding her hands up in front of her chest.

You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care for these people, for these fake friends who knew what they were doing. You took off running, jumping the fence bordering the garden of lies, and got home in record time.

You hadn’t noticed Azriel’s shadows wrapped around you until you had slammed the front door of your home shut. They were frantic, wrapping around all of you in an attempt to calm you.

It had the opposite effect.

“Get off of me!” You shouted at them, shaking them off of your body, scattering them to the corners of the room. You couldn’t bear the thought of him, even his shadows touching you now.

You could not believe what had just happened. You did not want to believe that your entire relationship with Azriel had been a lie.

You rushed to your bedroom, ripping through the nightstand on your side of the bed and pulling out the hundreds upon hundreds of notes.

Azriel had left you one every day, having never broken his promise to proclaim his love for you every day for four years.

All of it was ruined, now.

You collected them in your arms and ran back into the living room, igniting the fireplace with the lightning under your skin, and tossed them in. You watched them burn for a few minutes, tears pouring out of your eyes.

Everything… every word had been a lie.

All of his reassurances that you were worthy of him, that you would be mated fully soon, were fakes.

Every action he had taken was covering up something that would destroy you, had destroyed you.

You know now, that when you had first met Elain, you did recognize her scent. It covered Azriel so regularly, you had thought it was simply something to do with being the court’s Spymaster.

But you knew now. You knew that nearly every night when he came home to you, he had been with her. All of those times being called away in the middle of the night, he had left your bed and slid into hers.

And she had pretended to be your friend, Mother, she had probably intended for you to find them wrapped up in each other today.

All of your fears were correct.

You aren’t good enough.

You aren’t worthy.

And now, you don’t even have anything to live for.

The love of your life… and he couldn’t even have bothered to stop fucking her to at least give some reasoning for his despicable actions. You could still feel him through the bond, pleasure coursing through him and you vomited again, everything about it is sickening.

You look down to the belt of daggers, still hanging from your waist, so thoughtfully made for him.

You fingered one of them, pulling it out gently.

If you have nothing to live for… if the love of your life couldn’t even be bothered to care for you… what was the point?

The shadows were back now, frantically attempting to pull the knife from your grip.

If Azriel were here… well, he’d always been stronger than you. He could stop you. The shadows on their own, however…

You raised the knife to your neck, taking a breath as it rested there.

Clean and quick, then you’ll be free from the pain. Just one movement. Just one cut, and it will all be over.

And in the next moment, you were on the floor, life flowing from your neck, the shadows pressing on the gash in a futile attempt to stop it, managing nothing more than adding an extra minute to your life.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and the last thing you wanted to see before you leave this earth… a pair of hazel eyes came to mind.

The love of your life, for so many years.

The loss of your life, in the end.

[zorosdimples]

obey me brothers x reader⌇ tw: yandere elements, pseudocest, dubcon/noncon (it isn’t clear), tiny mention of monsterfucking. reader is initially gn but forced into a female role.

You’re mysteriously whisked away to the Devildom and forced to live with the seven avatars of sin; however, you aren’t there under the guise of an exchange student program, and you certainly aren’t enrolled in classes at RAD. Instead, you take up the role of the brothers’ departed and beloved sibling: Lilith.

Through Diavolo, Lucifer discovered that you are one of Lilith’s descendants. To appease his twisted desire for a “complete” family, he convinced the demon price to allow you to take up permanent residence in the House of Lamentation. And though none of the brothers actually share flesh and blood—nor you with them—they insist that they feel a kinship with you.

Lilith’s perfectly preserved bedroom is yours. They call you by her name and throw away all of your possessions so that you have to dress as she once did. In a home full of demons, you look like an angel, her pearly robes the only bright spot amidst the foreboding interior, the gauzy garments much too revealing for your taste. But you look just like her, Asmo croons. Beel licks your cheek (you taste just like her, too).

But perhaps even stranger than the brothers forcing you to fill the role of their dead sister—forcing you to walk like her and talk like her and act like her—is your mandated “bonding time” with the brothers.

Every day, they each get an entire hour with you to do whatever it is that they please. It often goes like this: Lucifer chats with you in his study over coffee and classical music; Mammon shops with you online or turns on a movie; Levi ropes you into two player games; Satan reads books to you; Asmo gives you makeovers; Beel drags you either to the kitchen or to the home gym; Belphie naps in your lap as you tell him bedtime stories.

But things look different when the brothers are feeling pent up. And for some reason—biological or calculated you have no idea—their sexual frustration always seems to always coincide. Then, you have seven hours of uninterrupted “playtime,” the duration of which you’ve never remained fully conscious.

Because each demon intends to use his entire allotted hour down to the millisecond, pushing your delicate human body to the limit. Whether it’s on a tongue that resembles a tentacle, clawlike fingers, or a cock bigger than your forearm, you will come so many times that all you can remember—all you can dream of—is how they call you...

Lilith. Sweet, sweet Lilith.

[daycourtofficial]

Use Somebody

Summary: you and Lucien have to pretend to be together, causing a fight between you and a certain shadowsinger. You discover too late that you’re a wanted aspect to an evil plot - can Azriel save you in time?

“We could have (y/n) and Lucien do it.” You overheard Rhysand saying as you walked into his study.

“You could have me and Lucien do what?” You ask, biting into your apple.

Rhys turns to you, tutting so you don’t bring your apple too close to his desk, “we need someone to attend a ball in the winter court. Azriel’s picked up some rumblings, and Kallias has asked if we could help. We’ll all be attending, but we need you and Lucien in particular to do some recon.”

You stop mid bite of your apple, still confused on the plan. “But Lucien and I aren’t spies, we’re just court nobility.”

“Which is why you two are perfect - you’re nobility to two different courts, autumn and dawn, so the two of you mingling wouldn’t be too suspicious. Plus the two of you are very good at socializing at these events.”

“So you want to send us to go to a ball to do what exactly?” The idea still making zero sense to you.

It’s Azriel who speaks up, “he wants you and Lucien to pretend to be together and get close to a few targets, see if you can find anything out.”

You look at Azriel, and he looks pissed. You’re not sure if it’s because he just returned from the war camps, at this plan, or if he doesn’t think you and Lucien are capable of spywork. The idea of disappointing Azriel made your stomach drop to your pit.

Rhys interjects, “you and Lucien have been friends for centuries - it’s a believable cover. And you’re talented with glamours - you could even glamour a mating bond scent over the two of you.”

You reply, “We attended tons of events together when we were younger - but anyone from one of those events would know we were lying.”

“It’s been hundreds of years, anything could have happened. Besides, I can provide you with a guest list to look over, ensuring you don’t know any of the guests.”

“I don’t know, Rhys…” you drawl.

Rhys sighs, “it’s one night. Do you think you could do this or not?”

You think it over for a moment and decide that you can, Azriel’s hesitation at your involvement be damned.

-

The irony wasn’t lost on you. You and Lucien pretending to be a couple when the two of you are pining over Azriel and Elain, who seem to be a couple. Cassian disagrees with your assessment of the situation - he’s convinced that Azriel has feelings for you and that Elain is just a friend, but you’re not so sure.

Lucien’s voice stirs you from your thoughts. “Wouldn’t our lives be so much easier if we were mates instead?”

You laugh, the idea having crossed your mind a time or two. “It certainly would be. We’d also have adorable babes.”

Lucien laughs, “those poor, beautiful babes, shame they’ll never exist.”

You two laugh, trying not to think of the heartache too much. Your own pining aside, all you want is happiness for Lucien. Pushing it aside, you two begin crafting your story: you’ve been married for two years, living in dawn for the time being, but you two want to explore all of the courts before deciding where to settle down permanently.

-

“You look lovely, dear,” Lucien tells you. If you two were going to pretend to be in love, you wanted the both of you to look incredible. Lucien’s wearing a green jacket with brown pants, and you’re wearing a deep green dress, with exposed boning and a thigh slit practically at your hip, exposing your entire left leg. You had gone a step further, embroidering a tiny fox onto Lucien’s jacket’s lapel and a matching one onto the shoulder strap of your dress.

“Thank you, you look very handsome as well.” And he did. The shade of green you selected for both of you matched both of your complexions and honestly, you two looked hot.

“What should our mating bond smell like?” You ask him.

The two of you think about it, ultimately deciding on a combination of smells: apples, fresh tea, and honey, the scent filling the room.

“Incredible work - I must say, you are a fantastic fake mate, darling,” he says, offering his arm to you. “Likewise, fake mate,” you say, tipping a pretend hat in his direction and placing your hand in the crook of his arm, walking out of your room.

-

Rhys had given you one main objective: talk, mingle, dance, drink. The hope is that you and Lucien can overhear something or that someone will inadvertently tell you two lovebirds something they don’t mean to.

The two of you take the dance floor, the band playing a slower song, one you and Lucien have danced to thousands of times, the rhythm ingrained into your mind over a centuries worth of balls.

You loved dancing with Lucien, the two of you fell into easy rhythm and garnered a ton of attention whenever you found yourselves on the dance floor. The two of you made a striking couple, and your dress looked incredible as he spun you around the floor.

Through the dips, the turns, and the spins of the song, you made sure to keep eye contact with Lucien as much as possible. You looked into his russet eyes, but all you wanted to find was hazel ones staring back at you. You’re sure Lucien was hoping the same about Elain in your stead.

The song ends and the two of you garnered more attention than you thought you would, and all the attention made you blush. You stepped away from your friend to get some wine, almost crashing into someone.

“Saffron?” You ask, incredulously. Rhys had been able to provide you with a full list of everyone attending, to ensure no one you knew was attending, but you didn’t see Saffron’s name anywhere on that list.

She looks at you, wrapping you in a hug. “It’s been so long! Of all the people to run into at one of these things, I’m not surprised to see you!”

She pulls back, looking you up and down, noticing the fake wedding ring on your hand. “And who’s the lucky male?”

Saffron knew you and Lucien when you were younger, so she knows there’s nothing between you two. You could either lie and try to skirt away from her, or tell her the ‘truth’ of this mission.

“It’s Lucien - we got married a few years ago actually!” You say, not sounding totally convincing.

“Lucien? The red head you were always with?” She asks, almost laughing. “You two always seemed more like siblings than lovers.”

You swallow, worried your entire night is unraveling because of her presence. “It was a surprise for us too! But one day the bond just snapped-“

“Wait, you two are mated?”

“Yes,” you reply curtly.

“I had heard he was mated to another girl and she rejected it.”

Her knowing that has definitely thrown a wrench in the plans. “Um, the rumor mill must have been working overtime. There’s no other girl, it’s just us.”

She looks at you, something odd flashing in her eyes, before she decides to leave it be. “Anyway, it was great running into you - congratulations!”

You thank her before she walks away and you can let out a breath of relief.

-

After running into Saffron, you spent hours dancing, mingling and drinking. You walk outside onto the balcony, telling Lucien you need a moment of fresh air. The noise level of the room was getting to you, so you thought you’d step out for a moment.

The moment the door shut behind you, Azriel emerged from the shadows. You startled, not expecting him to pop out.

“Hi Azzie,” you say, your nickname making him recoil. “Should I be seen talking to you, since.. ya know?” You ask, unsure of how spywork worked completely.

“So you don’t want to be seen with me, but you have no problem being seen all over Lucien?”

His question catches you off guard, and you look and notice just how angry he looks, anger directed at you.

“That’s not what I said at all, besides you know why I’m all over him tonight,” you reply, looking to make sure no one can hear this conversation.

“Yes, but you sure jumped at the chance to spend the night wrapped in his arms, didn’t you?” He moves closer to you, the two of you less than a foot apart, facing each other.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about - he’s my friend and he’s mated!”

“But she hasn’t accepted it yet,” he states.

“So?” You ask, “to me he’s mated, he’s off limits. Besides, I’m not in love with him, I don’t have feelings for him!”

The four glasses of wine weren’t a problem in the ballroom, but they’re a problem out here, making this conversation even more confusing to you.

“If the two of you want to parade around about how happy you are, why don’t you find another court to go do it in, and stay out of mine,” Azriel practically growls at you.

Your soft, sweet Azriel is growling at you. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his anger, but it terrified you.

He wasn’t getting it, he wasn’t getting that you didn’t want Lucien, you wanted him.

You sighed, trying not to let his words sting too much when you say, “maybe we will.” and storm back into the party.

-

After your fight with Azriel, you got considerably more drunk. At the end of the night, you and Lucien walked back into the palace together, laughing, him holding you up from the excessive wine you drank. You’re about to tell him something, when someone catches your eye.

“Hi Elain!” You say, pointing out Elain to Lucien.

“Hi,” she says to you, but she won’t stop looking at Lucien, “is it okay if I have a moment alone with Lucien?”

“Yes, absolutely, excuse me,” you say, brushing past Elain. You turn around giving Lucien a thumbs up and a smile, showing him it’ll be okay.

You walk into the kitchen, looking for more wine, when you bump into Cassian. “Owww,” you say, rubbing your arm where you bumped into him.

He laughs at your obviously drunken state, and tells you, “you did good tonight, doll.”

You look up at him, “yeah? Do you think Lucien and I could be spies now? Do you think Azriel was proud of us?”

Cassian’s caught a bit off guard by your question. “Why wouldn’t he be proud of you?”

You sigh and look at your feet, “because when Rhys asked us to do this assignment, he looked so upset, like he didn’t think we could do it.” You’re not sure why this is spilling out of you, but it’s started pouring and it won’t stop. You look Cassian in the eyes and ask, “what’s wrong with me, Cass?”

Cassian can almost hear his heart shatter at your question. “Why would anything be wrong with you?” He asks, grabbing your wine and going to get you a glass of water in replacement.

You slump your head down on the kitchen island and mutter into your hands, “why am I in love with someone who hates me and loves someone else?”

Cassian starts to panic. He’s good at consoling when you’re injured, but you’re heartbroken. This is uncharted territory. Usually you talked about these things with Mor or Feyre, not the giant Ilyrian next to you. “Who?”

You lift your head up, and he can see tear stains running down your face, “your dumb handsome brother.”

If you didn’t look so sad, Cassian would laugh at how you said that. “Wait, what did he tell you? Did he make you think he doesn’t care about you?”

“I thought we were friends, Cassian,” you choke back a sob, “I don’t know what I did, but he hates me now. He wants me to leave the night court… and maybe I should.”

Before he can say anything else, you get up and tell him, “I’m done, Cassian. It was hard, but I could bottle my feelings if we were friends.” You look up at him, and Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever seen such heartbreak on a face before. “He hates me now, and I still love him. Maybe I should leave the night court for a while, leave his precious court like he asked me to.”

Grabbing a bottle of wine as you pass him, you head upstairs for the night.

Cassian was a violent man. He’s been in countless fights, multiple wars, several battles, but seeing you so upset over his idiot brother made him rage in a new way. He stomped up to Azriel’s room, flinging the door open, and pulling the sheet out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor. “What the f-“ Azriel starts to say, but he’s cut off.

“Are you in love with Elain?” Cassian asks.

“You woke me up to grill me about my love life?” Azriel asks, more confused by the second.

“Answer me,” Cassian practically growls at the shadowsinger.

“No, okay! No. I’m not.” Azriel says, still sitting on the ground where Cassian hurled him.

“Are you in love with someone else? Someone who just spent the night pretending to be in love with someone else in the hopes that you would approve of her?”

Azriel blinks in confusion. “You had me. Then you lost me. It doesn’t matter - I saw how she looked at Lucien.”

Cassian did not have time for Azriel to begin wallowing. “Have you ever thought that while she was looking at Lucien, he wasn’t who she was seeing?” He pauses for a moment, then says, “you better talk to her before morning.” He kicks his brother for good measure then storms out.

-

Azriel got the courage to go to your door half an hour later, but you didn’t respond. At first he thought he had just gone too far, but when his shadows whispered gone, gone, gone to him, he knew something was wrong. The room was empty, and he could smell blood on the duvet covers. He told Rhysand mind to mind what was happening, and decided the best source was the last male he wanted to see: Lucien.

He started banging on the door to Lucien’s room, when the redheaded male finally opened the door. Half-dressed, with Elain hiding under the duvet, Azriel gets to the point, “did anyone tonight give you the impression they wanted to hurt her?” Lucien opens the door a little wider, asking Azriel a question he doesn’t want the answer to.

The shadowsinger sighs. “She’s missing, and her room shows signs of a struggle.”

Lucien begins asking a million questions, when Azriel stops him. “Rhys and I want to talk to you about every person you met with tonight.”

-

Lucien walked them through your night, including when you had left for a few moments to go on the balcony. Azriel flinched at the memory, his jealousy getting the best of him in the moment.

Rhys was about to ask him to go through a few people again, when something catches Rhys’s eye.

“Lucien,” Rhys says, “your fox is glowing.”

The fox you had embroidered on his jacket was glowing. It glowed for a moment, and then they heard your voice, confused and drunk, and another voice, projecting from the fox.

“Clever girl,” Lucien whispers.

-

You woke up in a dirty cell, Hybern shackles adorning your wrists. Your head was throbbing, the blow to the head really rattled you, and you’re still drunk. There’s a small window, and the moon is still high in the sky, so you don’t think you’ve been out for too long. You do remember the fox you had embroidered on your clothes, and you hope that, since the magic was sewn into it, it would still work despite the shackles. You place your palm over it for five seconds, and you just hope and pray that your enchantment will actually work.

The door to the cell opens, and in comes Saffron.

“Saffron?” You ask, confusion over your features. “What is happening?”

“Everyone always talked about how smart you were - why don’t you put the pieces together?” She asks, her disdain for you icing every word.

“Okay, I’m still drunk, and someone hit my head, but let’s see.” You pause, thinking about everything you know about Saffron. “We went to school together, you liked… magic classes. You liked knowing what magic could do.” You pause for a moment, something wanting to come to the surface of your thoughts. “You were interested in my powers. You once called Lucien weak. You like oranges - okay I’m getting a bit off track.”

You start thinking again, your head pounding from all the thinking.

“I saw you at the one hundred year reunion, and you worked for Kallias, documenting the magical capabilities of fae….” You trail off, your head still pounding, begging for you to go to sleep.

Your eyes snap up, “you got in trouble in school for using arcane magic on the grounds, but you were only suspended for a while. Then fifty years after the reunion Lucien told me he had run into you and you were with… uh.. that guy..” you start snapping to remember, “Wren! You were with Wren!”

Your mind is whirring, so many thoughts swirling around in your drunken haze. “Wren was that ugly guy who.. you dated him.. and..” there’s something there with Wren, but what is it?

“Wren always wanted to eat at that place on the corner that served soup. Wren wanted to be an arcane magic scholar, but they wouldn’t let him,” you pause, slurring a bit while you point at Saffron, “and you two got in trouble, but he was expelled!”

It didn’t matter that you were drunk, the wheels in your brain were turning. “You once told me after a break up that you don’t want love, you want power. And Wren was obsessed with ancient power rituals. He talked about them all the time.”

The idea hits you as you say it out loud, “it’s a full moon tonight.” Your thoughts have sobered you up instantly. “It’s the summer solstice, the strongest night for arcane magic,” your voice gets really quiet as you say, “and you’re going to do something. But what?”

She looks at you, egging you on to realize what she wants. But what does Saffron want? Power. Power. Power.

“You told me I was the most powerful of our year.” You swallow, realization hitting you to your core. “You’re going to take my powers.”

The silence hangs in the room. If your fox communicator worked, then you imagine the room is dead silent there too.

Saffron slowly claps. “There she is, brightest of our age. Oh how all of our teachers adored you,” she says, crossing the room to you, “it was incredible running into you at the party. Once I heard you were attending, I had to swoop in so I could see you. I slipped some faebane into your drink while we were talking so I could subdue you. My sweet, there’s one thing about the ritual you don’t know.”

She leans in closer to you, when she says, “we won’t just be taking your powers, we’ll be sacrificing you, which is a bit more extensive, but it allows for us to also take your knowledge and your memories.”

Your eyes snap up to hers, “no, no!”

“Your memories will teach us all we need to know about your little night court companions,” she laughs, walking towards the door to leave you alone with the revelation. Right before she’s out the door, she wants to tell you one last thing, “I always thought your powers were wasted on the likes of you. You could have been a queen, you could have given the high lords a run for their money.”

-

Everyone was dead silent, waiting for more news from the fox, but it seems like your captor left you alone. By this point the entire inner circle was in Lucien’s room, and tears were streaming down Mor’s face. She approached Azriel and said, “you have to find her, don’t you usually keep a few shadows on her at all times?”

Mor talking to him broke his concentration on the fox stitching, embarrassment flooding his senses. “No, I don’t, not tonight.”

“Why the hell not? You don’t even let her go down the street without a few extra shadows, but you let her do mission work unguarded!”

Lucien looks up at Azriel, realization coating his features, “She was upset about something after she came back in from the balcony, and she got plastered. You got in a fight and called the shadows off, didn’t you?”

Heat creeps up Azriel’s face, at both the mention of your incredibly dumb fight and the fact that his entire family was looking at him, aware of how badly he messed things up.

Rhys is the one to break the silence, “you told me you could behave, Azriel!”

“And I thought I could! I just.. I had a moment. A lapse in judgement.”

“A lapse in judgement!” Cassian cries, “she was crying to me because she thought you hated her! She thought you’d never want to see her again. She told me she might leave because it’s what you want from her!”

Mor gets to Azriel first, swatting him on the chest after every word she says, “what” swat “did” swat “you” swat “do?” swat.

Azriel lets her hit him, he more than deserves it. He can’t believe his stupidity in calling his shadows away from you, something he did out of pure anger at watching them dance around you on the balcony.

He starts to respond, when a shadow comes barreling in through the window, hitting Lucien on the head as it comes to inform Azriel of what it just found out.

-

You had been hopeful that the fox would be more helpful, but you’re thinking the magic didn’t work. Still in your party dress, you move around the cell a little. The witching hour is getting close, so you know they’ll be coming for you soon.

The cell opens and in comes Saffron and two huge males. “I brought some back up in case you tried to run,” she practically purrs at the idea, likely imagining them beating you half to death.

“Great,” you say. You follow them down the hallway, and the thought does skirt past your mind, but you’re shackled at the wrist and the ankle, you won’t be able to run fast or far, especially without your magic.

They open up two doors to the outside - it’s a nice, cool night. The moon is glowing brighter than you’ve ever seen it, distracting you from seeing the wooden logs surrounding a giant pole. You breathe in deeply, wishing, willing your friends to come rescue you. Now is the time, you think.

One of Saffron’s goons leads you to the pyre, and you take this opportunity to swing your shackles at his face, hitting him right in the cheek. The other one grabs you from behind, allowing the one you hit to face you.

He grabs your face, “such a pretty little thing. Too bad we didn’t have more time, I could have had a lot of fun with you.” His insinuation makes your blood run cold, and he pulls back his fist and punches you squarely on the nose, and you can feel it break, the blood pouring down your face already.

He nods to the goon that’s holding you in place and he lets go, giving you a second of repreive, until the one in front of you grabs you by the neck, and holds you up in the air, cutting your lungs off from the night air. You start clawing at his hands, desperately trying to be able to breathe. Just as your vision starts going a little spotty, he releases you, and you fall to the ground, gasping for air.

The other goon grabs you, lifting you up onto the top of the pyre, tying your hands to the pole. You take one last opportunity and kick him in the knee. He goes down for only a second, when he comes back up he just looks at you and spits on you. You gasp, anger fueling you.

“Enough,” Saffron says, “enough. It is time, call everyone here.”

Within a moment, ten other fae come into the clearing, all staring at you. “We’re here today to take power that we rightfully deserve!” The crowd cheers. “We will take this power and use it for a better tomorrow!”

The crowd erupts in applause, honestly you had no idea a dozen or so people could be so loud. Saffron begins chanting in an ancient language, and despite the shackles, you try sending out an emergency message to Rhys and Feyre, if you’re going to come rescue me, please do it now.

She brings a lit torch to the bottom of the pyre, lighting it. You can feel the heat as more of the pyre catches. The fire is getting closer to your feet, and you start coughing at the smoke.

Their chanting continues, getting louder, and you can feel parts of you draining, even with the shackles around you. You start yelling, trying for any distraction to break the concentration on their chanting. If you’re going down in an ancient ritual, you are not going with grace.

“Hey fucker! That’s right! You, Saffron! Not powerful enough to subdue me on your own, you have to use these stupid shackles from Hybern! You fucking coward - I bet you couldn’t even handle my power! It would consume you and burn you alive!”

Saffron faltered a bit at your taunts, but the rest of the crowd continued, persistent. “Is she supposed to be your new leader? what has she promised you? Power? Money? Land? I have all of those things, and look where I ended up! She’s crazy! She isn’t going to help you, she’ll steal your powers too!”

The flames are skirting up the pyre, getting awfully close to the fabric of your dress. You pull your legs, trying to climb up the pole you’re tied to.

“She’s weak, I’m tied up like a roast pig because she’s nothing!”

The chanting falters for a beat, enough for you to feel some of your power seep back in. You’re still shackled and can’t use them, but that doesn’t mean you want them gone.

You start coughing, excessive smoke inhalation perhaps, but you keep going. “My friends are going to be so pissed when they find out you killed me!”

Saffron allows the group to continue chanting, while she looks at you and says, “The unwanted Vanserra boy? I promise you, dear, he doesn’t scare us.”

A darkness creeps into the clearing, and a voice speaks. “I promise you, I’m much more terrifying than the fox.” Azriel steps out of the shadows, darkness radiating off of him in waves.

You’ve seen Azriel angry before, but never like this. He is almost feral with his emotion, he’d still be terrifying without the mass of shadows rolling off of him.

A few shadows come to you, circling around you, as if assessing you.

Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian step out at other points of the clearing, circling around the fae gathered.

Cassian makes a break for you amidst the chaos, and their arrival momentarily made you forget that you are moments away from being a filet mignon.

“Cas, I’m drugged! No powers!” You yell, as he approaches you. The smoke is growing stronger underneath you, forcing you to cough.

The general had no idea what to do, the fire was growing rapidly by the second, so he did the only thing he thought to do and didn’t allow himself a moment to reconsider: he ran, charging straight at you. Running up the pyre, ducking down so his shoulder makes contact with your hips, his momentum is enough to break the pole you’re secured to, the two of you tumbling off the pyre. Your head hits the grass with a hard thud, but otherwise you’re unharmed.

Cassian pulls himself off of you, checking you for injuries, and stands up and starts stamping out the train of your dress that had caught fire.

Coughing, and still tied to the pole, you thank Cassian. He moves to the top of your head, pulling the pole out from behind you, allowing you to at least stand up, even if you are still shackled.

Your ordeal with Cassian didn’t allow you to see the fight, but the remnants lead you to think it was quick and incredibly painful for the fae that captured you.

Saffron and one other are missing, assumingly already being taken by Rhys or Azriel for interrogation.

Feyre comes over, crouching down next to where you sit. “Are you okay?” She asks, placing both of her hands on the sides of your face.

The weight of the night begins settling, and you look at her, “I almost died. They wanted my powers, my knowledge, my memories.”

“We know,” Feyre says, hugging you. You’re not sure how but as she hugs you she undoes your chains, freeing your hands. You use the freedom to wrap your arms around your high lady’s waist.

“If they had taken my memories and come after you all, it would have been my fault.”

“But you were so so incredibly clever with that charm on your and Lucien’s clothes, we were able to get here just in time.” Your head turns to see Azriel crouched next to your and Feyre’s embrace, having come up without your notice.

Your eyes meet his, the tone of his words working to calm you down. At least, to make you feel less guilty.

“Do you want to return home?” He asks, holding a hand out. You nod, and he scoops you up, the shadows enveloping you as you realize you never specified which home to go to.

You were relieved when Azriel’s room at the House of Wind comes into view, afraid he’d take you straight back to your familial home in dawn after the last words he spoke to you.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

Azriel wasn’t a man of many words, so he liked getting straight to the point whenever he could. He kept you close to him, still holding your hands from winnowing.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was dumb, and jealous, and you were looking at Lucien like how you usually look at me, and I got scared.” He sighs, “I shouldn’t have told you to stay away from my court.”

You nod, trying not to think too much about him calling himself jealous, especially saying he’s jealous over Lucien.

“I just,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair, “seeing you with him, it brought up all these feelings of inadequacy. I’m not court nobility, but you are, and I’ve never felt good enough for you for a million reasons, and that’s one of them. Not that I think Lucien deserves you, hell no, but you deserve someone that’s your equal.”

Your mind is still reeling from the wine and the concussion you’re most likely sporting, but you’re hoping you’re gauging Azriel’s words correctly. Otherwise this will be really awkward.

You take one of his hands, “and you are not my equal? I’m the princess of the dawn court, truly no one could be as equal to me as a shadowsinger. Or is it too on the nose for a princess of the sun to be in love with the man in the shadows?”

His grip tightens on your hand and he pauses before asking, “are you saying you’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” you reply, with all the tenderness this moment deserves. “And as for how I looked at Lucien,” you clear your throat, “I was thinking about you, not him. I spent the night pretending I was dancing with you.”

He looks at you, really looking into your eyes, trying to memorize your face, as he raises his hands to cups your jaw.

“Is it terribly cliche for the man in the shadows to fall in love with the woman who radiates sunlight?”

“Maybe a little,” you reply, “but I’ll allow it.”

You’re not sure which of you leaned forward, perhaps it was both of you. The kiss was full of night cool air and the feeling of the sun on your bare skin, his mouth enveloping yours.

[palesweetscherryblossom]

Platonic Yandere Erasermic with a cat quirked Reader.

(This has been a long time coming as what’s a platonic Yandere MHA blog without the OG?)

Aizawa and Mic would be over the moon if they had a Cat Quirked! Reader. They rescued you from an abusive situation and said: “You’re our baby now.”

Aizawa would make sure that you’re healthy and that you’re well taken care of. He’s very gentle with your cat features and treats you well. You two regularly nap together, Mic has so many photos of you two together in that sleeping bag. Mic is a very doting father, he holds you on his hip while he teaches.

Also, you’re practically the baby of Class A. You’re their emotional support child, loaf on the dorm couches and loudly purr damnit! (Mineta lost cat privileges the minute you entered the scene.)

If anyone tries getting creepy or wanting to nab you, let’s just say that their ear drums and permanently damaged and can barely walk anymore.

Aizawa is possessive and Mic is overprotective. They know how some people can be fetishy and mean to people with quirks like yours.

They aren’t too extreme with punishments, any type of physical harm is off limits. It’s mostly time outs or extra bonding time

@thecuriousquest

[writing-mlm]

Idk if you take requests right now, but if you do, can you please write more damian wayne x reader 🙏

Sincerely, someone who has been scavenging for damian fics for days 😔

New Years, Same Words [D.W]

Summary: He's tired of hiding, but damn Damian cannot be subtle for the life of him. Pairing: Damian Wayne x male!reader WC: 8.8k

a/n: recs are always open :3

Back home, school was so different, almost every single detail was different. The way humans digested information was so slow and inefficient; back home students wore helmets and immediately got the knowledge they’d need. No need for lectures or turn and talks. They’re learning ideas and math that, quite frankly, a child back home would’ve already learned. 

But, you enjoyed this style. No matter how stupid it was. Back home, you never really had a chance to bond with peers or enjoy any activities like art or music. It was telepathic lessons and then home, usually, that’s when the kids would play together. But the school-sanctioned together time was nice. 

Everything else sucked. 

The hallways were cramped and you had to watch extra carefully to not bump into people and break their shoulders. No matter how badly you wanted to. 

“(Y/n)!” You hear from across the hall and look over, seeing your adoptive brother running down the hallway with his bag almost slipping from his shoulder. “I’m here!” He says, beaming as he stands next to you. 

    “You’re a mess,” You chide while fixing his bag and almost pick him up in the process. “Apologies.” 

“You ready for class?” He almost groans as he says it. “I swear, if she gives us another pop quiz, I’m going to laser her!” He whispers the last part and you chuckle. 

   “No quiz,” You reassure him, turning down the hallway. ELA was at the end of the hallway, right next to the smelly staircase where kids go to smoke or leave the building due to a faulty alarm system. “I heard we have a project.” 

“From who?” He says, voice raising several octaves. Jon has this thing, he doesn’t believe news from certain people, even if they’re later proven to be right. 

   “Marissa,” He stops walking and you can basically hear his thoughts. He’s so debating skipping class. “She said it’s not bad, c’mon!” Grabbing the back of his collar, you pull him after you as you hear the start of the warning bell. Quickly, you pull your headphones from around your neck to your ears and the bell rings. 

It’s at a human volume with the headphones on, so it’s still loud but not nearly as loud as it would’ve been otherwise. 

School back home also didn’t have bells. 

Sliding into your seat, you drop your bag in between your legs while glancing around. Mostly everyone is in class, save for a couple of people. The teacher is late, but you can hear her running up the staircase— not the smelly one, one that’s going to take her at least two minutes to get to class. She never uses a different staircase. 

Mrs. Elton is particular about that sort of stuff, her classroom never changes. She’s gone as far as to superglue the desks in a permanent shape around the class. There are three groups of desks, two in the front and one in the back. The one in the back is a straight horizontal line of seven desks while the front ones are arranged in an upside-down T shape. The vertical side of the T has eight tables, with four tables turned to face each other, while the horizontal side has four desks. 

Your seat is in the front, on the horizontal line. While seats aren’t technically assigned, they totally are assigned amongst everyone else. Jon has the seat in front of you, and he can never see the board properly since he has to turn his whole body around to see it. 

Mrs. Elton finishes her run up the stairs as the final bell goes off and the remaining students trickle into class. Amongst them is your other seatmate, the girl who sits to your right. She looks a little upset but she visibly calms down when she sees you. 

“I thought you were absent,” She tells you as she walks around your chair to get to hers. “You weren’t in second period, what the fuck, dude?” She playfully hits you with her bag before it settles on her lap.

   “I was late,” You shrug, watching her pull out her pink Macbook case with several stickers on it. “Why, what happened second?” She gives you a look before she slips her bag down to the floor and you raise an eyebrow, looking at Jon who shrugs. 

   “They were making plans to make a bomb for the winter dance.” She says. “Those two kids who always sit in the back, like that’s normal right?” You nod, the two kids in the back always talk about school shootings and whatnot but they’re typically harmless. “They talked about how their orders for materials came in and exactly where they’re gonna plant it.” 

“Text me,” She nods and Mrs. Elton walks into the room, effectively silencing the class. She’s dressed like an English teacher, which you hadn’t known was a stereotype for the longest. You thought there were dress codes for each subject teachers. 

Go figure. 

“Good morning!” She smiles, her kitten heels clicking on the brown tiled floor as she heads over to her desk. Her laptop is already connected to the smart board so she only has to log back in. “How was everyone’s weekend?” There are some murmurs amongst the kids but she takes what she can get. 

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, we have a project!” With her presentation on the screen, she turns to face everyone and clasps her hands together. “This will not be a group project, but there are many options to choose from.” She turns around again, fiddling with the keyboard. “Skipping the do now, let’s get right into it.” She pulls up a slide that’s blank for now. She does this thing where she presses a button and words pop up. “The Best Friend project!” She announces as it pops up on the board. 

“This is different from your other projects since this is a project that’s a week long. You only get this week to do it and everyone will be presenting next week. We’ll do it by volunteer order, if no one volunteers then I will call you to go!” She explains and you glance over at Jon. His back is to you, but you can see him rubbing his forehead. 

“As seniors, you need to understand how to present. But this is an easier one to do since I’m giving you so many options!” A list of options pops up as she says that. “Firstly, you can make a photo slideshow and explain your friendship; you can make a video collage with a voiceover, you can write a newspaper article and read it to the class, or you can bring the person in. But only if they do not have my class. So say Blake wanted to do his project on say… Michael, he could not bring him in. But if Blake wanted to do his project on his neighbor, he could bring them in. Understand?” Everyone nods and she moves on. 

“Pick the way you want to do your project today,” She says, looking over the class. “After today, we will not be working on this during class, we will continue to read Salvage the Bones.” 

“Go ahead! Start!” She smiles and turns on the class playlist as everyone turns to their laptops. 

“Who’re you doing yours on?” Amira asks, already on a blank slideshow document. 

   “Not you,” You laugh and she fake scoffs. “You don’t know him, though.” She hums in acknowledgment. 

   “Do I?” Jon asks and you look at him, head tilted and lips pulled into your mouth. “Ohhh!” He nods. “I’m doing mine on Jay!” 

“Fun,” You offer a smile and look over the options. 

Writing in English is not your strong suit, it’s why you weren’t allowed into AP classes. You were amazing with working on stuff but you were still learning English, despite living on Earth for four years now. Kara says that’s normal and it took her ages to get to your level of speaking and understanding English, but you feel stupid struggling with the words. 

You pull out your phone and open your messages. 

would u come to my school next week

4 a project 

What type of project? 

‘best friend project’ 

Is this like Show and Tell? 

idk what that is…

I’ll explain later. 

But I’ll agree, explain it to me tonight, okay?

kk :3

Closing your phone, you set it face down on the desk and look over the “bring a person in” section. It says you can either give a completely verbal presentation but you’ll need to create a transcript for it, for proper grading, or you can create a presentation in which the two of you explain what’s happening. You opt for the second one. 

There are some requirements, though. Each presentation needs to be at least ten minutes long; which you think is absurd, there cannot be any cursing included, and visual aids are required for all but the verbal presentation. Videos cannot be longer than two minutes, and only a maximum of two videos— each of them gives an extra five points to your grade. 

“Imagine someone does Damian Wayne.” The local Gothamite, Rebecca laughs and you share a look with Jon.

   “I totally am!” Her friend, Mariam jokes. “We’ve been dating for ages, darling!” Her group shares a laugh and your mind is settled on doing yours on him. 

—

Meeting Damian during his patrols had become somewhat of the norm since you started dating. For many reasons, but mainly since Batman doesn’t have super hearing, despite what the general public and some heroes may think. While you’re not entirely out of earshot of Kal-El, being in Gotham meant that he would have to focus a bit more on listening to you instead of doing whatever he was doing back home. Sure, sometimes Damian came to Metropolis, but that was rare. Only one of you could get to and from in three seconds, after all. 

“So,” You start as you slowly lower yourself down to the roof he's standing on, it’s on the outer side of Gotham, away from any of the normal patrol spots. “You’re dating someone else?” Robin frowns and crosses his arms. 

   “Ya albi, never.” He says in the most reassuring tone you’ve ever heard him speak in while slowly pulling you close. “Where’d you hear this?” It’s hard continuing the charade and you give up, a grin spreading across your face. It lets him immediately know and his frown goes into an unamused glare. 

    “These girls were joking about dating you during class,” You explain as he pushes you away and rolls his eyes. You smile and pull him back towards you, he crosses his arms and makes a point to keep a distance between the two of you.  

“Moving on,” He fixes your cape before wrapping his hands around your shoulders and pulling you down to his height. Leaning in, you watch his eyes close before he kisses you and you let your eyes close. Pulling him closer, you dig your fingers into his hips and smile when he smiles. 

“I was thinking,” He says when the two of you pull away. “We should go to the New Year’s gala together,” You pause, standing up straight and looking over the Gotham skyline before back at him. 

   “As us?” You ask and he nods, his eyes searching your face for any signs of… anything really. 

    “We could go as us for the one father is hosting and then as Robin and Rao for the Justice League party.” He suggests and he means it. He’s just as tired of kissing in corners as you are and you smile, big and bright before calming yourself. 

    “Are you sure? This is an incredibly big step, there’s no taking it back.” 

You’ve thought about this moment before. Even before you started dating, you’d daydream about the world finding out Robin and Rao were dating. About the world finding out that Damian Wayne is dating the adopted son of Lois Lane and Clark Kent, the world's best reporters. 

It wasn’t always the best in your head, you thought of the villains and the press. The jealous fans and suddenly you’re no longer just that kid in school. 

And you didn’t care. You’d thought of every single bad scenario, every scenario that almost made Clark and Lois break up; but it didn’t matter. You… you were in love with Damian, in every way. All of him, whatever he came with you were down for. You’d kill for him— you have killed for him. Not that he ever has to find that out. 

“Rao,” He says in a stern voice, pulling you back to him. “I… I want you forever. Why would I take any of this— of us back?” He asks as if you’ve offended him, his eyes darting between yours as he speaks. He’s talking as if you had thought so little of him as to think he wasn’t in the relationship a thousand percent. That you weren’t the best thing in his life and he’d do everything to not lose you. 

“I dunno,” You shrug, letting go of him but he grabs your hands to stop you from moving. “What if you want someone else one day? Someone who can’t hear the fact that your heart is racing and your blood is rushing? Or the fact that Batman is trying to reach you right now.” From several streets over, you can hear Bruce speaking into his comm trying to reach Damian. He’s asking Barbara why he isn’t responding, worried for his son. 

“I will never want someone else.” He promises, squeezing your hand and clicks his earpiece to turn it back on. 

“Yes, father?” He takes a step away but doesn’t let go of your hand. 

“Robin, where have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for ten minutes” You hear Bruce tell him, worry lacing his voice. 

    “Sorry, father. I accidentally turned it off.” Damian gives you a look that screams not to laugh. 

    “There’s a robbery close to you, it’s just Catwoman,” Bruce explains and Damian sighs, saying he’s going on it. Better than to have his father go and have sex on the roof again. 

He still couldn't get the picture out of his head when the gossip pages found them one day. He almost moved out after that. 

“Call me,” You smile as you begin to hover above the roof. “I still gotta explain the project to you.”

“Yknow, this could go by faster if you helped.” He offers and you laugh. 

   “Is Robin asking me for help?” He scoffs and lets go of your hand before walking to the edge of the roof. You watch him, already knowing your answer to his request but you wanted to see how long it would take him to say something. 

“Let’s go!” He calls and you grin, flying over to him and he lets you scoop him up before heading over to the bank. 

—

A week comes and goes, you’d finished your presentation the same day you had told Damian about it. Clark and Bruce insisted on getting it done as quickly as possible— you’d just take any excuse to spend the night in a fucking manor. 

“Good morning!” Mrs. Elton smiles as the final bell rings. “I’m so glad some of you signed up to give your presentations, uhh—“ She looks at a notepad on her desk, reading over the names. “Today we have (Y/n), Rebecca, Julie, and Jesus!” A little confused, you try and think if there’s another (Y/n) in your class. But you’re the only one in the entire grade. And you sure as hell did not sign up. 

“You signed up?” Amira whispers and you shake your head. 

    “I absolutely did not!” You whisper back, pulling your phone from your bag to text Damian. God, it would probably take him at least half an hour to get from Gotham to Metropolis. But as you open your phone, you realize there wasn’t a mixup with the volunteers. 

I’m in the office, about to head up. 

The text had been sent two minutes ago, and when you look up you can see him at the door. He sees you see him and ducks out of view before anyone else can. You should’ve listened harder, you could’ve spotted his heartbeat sooner. 

“Oh, you’re doing a buddy presentation?” Mrs. Elton says as she looks over your slides. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest. “Are they here?” Again, you nod and she smiles. “Excellent! Bring them in!” Standing up, you head to the door and step outside.

“One second, Ms!” You say before the door closes. Damian is leaning against the wall opposite to the room. He’s dressed a little fancier than he normally is, a turtleneck and slacks. But he’s wearing a pair of thick, black boots. Are those yours..?

“You asshole!” You whisper, ignoring the boot situation and he looks at you, faking a confused look. “I’m shitting myself, dude! Oh my god!” You rush over to him, running your hands over your face as you talk. 

   “Habibi,” He places a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll do fine, it’s nothing compared to fighting Lex, right?” Sighing, you nod and calm yourself. You’d given speeches to entire countries before, this is a walk in the park comparatively. “Good, now let’s go.” He turns you around to face the door and for some reason, talking to the President was easier than walking into that classroom. 

Nope. Not fine. 

But he guides you back into the classroom and you stand at the open door. 

“Come on in!” Mrs. Elton encouraged you with a smile and a gentle wave to usher you over. Licking your lips, you head inside and Damian steps in after you. Immediately there are murmurs throughout the room and several eyes land on him. Mariam gasps and slaps Rebecca’s arm. She’s been on her phone, mostly uninterested for the most part but when she looks up her eyes go wide. 

“You may start,” Mrs. Elton hands you a remote that lets you control the slides and you thank her, fiddling with the remote as you and Damian stand off to the side of the screen.

“My best friend is Damian,” You start, trying to shake off the feeling of absolute dread over you. Not that it works.  “Um… I met him what— two, three years ago?” Time is hard for you, times blend together and merge, sometimes stretching to points where they couldn’t have possibly happened. But Kara thinks it’s the lingering effects of the Phantom Zone. 

   “Four,” He corrects and looks over at you. “I was there when you arrived.” That’s right, you’d forgotten when you crashed into Earth. Bruce and Damian had gone with Clark when the Watchtower got a reading of a spaceship entering Earth's orbit. You’d crashed into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and almost sunk to the bottom of the sea. 

You nod, looking back to the class. “Four years ago, when I was adopted, I met him. I think he hated me back then, though.” You chuckle, pressing the slide to pictures you have where the then fourteen-year-old Damian was either attacking you or clearly yelling. In all of the pictures, you’re unbothered or confused, still learning the language. “Can’t imagine why, probably because I’m black.” 

“It’s because you kept breaking my stuff,” He corrects quickly. “I went through five phones, six doors, and I think twenty windows that first month.” He lists and you want to defend yourself, imagine suddenly being so strong that a simple nudge could send walls toppling down but you can’t say that. 

   “Don’t remember that,” Shaking your head, you click to the next slide and look at it. You’d forgotten all about that trip. 

“This was when my father took the Kent’s on vacation to The Netherlands,” Damian says, looking at the picture of you looking out of the plane window. You look unamused and you remember saying I can see this all the time, why would I get the window seat? And you ended up switching seats with Jon. Another picture is of you and Damian sitting on the windowsill of the hotel, it’s nighttime and you’re both watching the stars. 

You remembered talking to him about your home and he’d talked to you about his. 

Another picture is Damian, Jon, and you at a creek. You and Jon are knee-deep in the water but Damian is sitting on a tire swing, clearly disgusted about the idea. He’s yelled about bugs, parasites, and fish pee infecting the water. Jon wanted to throw him in, but you talked him down. 

“We spent a week there,” You explain, looking back at the class. “I think that’s when we actually became friends.” He agrees, giving a small nod and you click to the next slide. It’s a video, and from the thumbnail, it’s set around Christmastime.

You’re in the woods, wearing a jacket Lois had gifted you; Damian is holding the phone from what you remember.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Damian’s voice is the first thing you hear as the video starts. It’s different from his voice now and you wonder when the change happened. 

   “I’m good!” You dismiss and pick up your pace when you see the thing you’ve been looking for. It’s a little embarrassing hearing your voice, especially how you sounded back then. But it’s still a fond memory. 

In the middle of the forest was a lake, and it had frozen over. Clark had wanted to give it a couple of weeks to get to a proper thickness and you felt you’d waited long enough. It had been four weeks already, and you heard Alaska got pretty cold. 

“Do not,” Damian warns as you hold onto a tree, lowering yourself onto the ice. “(Y/n)!” He sets the phone down on a fallen tree and goes into view of the camera, following after you. But his point was to get as close to you as possible without getting onto the ice. 

“I’m fine, Damian!” You wave him off, putting a foot onto the ice. “It’s slippery!” You gasp, putting your other foot, and struggle to find your balance for a good second. 

   “It’s ice.” He reminds, still holding his hand out. “Now, c’mon! That’s dangerous, even for you.” Looking at him, you hold your hands on your hips and grin. Your balance is much better now that you’ve gotten your bearings. 

“Nothing bad ever happens to me!” You declare and take a shaky step further into the lake. It’s more difficult than just standing and you’re tempted to just cheat by flying a little bit. 

   “You’re an orphan for a reason,” He sighs and you loudly boo at him. You must’ve booed him for a good five seconds, both your thumbs pointed down and he rolls his eyes. 

   “One bad thing happened to me!” Taking another step, you almost fall and he lunges to grab you but you’re able to remain upright. 

“See,” You look at him and he shakes his head, carefully inspecting the ice. His body language changes when he does and he takes a mini step closer, holding his hand out with a sense of urgency. 

“Off the ice, now.” He demands and you look down. You can hear the cracks forming and there are white lines starting to appear. But you’d assumed the noises had been from the woods. “(Y/n),” Looking up at him, you grab his hand and he pulls you towards him. 

The ice lets out a sharp crack and you remember watching the ice fall into the water as the two of you fell back into the snow, your heart swelling with some feeling. It wasn’t even the fact that you’d almost fallen, you were more than sure you would’ve been a-okay; it was the fact that he had cared that much about your safety. 

“I could’ve flown,” You whisper, looking at the spot you’d been standing at. The video doesn’t pick it up, but you remember what happened. How the two of you had fallen back and he held you tightly until that point. 

“Doesn’t mean you can be so reckless,” He says, standing up before pulling you up. “Let’s head back to the cabin, be glad Lois isn’t here to scold you.” He picks the camera up as he speaks and you roll your eyes. 

   “I’m sure you’re gonna tell her either way.” The video ends and you look towards your classmates again. 

“That’s an example of why I’m the best,” You announce, faking being serious. “But in my defense, it was my second winter ever and I was very excited.” Back home, the weather was just… not cold. At least where you lived. 

   “And stupid,” Damian mutters and you nudge him, hiding your grin. He nudges you back and you’re about to start a stupid nudging war when Mrs. Elton clears her throat. 

“When was this?” Mrs. Elton asks, motioning to the video. 

    “Two years ago,” You answer, looking back to the video that’s stuck on a still of Damian and you walking up, a cheesy grin on your face while he’s less than impressed. “Clark and Lois rented out a cabin in Alaska, I invited Damian. We spent the weekend there and he never did tell Lois about the incident.” But Clark surely did hear, so when you returned there was some discussion about safety and caution. 

“That same day, (Y/n) decided it would be a good idea to try and befriend a wild bear,” Damian says and you scoff, going to the next slide. 

  “Me and Jerry did become friends,” You grumble. 

“This is for my birthday last year,” Damian says as he looks at the picture that’s in an apartment Bruce rented so Damian could have a small party with just his friends. He saw Billy, Cassie, Bart, Wally, Jackson, Nika, Jon, Courtney (who he didn’t really know, she was more your friend since he had no interest in Stargirl), Jaime, and you standing around a table with him in the center. There’s a birthday cake but most of it is hidden by the several bodies in front of it. 

He has a ridiculous paper party hat on and there’s some frosting on his nose. He looks less than amused but you remember he put up no protest to any of the things that happened that night. Although Wally said it’s because it was you doing it and had it been anyone else, they would’ve lost an arm.

And he agreed! 

There’s a green Happy Birthday balloon banner behind him and in a different picture, it’s the two of you standing in front of it. You’re both holding sparklers, which was incredibly dangerous according to basically everyone else. But it’s an apartment filled with teen superheroes, a little sparkler was not going to be the thing that caused damage. 

“It was a group sleepover,” You announce, staring at the picture Jaime had taken of everyone sleeping on the large couch. There are several blankets over people so no one’s really huddled together for warmth until you see you and Damian in the corner of the couch. 

You’re still awake, on your phone but Damian is knocked the fuck out, his head is on your shoulder and if you squint, you can see his legs wrapped in yours under the cover. Your arm is around him, keeping him from rolling onto someone who’s sleeping close by. 

“I didn’t think you’d put that one,” You whisper, admiring the picture. When making the presentation, Damian had suggested that you each get ‘secret slides’ and the others were not allowed to look until the day off. Your slide was the ice video. 

   “Nika considers it a soft launch, whatever that means.” He grins and you smile. 

There’s another picture, but it’s a picture of a picture. Taken on those handheld cameras that were really popular in the early 2000s. It’s of you, Damian, and Nika. The three of you are in the kitchen, sitting on the kitchen island with Damian in the middle. 

You’re eating cake, surprised that someone was going around taking pictures while Nika is blowing a kiss to the camera and Damian is actually smiling for the picture. 

There’s a picture right next to it where you’re actually posed. Your back is to Damian and Nika copies as the two of you fake holding guns, acting as his bodyguards. He’s playfully rolling his eyes, and there’s a wider grin on his face in that picture. It was actually your screen saver. 

Honestly, when you first met Flatline, you were kinda upset. She did kinda kill him and then they became best friends? It was confusing as all hell but whatever, you warmed up to her and she was actually really cool. 

“The cake was super good,” You note as you press the next slide. It’s another video, and it’s still from the birthday party. “I don’t remember this,” You admit, looking at the thumbnail. It’s when he’s being sung Happy Birthday. 

  “I do,” He smirks as the video plays. You could hear his heartbeat pick up a little bit and you’d have to admit you’re a little worried about the video. 

“-irthday to you, happy birthday to you! Make a wish!” Everyone says and Damian takes a second. His thinking face only appears for a second before he closes his eyes and blows out his candles. They go out and everyone cheers as he stands up tall. 

   “Try the cake!” Nika shouts from the back. 

“Come, aynii,” He tells you and you emerge from the small crowd as he wipes frosting onto his finger. You remember this exact moment and you blink, a slow and long blink as you smile. Damian notices and his heart picks up even more. He tries his best to look composed but Jon can see you unraveling in that moment. 

The class watches as he wipes the frosting onto your lips quickly enough that you don’t have time to react before he kisses you. 

And it’s an absolute riot when he does. Cheers and shouts take over the room. The kiss doesn’t last long as in the video, the people in the video are also cheering and you pull away, clearly flustered with so many people watching. He presses a quick final kiss to your lips and then licks his, fake-tasting the frosting while you wipe the frosting from your nose. 

“Tastes lovely,” Damian tells Nika as the video ends. It ends with you turning away from the camera and Damian pulling you closer to the table and him. 

“It was vanilla flavor,” Damian tells the class as they settle down. “That’s the last of the pictures,” The ten-minute requirement isn’t up yet, you have about two minutes left so your teacher suggests answering some people’s questions and you just know they are not going to be about anything other than the video. 

“How long have you been dating?” Mariam asks. 

   “Two and a half years,” Damian answers without hesitation, his hand slipping into yours. You feel his pulse settling down against your skin and run your thumb across the small, barely visible scars littering the back of his hand. 

So much for a soft launch. 

—

It turns out that the student was not live, but he did in fact post the video online. Very publicly, as it was viral absolutely everywhere. It even reached Worldstar, which you thought died out several years ago. You’d seen it across all your feeds, you’d been tagged a bunch and even sent it directly. News outlets have even contacted you and there've been some vague threats for your life, but nothing you haven’t seen before. It’s just a headache seeing so many new messages you end up making entirely new accounts and setting them to private. 

Clark and Bruce had both sat the two of you down when they saw it— which was immediately after it was posted. Seeing as one of them is a high-profile billionaire and the other is a high-profile reporter married to another high-profile reporter and journalist. There was an extremely long talk about… relationship stuff, and it was a little awkward when Bruce asked about some private information. Damian shut it down, though. Giving vague but concise answers to their questions while you tried to bury yourself on the couch. 

They ended with basically; you’re both 18, so you’re old enough, blah blah blah, wrap it and tap it, blah blah blah, at least there won’t be pregnancy scares, blah blah blah, no more sleepovers. 

That part wasn’t going to be in place for long, though.  

All in all, the worst part to come out of the situation thus far was the sudden attention on your back. 

People in school suddenly knew your name and while no one was acting strange, it was weird that people would suddenly be nicer to you. But at least no one was homophobic, that was something you were not going to complain about. 

“So,” Rebecca and her group of friends swipe the seats around you as you’re finishing up some of your work during gym class. “Damian Wayne?” She grins, sitting next in front of you. 

   “That is my boyfriend.” You hum, slowly closing your laptop. 

    “Good!” She grins. “Because we used to go to school together and I’ve never seen him so happy before! Everyone called— fuck it, probably still calls him Arab Psycho.” She imitates his public resting face, albeit very poorly and you think for a second. It’s that human movie. Tim talks about it. 

   “American Psycho but he’s Arab…” You ask and she nods. 

   “Always felt racist but those rich white fuckers didn’t care.” She explains and you hum. 

“You’re sweet,” She says. “Has he asked you to the winter dance yet?” Rebecca grins, her nails tapping against the glossy floor. “Oh my god! You two would totally be Winter formal royalty!” 

“I’m not going.” She frowns and her friends make awww sounds. It’s kinda hard to explain you’re gonna spend the night as Rao, making sure kids don’t try and blow up your school. Not to mention the fact that you really did want to go, but shit happens and you’ve been to every other school dance. And there’s still prom. “But he did ask.” 

“You’re stronger than me.” Kirara shakes her head. “What’s your Instagram, by the way?” 

—

The day of the dance rolls around and you’re stuck with Damian on the roof of the building across from the school. Forced to listen to the music and watch people dance with their dates, just waiting and watching. He notices, of course. But he doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. He’s always avoided school dances, they felt trivial, beneath him. But you enjoyed the American school traditions like those. 

He remembers whenever you’d hang out at the manor you’d insist on watching some high school movie, especially if they had dances. Apparently, they weren’t a big deal back home. 

You can’t move from the roof until you’re sure there’s no bomb. Your super-vision didn’t show anything and you scouted the place the two kids talked about but nothing. Jack shit popped up. But the two kids aren’t home, so there’s a chance they might show up and do it later. A mix of Carrie and Heathers, you suppose. 

It’s about midway through the dance that something happens. You recognize their dingy car— think a rusted car that is literally duct-taped together and one wind gust from breaking apart. The two of you slink into the shadows and you watch as they open the trunk, grabbing the bomb.

“At least this wasn’t for nothing,” You mutter and fly down, landing about four paces behind them. Robin lands in front of the car, his arms crossed and head tilted up. 

“Planning something?” You ask and they spin around, the taller one slams the trunk shut while the shorter one stuffs something into his jacket pocket. 

   “Just a dance…” Short laughs, tucking his arms under his chest. 

“And a bomb?” Robin asks and they spin around to see him. And it’s like the absolute life had drained out of them when they realized they had two vigilantes on them. One with a sword and the other with fucking heat vision. 

“We’re sorry!” Tall shouted, getting on his knees, and his hands were in the air within seconds. 

   “Dude…” Short grumbles and removes the poorly made bomb from his shirt and places it on the ground before getting on his knees. “Fucking pussy.” He glares at his friends while Robin calls for the cops to pick the two up. 

You pick up the bomb, looking it over. It’s about the size of a football and fairly heavy. But the intent was clearly there, you doubt it would’ve worked. They didn’t connect the wires properly. Seems they must’ve missed a step in their plans. 

The cops arrive soon after along with the bomb squad. They say the bomb is safe and the two kids get locked up. Before, they used to hound for you to go back to the station to make a statement but they know you’ll show up soon and leave with a quick thank you. 

“Cops in Gotham never thank us,” Robin huffs, watching them drive off. 

   “We’re nice here,” You shrug, looking at the school. “Wanna go to the Titans?” He looks at you and your barely hidden frown and then at the school. He’s sure his dignity isn’t as fragile as it seems because the decision isn’t a hard one to make. 

“We could go inside.” The frown turns into a smile and you rush inside, your cape bellowing with how fast you move. He rolls your eyes but follows you towards the music. 

Of course, the two of you cause a stir in the gym as everyone sees Rao and Robin at their shitty high school dance, slow dancing to the cheesy song playing but that’s perfectly fine. Everyone sorta returns to their own devices when they remember you’re two teenagers who probably just want to experience a dance. 

“Thank you.” You whisper to him as the night wraps up. Mariam and some dude who wasn’t her date were voted as the Winter Formal Royalty, despite them trying to give the crowns to the two of you. “This was fun. Very human.” You laugh at the last part, watching as kids get into their parent's car and head on home. You see Jon is waiting for Clark with Jay, he has a strict rule of not interacting with you when one of you is out of uniform. Something about being a horrible liar.

   “It was my pleasure seeing you smile.” He says, settling on the railing of the steps. “I’m just sorry you couldn’t enjoy it normally.” He adds, his eyes flickering to the large S symbol on your chest and then to your masked face. 

“Please,” You huff, sitting next to him. “We stopped a bomb. It was a… bad bomb, but still.” 

“You’re still here!” Mariam gasps when she sees the two of you. She has her heels in one hand and her phone in the other so her date holds the door open for her. “Good! Here—here, take it!” She hands you her crown and the other crown. Apparently the king didn’t care for it and gave it to her. “Don’t say no, either.” She shakes the crowns for you to take and you laugh, grabbing the king's crown while Damian takes the queen. 

“Okay, thank you.” The plastic crowns are but paper to you, so you take extra care not to break it. 

   “Put it on!” She urges, taking some steps back, and points her camera to the two of you. Robin looks at you and takes your crown from you, setting the crown on your head before putting his own. “Y’all are too cute!” She gushes and takes about ten pictures. You’re posing, of course, about three different poses and she’s hyping the two of you up beyond belief. 

“I’ll send these to you, bye-bye!” She shouts, running down the stairs while her boyfriend gets in the car. 

   “Bye-bye!” You call back.

“Clarks here,” Robin nudges your hand and you see Jon get into the car. 

“Break has officially started!” Someone shouts from the parking lot. “See yall mother fuckers next year!” You laugh, and float up, pulling Robin up with you. He latches on immediately, looking at you as you shoot into the air and over to Gotham. He’s a little more careful to make sure your crowns stay on than you are and he promises to keep it safe in Gotham. That honestly sounded like an oxymoron. 

“What’re you doing for Christmas?” He asks as you take your masks off in the Batcave. 

   “Mrs. Kent invited us to the farm,” Throwing yourself into the chair, Damian sits on the table while taking his gloves off. “We’ll probably be there for the entire weekend. Unless there’s some emergency. You?”

“We typically do a small gift exchange and not much else.” He shrugs. 

   “Y'know…” You trail, pushing the chair closer to him. “Martha has been wanting to meet you.” 

“She’s met me.” He says, fixing your hair into something that doesn’t make it obvious you had just been flying around. 

   “Yeah, but not as her grandson’s boyfriend.” He cups your face as you speak, staring at you with this soft gaze that makes you like putty in his hands. 

“He’ll go,” Bruce says as he enters the cave. Damian grumbles and drops his hands to his side while you spin around to see him. He’s not in his Batman gear, though. Just his nightwear. “Clark invited all of us yesterday.”

“Fun!” You turn to Damian who’s not too happy about the fact he still has the spend the holiday with his siblings. 

   “My siblings are going to cause your grandmother to have a heart attack. I’d advise you to fool-proof the house.” He warns you, getting off of the computer and pulling you up from the chair. 

“It’s Kryptonian proof. They can’t do much damage,” You call him a name he’s heard a bunch. It’s this word in Kryptonian but you won’t tell him what it means and he doesn’t know the language enough to piece it together. But he likes it. It just feels right. 

   “That’s what you think.” 

But despite his warnings and swearing up and down about his family ruining the day, Christmas went smoothly. Save for the embarrassment of introducing your boyfriend to your family and such, of course. The gifts were wonderful, but what you loved the most was Damian’s recreation of your home, you hadn’t thought he’d remembered so much detail from when you talked about it but he was spot on. You’d gotten him a special sword, made of alien metal and carefully carved with his initials. He said it was too good to use, that something of that marksmanship should never see bloodshed. But his eyes sparkled when you pulled out a set of new charcoal and paints for him. 

He spent the rest of the night drawing. 

With Christmas wrapped up, the time for the New Year’s party rolled around. Of course, Bruce had formally invited the Kents to the gala that was being hosted at some fancy building in Gotham. You’d been all but attacked by Dick to get a matching suit with Damian. Not that you minded, of course. 

“Your first public appearance as a couple, congrats.” Duke grins as he sees you standing next to Damian, the two of you fixing the final details of your suits. You peer up from your cufflinks and see he’s in a fancy yellow suit. He paired it with a soft blush pink undershirt and silver jewelry. 

   “Thanks,” You smile and check your sleeves. Still nicely pressed and the cuffs shine against the silky brown suit. 

   “Nervous?” He asks, stepping into the room as Damian hands you the dahlia brooch the two of you were going to wear. Damian knew more about flower symbolism than you, but you just knew the flower meant something about the two of you that he wholeheartedly agreed with. 

“Far from it,” Damian responds, pinning his own brooch to his suit. He makes it look so damn easy, but that’s probably because he doesn’t need to worry about breaking the brooch. “Yellow clearly suits you.” He tells Duke who in turn, compliments Damian’s suit. 

“Oh, you two did henna?” Duke asks, seeing your deep orange-stained hands. He’s too far away to see the exact details, but he knows henna when he sees it. 

   “His idea,” You grin, looking at the designs on your hands. “We still have to find our initials, though.” Your eyes flicker to where Amira’s mother had hidden the letter D on your hand.

“In private.” Damian adds, his hand finding reprise in your own. He doesn’t need to look at Duke for him to understand that Damian is telling him to leave and close the door. The clicks closed as he guides you to his bed. The two of you sit together and he looks first. 

“These designs are lovely,” He utters, his fingers ghosting over your skin as if you were a delicate artifact he was trying so desperately to keep safe. There were a lot of small details, hardly any of your skin was showing and it just looked like a lace you’d wrapped around your hand. His eyes flicker from left to right, as if he’s reading words in a book trying to find the letter D somewhere in the henna. 

He’s far from frustrated, though. He absolutely loves that you’d agreed to do this and even more so that you clearly didn’t half-ass in getting it done. You’d even let the henna sit for two hours extra, just in case your genes made the stain fade faster. 

“Here,” He points to one of the curves along a flower, his finger tracing over the hidden D. 

   “That was fast,” You look up at him and he just can’t look away from your hand. You call him, using another Kryptonian pet name and he looks at you. 

   “I’m perceptive.” He hands you his hands and you gently take them. 

You suppose you’re cheating, but your eyes are naturally gifted and you can zoom in. Even so, it does take you longer than him. You’re looking between his hands, almost stressing about finding out. 

“There,” You point to your initial resting on his ring finger, right above the second knuckle. He smiles and nods and you pat yourself on the back. And then he says something— something that’s surely a promise. He says it in a way that’s clear he’s thought about it for so long that nothing is to change his mind about it and you stare at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

“It’ll be harder to find when we get married.”

—

The gala is nice. The two of you arrived after your families just two hours before midnight, hand in hand. Perhaps it was on purpose, but you’re holding the hand that has your initial and he’s holding the hand that has his. Maybe that’s his way of keeping it between the two of you; intimate. 

There are a lot of people, as is expected with galas. A lot of rich old people, a bunch of shitty reporters trying to kiss ass to Clark and Lois, and their older children. No one under sixteen is ever allowed to gala’s, a rule that came into place when Jason was taken under Bruce’s wing. You were surprised to hear the rule wasn’t because of Dick, but apparently Dick didn’t attend enough gala’s for the rule to be needed. 

It’s your first gala seeing you’ve always declined the offers to go but there wasn’t room to say no in this situation. But it’s calm. You were more nervous about your presentation than about this. You and Damian mingle together for around an hour and a half before you see Kara at the snack table and excuse yourself.

You’re talking to Kara about school and she’s talking to you about her job. It just sounds like a bunch of human adult stuff you’re probably going to have to do in five years and honestly? That sounds like hell. But she makes it sound fun. 

“Mother.” Damian says from across the room. Your head snaps over to where he is and you see her. Holy shit. You should run. “What’re you doing here?” His head turns to find you in the crowd but you see that Thalia is already looking directly at you. At least she’s smiling, that’s good… right?

“His mothers here?” Kara whispers, having heard that too. She’s been big on meeting the woman who raised him, apparently hearing how Bruce and Damian talk about her isn’t enough for her never-ending curiosity. 

   “I’m gonna piss my pants!” You gasp, looking at her. “Oh my god, she’s gonna kill me. i— Kara!” Your eyes widen as she tugs you after her. She barely weaves past people and you have to awkwardly apologize to them and let this crazy woman drag you over to your boyfriend and his assassin mother. 

“Hello, Ms. Al Ghul.” You gulp as Kara makes you stand between her and Damian. 

   “Ah, so this is your partner.” Thalia looks at her son and then at you. He’s not upset, but he’s cautious. He’s purposefully slowing his heart rate and you hear the subtle sounds of his joints moving. He’s ready to take you and run. 

   “Yes, this is my significant other, (Y/n).” He introduces you with a hand on your back. “And his aunt, Kara.”

“I’ve heard a lot about the boy who my son has fallen in love with.” She bluntly says and you don’t know if you should smile or hide. Neither of you has actually said the L word before. 

   “Mother…” He whispers and she tsks. 

   “What does he call you?” She asks you, ignoring her son's plea to stop taking. 

“Uh…” You trail. “He says: ya albi; habibi, hobbi, and ya hayati. There’s some more but I can’t remember…” When you say them, she takes a deep breath in and turns to her son. He’s a little red but not from anger. 

   “And do you know what they mean?” She asks, her eyes flicker to you. 

   “No, ma’am.” You answer honestly and she grins. That’s where he gets it, oh my god. 

“He’s professing his love for you. My love, my darling, love of my heart, and my life.” She explains. 

“You call him the same things!” Kara points out, slapping your arm and Damian looks over, the embarrassment off of his face and now he’s confused.

   “Kara…!” Your eyes widen as it’s your turn to be embarrassed. 

    “He calls you…” She waits for Damian to tell her the pet names and now you’re embarrassed that he’s repeating them. She doesn’t hide her excitement or her expressions like Thalia had and openly gushes. “The first one is: my only love. Then he says: my life and my reason.” 

“Your reason?” He asks and you turn your face from him. If you weren’t surrounded by people, you would’ve flown away. 

“Where we’re from, to have someone as your reason is the highest form of love. You’re living for someone, you’re devoting your life to them and their happiness.” You carefully explain and Kara nods, a hand over her heart as she gushes again. 

“Let’s leave the boys to their devices and chat,” Thalia smiles at Kara who nods and loops her arms with the literal assassin. 

“So…” You trail but the lights turn off and you hear the countdown start from one of the speakers around the room. Geeze, the night had gotten away from you. 

“Shall we?” He asks, stepping in front of you. New Year's kiss. Okay, holy shit. This is. Okay, you got this. You hear them say three and you get ready, cupping his face in your hands. You figure this is the best time to say it. Hell, you both have practically been saying it for years now. Just now it’ll be in a language you both understand.

“I love you.” You whisper as everyone shouts Happy New Year around the two of you. 

Kissing him, he holds you close and you’re sure you’re about ten seconds into the new year before he pulls back from the kiss. 

“I love you, too.”

[starsreminisce]

I have to preface this by saying that I really don’t care who gets the next book; this is more about me trying to get my thoughts out.

A lot of people are basing their expectations for the next ACOTAR book on HOFAS, and I feel like this is another situation where, despite being told how influential ACOTAR was going to be for HOFAS, it ended up being just Nesta and Azriel on a walking museum tour with Bryce under the Court of Nightmares. Someone who had never read ACOTAR wouldn’t have missed out much on who the ACOTAR characters were. I feel like the same mistake is being made by relying too much on HOFAS for Azriel and Gwyn to take the lead in the next book.

It’s not about a character being at their lowest to prompt the next main character; it’s about a character needing to exhaust all viable options in their current circumstances before they are presented with a change that will help them.

That’s basic storytelling when starting out a book. In the first chapter, there needs to be a hook—the “why,” the Call to Action.

In ACOTAR, it was Feyre killing the wolf; in ACOMAF, it was Feyre struggling post-UTM and finding comfort in the night sky; in ACOWAR, it was Hybern coming to the Spring Court; and in ACOSF, it was Nesta’s intervention.

Even HOFAS’s first chapter started with Lidia to preview her upcoming revolt later in the book.

There are theories that Elain will see Azriel pull away from her, become more drawn to Gwyn, and that they’ll end up being mates, which would then push Elain to focus on Lucien because Azriel is now soul-bound to someone else.

The problem I have with that theory is that Elain already has a mating bond that she’s avoiding, and seeing Azriel happy with his mate isn’t going to force her to finally face her own bond. She has Nesta’s ceremony coming up to do that for her.

Azriel needs to understand why the third sister was given to someone else. He needs to see why Lucien, the male who supposedly doesn’t deserve her and in whom she had no interest, ended up with her. Why Lucien’s patience was rewarded while his own was not. Azriel needs to realize that with every mating bond, it's only a matter of time before mates inevitably come together.

It doesn’t do Elain any good to be rejected twice by Azriel and then realize there’s no one left, so she defaults to Lucien. She’s already aware of that after being rejected twice by two people who aren’t her mates, realizing she can no longer afford to ignore her true mate.

If the BC was supposed to be a “test” or lesson from the Mother about the mating bond, Elain passed because she applied what she learned from Graysen to Azriel. Azriel failed because not only did he not have an answer for Rhys about Mor, he ignored it. The Mother graded him on a curve to pass by means of Gwyn.

Rhysand also gave a vital clue when he said that Lucien would defend his bond against Azriel and how important Lucien’s survival is to maintaining the fragile peace between Autumn, Spring, and the Human Lands.

Both Lucien and Elain are now at a point where their next chapters are coming into focus. Lucien’s assignment to be permanently stationed in Spring is technically over because Feyre gave birth, and his frustration with Jurian and Vassa constantly clashing is reaching a tipping point, especially with Vassa’s time running out. Lucien has also demonstrated inherent dominance, and Beron is becoming more audacious with his alliance with Hybern to take over the Spring Court from Tamlin, who is still dealing with grief and guilt.

Elain’s last distraction from the mating bond just told her it was a mistake and left. She doesn’t need salt rubbed into that wound by having him be right about calling it a mistake. But Azriel does need to understand, through Lucien, that it doesn’t matter if Elain showed disinterest in Lucien because, in the end, Elain is still Lucien’s mate. Mor’s lack of interest in Azriel isn’t why the mating bond between them hasn’t snapped.

Azriel is the one who misunderstands the mating bond, while Elain is the one avoiding it. Elain has no reason to avoid it anymore, but Azriel still has more to learn about the mating bond.

So, with that said, even with HOFAS, Elucien now has a much higher chance of providing a compelling hook in the first chapter compared to Gwynriel.

And that starts with Nessian’s ceremony because SJM gave an oddly specific timeframe for when that would happen at the end of ACOSF, in addition to Nesta placing Elain's rose marker on Papa Archie's grave.

That’s not to say Gwynriel can’t or doesn’t happen in the next book. I’m sure Azriel will experience a wave of emotions during a ceremony (especially since Feysand did theirs in secret) and might look over at Gwyn, sparking something more between them, or this could unfold after Bryce’s first, second, or third visit.

But Elain watching the sister who was most antagonistic toward the Fae embrace the most Fae aspect of herself, pulling herself out of her downward spiral with Cassian’s help, could have a profound impact on her. Realizing that Lucien would be staying in Velaris (possibly for two weeks, as Feyre suggested in FAS) to figure out the next steps with Tamlin and Beron, especially after Nesta’s interference, sets the stage for the next book.

[tzyuki]

enhypen reaction to idol!reader being their groups main dancer ? either like enha’s crush or s/o i don’t mind :) maybe for a scenario like their partner wins the random play dance during HYBEs game caterer thing ?

- 🎐 anon :)

— (05.20.23) ENHA-QUESTS

IN WHICH ✶ enha admires their s/o’s dance skills!

genre 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ enha x reader. fluff fluff fluff!!!

warnings 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ swearing, if any more please tell me!

ej note 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ hi🎐 anon !!! srry i got to this one so late, i hope you like it! guys stream dark moon 🤗 JAYS IS SO LONG LMAO 😭

⏤ ☆ yang jungwon / 양정원

jungwon enjoyed practicing with you, especially since you two were under the same company you guys got to see each other almost everyday at the company building. when you guys heard you’d be doing an end of year collab performance you guys were happier than ever, you’d be on stage performing together and be in the same room all day everyday practicing!

͏͏⏤ ☆ lee heeseung / 이희승

heeseung was in awe watching you dance at the random play dance while you guys were filming the HYBE’s game caterer. He didn’t know you knew so much dances and was smiling at your competitiveness.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park jongseong / 박종성

before you debuted, when you were still a trainee, jay was someone you looked up to dance wise. you loved his dance style sm and idolized him for it. when you had gotten casted for hybe you had actually debated on taking the offer or not, you had been in a good place at your current company, almost getting put into the debut lineup. you didn’t want to take the offer just to meet your favorite dancer, so you thought long and hard about your decision and ended up staying at your company. you and jay would see each other and briefly talk to each other when your promotions overlapped and such. when you guys had done the ‘future perfect’ tiktok challenge fans pointed out how you guys had similar dance styles, you talked about it on live and about how you looked up to him a lot as a trainee and you’ve stayed in his mind ever since.

͏͏⏤ ☆ sim jaeyun / 심재윤

jake likes making fun silly goofy ass tiktoks with you, the videos are either in his drafts bc they are too risky to post (yall literally staring into each others souls dating rumors would spark) or posted onto his secret tiktok account where his friends were allowed to see. as much as he admires your dance skills he would rather make the silly dance ones than do his or your groups dance challenges.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park sunghoon / 박성훈

you specialize in ballet and used to do it for years long before debuting in the idol industry and sunghoon likes testing your skills with doing random ass pirouette battles. you’ll be hanging out and then “okay battle right now.” and then you guys get tired but pretend you aren’t.

͏͏⏤ ☆ kim sunoo / 김선우

sunoo likes watching your fancams and has no shame in admitting it. he admires your stage presence and skills in dancing. he’s your certified fanboy.

͏͏⏤ ☆ nishimura riki / 西村 力

you and ni-ki bonded over dancing ever since you guys first met at the company. you guys helped better each other whenever one of you were struggling mentally or physically. everyone knows he teases you a lot and your relationship with each other is like cat and mouse but he truly likes caring and spending time with you mostly by practicing together.

enha-masterlist — permanent taglist (open) ; @jangwonie @cwsana @luvyrin @amara-mars @ineedaherosavemeenow @mintydayeon @love-4-keum @kpopx-xlover @abdiitcryy @beepjeongie @ox1-lovesick @ja4hyvn @shinsou-rii @winkura @ddeonudepressions @tnyhees @wannabeyn @kpoprhia @svnghoonsonly

[thatringboy]

A Body Built for an Undeserving Soul, A Boothill Theory

My definitely sober thoughts while grinding for the eventual Ruan Mei rerun and writing some robinhill have led me to a startling train of thought. I’ll do my best to sound sane as I say this, but the 18 minute discord voice memo I originally made is definitely anything but. Spoilers for Boothill’s backstory, character stories, and other lore, and no I’m not really gonna be citing things because it’s 3 in the morning and I’m high. If at any point I say something that isn’t really supported by canon, please be nice i’m a little silly boy

Anyways

I don’t think Boothill is a Pathstrider.

Let me cook, please. Here’s my reasons why:

The way he talks about Aeons and Paths

The way his body is designed

And 3.

Enjoy the madness below the cut

So, there’s not really a proper way to word any of this without it being an ADHD word vomit. Bear with me. Please.

Penacony has been a fantastic update for those of us waiting for worldbuilding. We’ve learned a LOT about the many factions in the cosmos, the true nature of the IPC, the powers of the Aeons, and that the Paths are tangible things in the universe. The Luofu arc opened up a bit about this, but since it was so focused on The Hunt and The Abundance and The Permanence, we sort of fell back into the same story beats as the Herta Station arc. Either way, Penacony has been amazing for little lore bugs like me.

So what does this have to do with the wild claim that Boothill somehow isn’t a Pathstrider?

Let’s touch some grass for a minute and consider our places in the irl universe. Hi, I’m Perseus, a young transmasculine white adult guy from South Texas who grew up reading too many Rick Riordan books and now has a complicated relationship with both the christian god and the greek gods. It’s an autism special interest of mine to learn about the greek pantheon and while I don’t know everything about it, I’m a silly little guy and can recite fun facts about dozens of gods. I can also recite fun facts about the christian bible and christian mythology because I was forced to study christianity when I was younger. Nice to meet y’all. Now, when I, Perseus, talk to people about the various religions I know a thing or two about, I infodump. A lot. I think I once ranted about Dionysus for 20 minutes before my sister told me to shut up. It happens.

Now focus back in on the important topic: the fictional cyborg with jiggle physics. I’m working purely on memory, but I’m pretty sure when he first meets Dan Heng and Pom-Pom, he does go on a spiel about the Aeons and Paths as he tries to prove his identity as a Galaxy Ranger and Acheron’s identity as Not a Galaxy Ranger. The way he describes The Hunt, The Nihility, Emanators, and Paths, it all just sounded… i don’t know, canned? It came across as very emotionally disconnected, even as he talked about The Hunt, but he was saying all the right words. Like someone who studied a religion but isn’t actually a part of the religion. 

On its own, this means absolutely nothing besides just reminding us of his home planet’s hostile takeover by Qlipoth-worshiping IPC workers. If you haven’t seen the post yet, I really recommend reading the So, Honkai: Star Rail made a cyborg cowboy... an INDIGENOUS cyborg cowboy. post by @ahworm I’ll link it here, please check it out because it recontextualized a lot of how I viewed Boothill’s actions and mannerisms

So the way Boothill talks about the Path he should be a Pathstrider of sounds more like an encyclopedia than a follower. Now, maybe this can be explained by the fact that Galaxy Rangers aren’t the most zealous bunch, especially when standing next to the Xianzhou Alliance who worship Lan as a deity more than The Hunt itself. The Galaxy rangers are the opposite, they are hunters first and last regardless of what Lan in THEIR “greatness” does.

But if Boothill is just a normal Galaxy ranger (whatever that means), then how does he recognize the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath instantaneously? Dan Heng’s barely put the damn thing on the table and Boothill’s already jaw on the floor amazed. One could make the argument that, well, Boothill’s a well-traveled guy, of course he’d know the most valuable artifact to his Path. To that, I say: there’s more to it.

Boothill’s main accusation against Acheron in the beginning is, what? “An Emanator that shouldn’t exist.” He talks about The Nihility and Device IX the same way he talks about The Hunt; learned and detached in an agnostic way. He’s aware these are real concepts and beings, he’s crossed paths with an Emanator of Elation before so he can’t deny the existence of literal gods in the universe

We also know that it’s canon in the star rail universe that there are planets who haven’t heard of the Aeons before, like Sigonia - Aventurine’s planet. Instead of Aeons, we know the Avgins worshiped the goddess Giathra Triclops. I’ve seen the argument that Giathra is just another name for Xipe since THEY have three faces, but Aventurine’s flashbacks are very clear in showing that the worship of Giathra was very different from the worship of Aeons. We don’t know much about Aeragan-Epharshel, but from how the IPC described the indigenous people as needing civilization and other disgusting things (not to mention how they forced a synesthesia beacon into boothill when he was maybe like a teenager? And then his brain nearly broke from the influx of information?), I think it’s safe to say that the tribes of Aeragan-Epharshel also didn’t follow any specific Aeon.

But Aventurine is now a Pathstrider of Preservation, so why can’t Boothill be a Hunter Pathstrider too? Well, dear reader, allow me to bash my head against the wall trying to form words. Aventurine doesn’t believe anything about the sovereignty of The Preservation, just like the rest of the Stonehearts. He has his agenda, and if he has to play Preservation to do so, then he will. I think Boothill is the same, which is also why I can’t wait to see what happens in the upcoming quests with the two of them in the same room. That being said, Aventurine’s Preservation powers only come from his Cornerstone, crafted by an Emanator of Preservation. It’s how he and Topaz and Jade can all be such different people but all be classified as Pathstriders of Preservation, the sheer proximity to an Emanator’s powers canonically give them powers equivalent to actual Pathstriders.

So… what about Boothil? This leads me into my next point: Boothill’s cyborg body. By looking at his Character Story Part 3, we learn that Boothill VOLUNTARILY became a cyborg to become stronger. He literally shed the skin and name from an ancient, dead tongue to become a real loaded gun. His voice lines in combat talk about death a lot, his name literally is in reference to a graveyard - this man cannot wait to finally die in some sort of blaze of glory and vengeance. I say that with a little bit of sarcasm, but Boothill designed his body to be a weapon. 

In a lot of parts of the USA, it’s illegal to even insinuate that you have a firearm as that constitutes as the crime of  “armed robbery”, even if you don’t even have a gun. The threat alone is enough to warrant a higher penalty. But Boothill is already a great shot with a gun, why does he also need augmented teeth and crosshair eyes and hips that can fold his body into any sinful shape he needs? Because the threat alone is enough to give him power over his prey. Almost as if he’s compensating for a lack of magic godly powers. He needs to be able to keep up with even the strongest IPC goons, to pierce their Preservation shields with his bullets so that he can get closer and closer to Oswaldo Schneider.

But how can I prove that Boothill doesn’t have any Path magic? Well, let’s take a spin around his character model. What’s that thing sitting snugly against his exposed asscheek? His pistol? But that’s not weird, Perseus, most cowboys hold their guns there!

But what other playable character has their weapon on their actual model like him?

There are so many in-game cutscenes showing that, canonically, the Pathstriders summon their weapon from some sort of unseen storage or hammerspace. I like the term hammerspace, let’s use that. The playable Pathstriders all use hammerspace to easily summon their weapons. None of them actually carry their weapons on their model. Even Welt Yang has scenes of him summoning his herrscher cane (I’ve never played hi3 please forgive me for using incorrect terms) from his hammerspace. But not Boothill. He has his arm gun and he has his trusty 9 millimeter pistol on his little slutty hip. His idle animations involve reloading his weapons and putting them back on his person. No particle effects, no vanishing tricks, just a man sticking his tongue out to catch a bullet for a snack.

So what have we learned?

Boothill doesn’t have an emotional connection to his Path, it most likely is just the Path he figured met his needs and decided the philosophy was good enough

Boothill’s body is designed to perform specifically to kill Pathstriders, especially sturdier Pathstriders of The Preservation

Boothill either can’t or won’t use the same hammerspace the other canonical Pathstriders use

Each point by themself means nothing, or can be chalked up to unique character designs. But together? My intoxicated mind theorizes that Boothill is not a Pathstrider, merely a broken man trying to play the game according to the rules of the oppressors that colonized his planet and bombed his tribe into reservations and the dirt. Thank you for your time.

[five-rivers]

My Kingdom of Fish poll fic! Continued from here.

(Also for Dannymay Day 6: Immortal AU, because KoF is one!)

.

But Danny had already started to reach for the badge with the lantern symbol, entranced by its curlicues and the graceful curve of the glass.  The librarian took this as him pointing, and swept all the other badges off the table.  

“So, um,” said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck, “what kind of an alteration are we talking about, here?”  He could practically feel his parents glaring at him, for all that he was a whole dimension away.  

“The lantern is the symbol of light,” said the librarian.  “That’s what it gives you.  Extra light.”

A pretty minor transformation, then, compared to other places he’d been.  “Anything else I should know about?  Side effects?  Library rules?”

“Your Library of Tongues card says you’re a minor.”

“I mean, when I got it, but that was years ago.  I’m over eighteen.”

The librarian looked at him skeptically.  “Chronologically, perhaps.  Board policy restricts minors from accessing age-inappropriate topics.  These topics include, but are not limited to, certain sexual and reproductive material, details of portal mechanics and construction, duplication, decomposition of human bodies, summoning rituals, except for instructions on how to prevent oneself from being summoned, metaphysical or core bonding, except for prevention methods, coming of age rituals, customs, and rites, and any similar rituals restricted to adults.  Do you accept these restrictions?”

“I’m not sure how I’m going to tell if something includes one of those things without looking at it,” said Danny, rocking back slightly.  “Why are portals restricted, anyway?” he asked, echoing a question from his Dad.

“Because they are exceedingly dangerous and liable to end people.  But you won’t need to figure out what is disallowed yourself.”  She held up a roll of stickers.  Most of them were generic circles, but the one on the end was a cute little cluster of stars.  In the center of the largest star, the word ‘MINOR’ was written.  ���We add these to minors’ badges.  They’re linked to an effect that will prevent you from entering the relevant areas.”

“Oh, that’s alright, then,” said Danny.  It grated, a little, but he had more or less accepted that ghosts, much like his parents, were never going to see him as a full adult.  

Partially, unfortunately, because he never would be.  

The librarian stuck the sticker on the badge.  “As for other rules,” she began, “common courtesy applies.  No fights.  Capturing pests like dire bookworms is fine.  No damage to the library.  Food items should not leave marked areas.  Do not attempt to remove books from the library.”  She tapped the visitor’s badge against the counter and began to make another note on her pad of paper.  “And be quiet, or the lost ones might take you, I suppose.”

Danny’s eyebrows went up.  “Lost ones?”

“A legend,” said the librarian.  “Every so often, a story circulates about people becoming permanently lost in the lower levels of the library.  I’ve never seen evidence of anything of the sort happening.  We do send out search parties for those guests who fail to leave when their time is up.  Speaking of which, if you manage to get lost, you will be required to take two aids on your next visit.”

The librarian finished writing her note and inserted it into a slot on her desk.  “The copyists’ room has been informed that you will be arriving and your preferences regarding the translation.  They will give you the book you will be translating.”  She held the visitor’s badge out to Danny.  “Clip this to the front of your clothes and try not to lose it.  It’s much more tedious to undo the alterations when you leave if you don’t have it.”

“They don’t just disappear when you leave?” asked Danny.  That was unusual.  Most transformations like this were location-dependent.  

“They do, eventually, but since they aren’t entirely natural, they tend to stick a little more.  So.  Don’t lose the badge.”  She wiggled the badge a little.  

Danny took it and briefly searched for a part of himself that wasn’t covered with equipment and would fit the badge.  It was harder than he’d thought it would be, but he managed.  

The transformation hit almost immediately.  

Most of the glow a ghost produced wasn’t in their skin, but their aura, hovering less than an inch above it.  Danny’s aura flared and billowed out, going from moon-like to a luminous nimbus Danny could probably read by.  

Actually, Danny reflected as his aura stretched out even further, pulling gently but firmly on his core, someone twenty or thirty feet away could read comfortably in this much light.  

His parents exclaimed over the change in brightness and ecto-energy readings, the light no doubt whiting out their video.  

He swayed slightly, and blinked hard as some mechanism in his eyes and perception shifted to accommodate the light.  He reached out to the counter to steady himself, and was surprised when his hand hit not the counter, but the wall.  Somehow, the equipment he had so carefully put on felt loose, precarious, as if he was going to–

At the last minute, he managed to catch the complex camera rig and lower it to the ground.  Then, he decided that sitting down would be good for him, too.  He put his head between his knees as best he could, stripping off a few more pieces of recording equipment to do so, and waited for the waves of dizziness to pass.  

Finally, he looked up.  He could see down the long reception room as easily as before, but it was much better illuminated now.  He held his hand up in front of himself.  The first thing he noticed was how light seemed to trail after it, a sort of neon afterimage, almost like something in a video game.  

Then, he noticed how small it was.  

He jumped to his feet, then off them, so he could properly grasp at the counter.  He only vaguely noticed that his usual jumpsuit had been replaced with loose pants and a smock that fell to his knees.  His hands left glowing prints on the wood.  

“You didn’t tell me I was going to shrink!”  he hissed.  

The librarian held up her hands.  “Usually, it’s not quite so severe.”  Her eyes practically twinkled.  “But you must admit, that it is much easier to tell who is a minor at a glance, this way.”

Danny huffed, drew his eyes down over himself again, then deliberately flew in front of the cameras, light trailing behind him, lingering in the air like ink in water.  “How old do I look right now?” he asked his parents.  

“Oh, dear,” said Maddie.  

“I was never good with ages,” said Jack.  

“Five, I think.  You looked like this when you started school.  Danny, maybe you should come home.”

“I already made the deal to translate, backing out would be bad form.”  He looked around at the equipment he’d shed during his transformation.  “I’m probably not going to be able to bring most of this, though…  It won’t fit, and my arms just aren’t big enough to grab on to everything.”  Although, he could probably drag it around with telekinesis.  That required an awful lot of concentration, though, and he wasn’t sure he could manage it.

“You can leave what you can’t take in here,” said the librarian.  “We have a coat room for just such a purpose.”

Well, that was one problem solved.  Now he just had to decide what he could take.  The Fenton Phones, of course, since they still fit alright in his ears, but what else?

[gaysindistress]

Van Helsing Retold - two

pairings: vamp hunter!reader x vamp!bucky

Summary: Under the cover of night, vampires and their hunters have been at war for centuries, never letting their bloodshed reach the light of day. That is until the wife of a powerful vampire leader, Steve Rogers is murdered and he demands revenge. Y/N Van Helsing is the target of his crusade and she comes face to face with his right hand man, Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2.7k

One | series masterlist

Tag list: permanent @vonalyn @hidden-treasures21 @unaxv @cakesandtom series

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are purely for aesthetic purposes.

Bucky shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as he approaches a shadowy figure sitting on a bench by the river’s edge. The figure tips his head back to look at the vampire and then looks back to the water.

“Took you long enough,” Sam says as Bucky sits next to him, “it’s cold as hell out here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “maybe you should’ve worn a thicker coat if you’re going to complain about everything.”

Sam narrows his eyes at him, “care to explain what happened between you and y/n?”

“How is she?”

“First tell me what happened.”

Bucky shrugs his jacket further onto his shoulders, “I didn't mean to throw her that hard.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters to himself at first, “she’s alive but things aren’t looking great. Peggy’s venom got into a cut on her hand and the doctor was only able to freeze it.”

Bucky’s jaw tenses as he listens to Sam and when he responds, the words are low and deliberate, “Steve wants me to kill her and if he finds out she has venom in her system, he’ll make me turn her.”

Sam lets out a disbelieving laugh, “you can’t be serious.”

Stern blue eyes meet his dark brown ones.

“Fuck, what are we going to do?”

Bucky looks towards the river, “how badly do you want your Guild Master dead?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Sighing, Sam looks to the river too, “You think Steve would buy it?”

Bucky shrugs, “You’ll need to get some of her stakes and hide them in John’s stuff. I’ll tell Steve that she told me it was him and then I killed her. I’ll set her safehouse on fire and you’ll get her to safety.”

“He’s going to search the fire for a body.”

“I’ll handle that. All you need to focus on is hiding her stakes in his room and getting her somewhere safe.”

Sam gets to his feet and turns to walk away but asks one more question before leaving, “Why do you care what happens to her?”

“I…i don’t know.”

The vampire hunter rolls his eyes, “so much for trust and honesty.”

“I am being honest. I don’t know why but I do. Everytime I even think about her, something inside me feels like it’s breaking. Fuck, when I threw her in the warehouse, I felt it. I felt her hit the pole and pain in her head. And…and I couldn’t figure out why my hand has been hurting but now it makes sense,” Bucky mumbles as he stares ahead and clenches the hand in question.

“I thought…” he starts but gets tripped up over his thoughts, “I thought that… you know… you couldn’t feel each other until you’re both turned.”

Pained blue eyes rip away from the dark river and snap to Sam.

“We’re not supposed to be able to. We might feel a draw to them if they’re still human but she…” Bucky blinks rapidly for a moment as if to blink back tears, “she’s not just any human. She’s a Van Helsing, it would make sense if the bond showed up differently.”

“Do you…do you really think she’s…”

Bucky cuts him off, “for her sake, I hope not.”

“And what about you?”

He takes a long pause before speaking, “what I want doesn’t matter.”

Waking up in the infirmary once again is a cruel reality check; however, the blinding lights saved me from the dream I'd been having.

I’m back in the warehouse but instead of the female vampire on the floor, it’s me. My own stake is deep in my chest and I’m falling to the ground as he yells for me. His voice is strained and cracking as he cries out my name but he’s too far away to do anything, to save me. The agony in his eyes brings tears to my own and they burn as I jerk awake with them still falling down my face.

Sitting straight up, my body feels like it’s on fire and my venomous hand is pulsing as if it has its own heart beat. I slowly bring it into my view, the hand shaking as I stare down at it. Black veins crawl up to my wrist but stop and the skin has a deathly color to it. The bones beneath the thinning skin are prominent and ache from the venom among other things. Hidden under the veins is the small scar where the venom must have infected me. Vampires heal at extraordinary rates but the place where they were infected and turned remains. I’ve seen some with gashes down their chests, others with thin bands on their necks, and the one that did this to me had the smallest puncture wound on her neck. I wonder where and what his scar is.

Sam's soft snoring breaks my trance and I look over to find him slumped in a chair, fast asleep. His legs are outstretched and his arms are crossed over his chest as his head leans against his chest. He’s dressed in a thick coat and I can see where the night’s rain hasn’t dried just yet. He must have been out hunting but I don’t see any gear, any weapons on him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teases me and my eyes flicker to his dark ones, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I’m half dead.”

“Closer to death or life?”

I look at my hand for a moment, “like 55% alive.”

He groans as he stands and stretches, “I’ll take it.”

A ball of black fabric lands on my feet and my boots thud at the side of my bed.

“Get dressed.”

“Why?” I narrow my eyes at him as I shrug a black turtleneck on and snap my worn but beloved tactical vest on.

He turns to give me privacy as I put on the cargo pants, “I found a lead.”

I pause as I’m lacing my boots, “on what?”

“Your hand.”

“Who did you sell your soul to to get that info?”

Sam laughs, “more like who did I have to kill but same difference I guess. It doesn’t matter though. My contact said that this Helmut guy has an anti venom of some kind.”

“That sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” I scoff as I stand, my body protesting from being bedridden for three days. Pulling my jacket on I stop at Sam’s side where he turns to me with a gentle smile.

“Bullshit or not, we have to try.”

“Or we could cut my hand off. I’m sure John would buy the best prosthetic hand money can buy.”

“And forever be indebted to that man?” He teases me again and slings his thick arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side, “not a chance in hell. Not a chance.”

Something is wrong.

Something is…..off.

Outside of the office we’re sitting in is too quiet with it being in a thriving nightclub. We pushed past dozens of intoxicated people and were surrounded by even louder music but here in this room, I hear none of it.

The men around us are too still, too unmoving. They’ve made no noise, not even those that come with breathing. The man before us, or at least what I assume is one, also isn't moving. I can’t tell with the maroon mask that covers their face. Regardless, something feels deeply wrong about this place.

The person before us in the maroon mask suddenly leans forward in their leather chair and sniffs the air.

They sniffs the fucking air.

Even though I can’t see their entire face, I can see everything I need to in their eyes that are pinning me to my chair. Sam stiffens next to me and I make a quick sweep of the room with my eyes for anything to help us out. I’m in no position to be pulling the shit I'm about to be but if I’m right (which I usually am) and Sam led us into a vampire den, I’m going to have to pull this shit regardless of how I feel.

The masked vampire leans back into their chair and tears their chin on their fist.

“You don’t have much time,” he says to me in a low accented voice. German.

A German vampire.

Even fucking worse.

I narrow my eyes at him, “probably not. Comes with the territory though.”

“Ah the dangerous life of a vampire hunter,” he chuckles, “tell me Van Helsing, who did it?”

“The wife of the leader of the Captain’s Guard.”

I can see the mask raise as he raises his eyebrows at my admission.

“And for my next trick, I’ll turn this bottle of whisky into assault and battery,” I say plainly as I tear said bottle from the desk in front of me. I smash it on the edge and throw the two halves at the guards behind us. Before they can move to defend themselves, the broken bottle halves lodge into their necks and they fall to the ground. Sam is quicker with his matches and flicks a bundle at both bodies as the masked vampire stays in his place.

When I turn to him, he pushes his chair back and stands. Rounding the corner, he perches himself on the front of the desk with his hands clasped in front of him. He’s holding something but I can’t see what it is nor did I see him grab anything. Sam pulls me slightly behind him as he stares at the other man, “Do you have it?”

“Of course I do,” he says and reveals a syringe with thick black liquid in it, “but it won’t do her any good.”

“is that the anti venom?”

“It is for some but for you no.”

“Quit the cryptic riddles, is that the anti venom?” I snap as I step around Sam but his arm is quicker and it yanks me back behind him.

“As I just said, not you. What you need is the blood of the one that you crave and this,” he says, lifting the syringe so it dangles in between us, “is not that.”

I let out a cry of anger as it tumbles from his hand and smashes on the floor. Sam hauls me into his arms and pins me to his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss at Sam as he struggles to keep me against himself, “he just broke his bargaining chip.”

“Ah but that’s where you’re wrong. The anti venom that I dropped,” he throws a pointed look at the black blood and broken glass at our feet, “is useless to you. Not even the blood of the vampire thet your venom belongs to could cure you. The only one who could is the one that you crave.”

“What are you talking about? The one I crave? I’m a Van Helsing, I don’t crave any vampire let alone their blood,” I sneer at him. I'd stopped fighting and allowed him to hold me up. My body is weak already and the little whisky bottle action that I did see drained whatever energy I had stored. I can feel the fatigue seeping into my body and the venom finds joy in being able to cause me great amounts of pain.

“You may be a Van Helsing but you are no better than the rest of us,” he sneers back before looking at Sam, “I gave you what you wanted and now it is your turn to give me what I want.”

“No, all you gave us was a riddle that’s impossible to solve,” he says through clenched teeth as his grip grows tighter on me.

The vampire says nothing but cocks his head slightly towards the door behind us. It clicks open and a familiar scent of cinnamon mixed with incense wraps around us.

“Helmut,” the voice that’s haunted me for a week now says slowly.”

Helmut, the masked vampire, seems to smile behind the maroon face covering, “Hello lap dog.”

Even though I can’t see him, I can feel the anger that boils under his skin and the way his body tenses in efforts to control it. I can feel the deadliness of him in the way his footsteps stalk towards us, the predator in him aiming for Helmut. He stops at Sam’s side but far enough back that I can only see the leather jacket he’s wearing. My sick hand begins to ache and I try to push it away by gripping onto Sam’s arm tighter but it does nothing. If anything it causes another way of anger to rip through his body and it comes out in his voice.

“You’re on the Captain’s Guard’s territory,” is the only thing he seems able to say.

Helmut shrugs and settles on the desk, “It was once all the same, why shouldn’t it be that way now?”

“This is punishable by death.”

“But I have a suspicion that you won’t follow through on those orders.”

Sam starts to slowly move us backwards and it seems like the two vampires don’t notice. They throw violent words back and forth, completely ignoring that we’ve almost made it to the door. Sam lets me go enough to open it but a sweeping wave of exhaustion wipes over me and I crumble fast. He’s barely able to pick me back up as I struggle to keep my eyes open but he’s not focused on me.

His attention is solely on the two bloodsuckers that are now turned to us.

An involuntary moan of pain leaves my lips as he tries to pull us away and the last thing I hear before the black fades in again is the sound of his voice calling out to me.

A beautiful cry in the cacophony of chaos that is the inside of my head.

Pain erupts at the back of Bucky’s head and it threatens to blur his vision. Helmut makes another snide comment but all he can focus on is the pressure building at the base of his skull and the fear that’s raising in his throat.

A sound so heavenly calls to him from behind but in combination with the physical effects he’s dealing with, he refuses to dwell on it. Turning he stops Sam with the Van Helsing girl in his arms.

She looks…weak. Black veins pulse in one of her hands and her eyes flutter close as she goes limp in the other hunter’s arms. Her skin has a deathly hue to it and her pulse barely registers from across the room. The sound that caused him to turn at first was really a moan of pain and his blinding need to make sure she is okay distracts him from Helmut. The masked vampire launches himself at Bucky and tackles him to the ground. His mask is gone now so he can allow every bit of venomous anger he has to be conveyed in his face.

“I should cut her and force you drain the life from her,” Helmut sneers, baring his teeth in a truly animalistic manner, “or maybe I should tell your master who she is to you and let him decide how to dispose of her.”

Time slows.

Sam’s and the van helsing girl’s heartbeats pound in Bucky’s ears. Helmut’s satisfied smile at his silence morphs into one terror and he falls away from Bucky as blood pours from his chest. There’s a dull thud and rolling follows as Bucky slowly climbs to his feet. Stepping over the heart that was once in Helmut’s chest, he approaches the two hunters. His piercing eyes are zeroed in on the girl and she’s passed off to him.

She makes a faint noise but nothing aside from her breathing. Bucky shakes as he pulls her tight against him and buries his nose in her hair. The smell of Jasmine and oranges floods his senses as he allows himself to find comfort in having her against him.

He hooks an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders as Sam ushers them out. The club is as packed as it had been when they all arrived but no one notices the three. Sam gets them safely to his car and takes off as fast as he can by that time the Van Helsing girl starts to blink awake.

[bridenore]

HD longer fics recs : 70k to 80k words

Here are a few recs for fics ranging between 90k and 100k words.

You can see my recs for fics that have more than 200k here, between 150k and 200k here, between 125k and 150k here, between 100k and 125k here and between 90k and 100k here.

Breathe Me by @kedavranox [73k]

Since the singular incident of being a Horcrux for many years has left Harry with a sensitivity to Dark magic, Harry begins training with Jacob, a Wizard who lives in New York, using this sensitivity to his advantage to cleanse magical spaces of Dark magic. After a year of training, Draco Malfoy shows up, wanting to learn from Jacob as well, and unexpectedly the two men grow a bond, both magical and physical. But Jacob’s sudden death leaves Harry floundering and growing increasingly dependent on drugs and sex to avoid his problems. After his brief and tumultuous affair with Draco ends, Harry begins a life of travel, avoiding returning home permanently and continuing his drug habit. He flits from job to job, from place to place, never settling down for a moment, until, years later, Harry is called back to England by his friends to help Draco find his way out of a cursed Manor.

Choices of the Heart by Naadi [78k]

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The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by @bixgirl1 [74k]

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Crown Witness by @slytherco [70k]

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Faerie Felicities by @quackquackcey  [79k]

Draco dies and wakes up to the emerald drapes of the Slytherin dormitory at the end of 5th year. Thus ensues new possibilities, new choices, a new life, and a new romance(?) Featuring fluffy shenanigans, lots of baking, and a hopefully not-so-bad war (fingers crossed). Or in other words, a somewhat Christmassy canon rewrite fic.

From the Sea by wantsunicorns [78k]

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Headlights in the Snow by Saras_Girl [71k]

What’s big and purple and smells like tea? Harry is about to find out. Advent fic 2016.

Heartlines by @shiftylinguini [72k]

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Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w [76k]

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all. Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

Manticoria by @lol-zeitgeistic [70k]

In the dangerous days after Voldemort’s fall, Harry struggles to find a way to be with Draco—again. But as the magical world threatens to die all around them, it might be more difficult than he thought. Includes dying wards, dying beasts, and love struggling to live; sentient magic, wandlore, Founder lore, potion lore, and ward lore; and of course there is Zacharias Smith to ruin everything, as usual.

Monster by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony​ [71k]

“Hmm,” Hermione hums, tapping her index finger against her bottom lip and then smiling at Harry. “A broken music box, you say…” “A cursed one,” Harry corrects her. “Well, it’s still a music box that is not working properly,” Hermione points out with a very intent grin. “That will give you a chance to see him.” She wiggles her eyebrows, making him snort. As if Harry hadn’t thought about it straight away. As if Harry’s mind hadn’t immediately wandered to Draco Malfoy the moment Zabini mentioned a music box.

Now My Neck Is Open Wide (begging for a fist around it) by LadySlytherin [75k]

Six months post-war, Harry meets Grayson Wenke, a famous Quidditch player. Harry believes he’s found the love of his life, and a Happily Ever After ending suitable for the storybooks. When Grayson slowly goes from Prince Charming to a monster behind closed doors, Harry finds himself trapped, and alone, and fearing for his life. When Harry realizes he’s pregnant, the opportunity for escape - and a real Happily Ever After - presents itself as none other than Draco Malfoy. The only question is if Harry is brave enough to take a chance, and strong enough to heal.

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks [73k] 

Harry felt Malfoy’s breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop [70k]

It’s Potter’s fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It’s been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco’s getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he’s falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Teach Me, Life; Guide Me, Love by Kira OHara [79k]

Revelations both painful and joyous set the markers in the path of every life. Thankfully, Draco has spectacular company for the journey.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 [77k]

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he’d thought would be easy after the war… with Draco Malfoy.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 5: a little too much

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 3.4k

chapter warnings: arguing

a/n: just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has liked, commented, and reblogged tenderness! i appreciate every interaction so so much!

also, happy stay day!!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

As preparations for the tour ramp up, so does the amount of time you spend working. 

You’re still doing double time, assisting with schedules while staying up late at your desk to reply to emails and finalise details for the tour. You resort to alternating between sipping on tea and energy drinks to help you stay awake long enough to finish all your work. Even though you don’t like the way they make you feel, jittery and sometimes nauseous, it’s the only way that you’re able to meet your deadlines. Everyone on your team is feeling stressed these days and not even the snacks that the company sometimes provides are enough to bring a smile to people’s faces.

The only person that consistently stays later than you is Chan. He has practically become a permanent fixture in his studio and you’re starting to just barely meet the minimum recommended Charging times. It’s not bad enough that you’re concerned, you just watch what you’re eating and make sure that you’re getting enough calories to keep your energy levels up.

You keep a more careful eye on Chan’s diet too, although you don’t interfere because you know he has his own goals for the condition of his body. You make sure that the snacks and drinks he likes are always provided during schedules, that there’s always food available to eat in his studio, and bring dinner to him more often than not.

The two of you are on good terms, even if you don’t have a chance to hang out as often doing anything other than working or eating. In fact, you’re probably closer than you were before. Chan doesn’t treat you any differently, but there was a deeper understanding that was shared between the two of you. 

You’re relieved that after so many nights you spent worrying about Chuseok, you no longer felt like you were hiding something from him. There’s an unspoken agreement not to bring up anything about your eomoni’s treatment of you. You don’t think that you’ll ever see eye-to-eye on the subject, but you had expected that. You know how bad your relationship looks from an outsider’s perspective, but to you it’s complicated in a way that you don’t know how to put into words.

—

The first concerts for the tour were held in Seoul, so you didn’t think that you’d be as heavily involved. You’re honestly not too sure what to expect from your first time helping out backstage, but you never could have imagined the chaos.

During the first night, everyone was relieved that things went relatively smoothly onstage, but there were a lot of small problems that had to be resolved on the fly and need to be relooked at again. It means that, although the audience and the members had a great time, all the staff were exhausted by the end of the concert. You spent most of the time running back and forth basically as a stagehand, as it was too short notice for you to explain fixes for many of the issues that came up and easier for you to just do it yourself. You hadn’t realised how involved you were in the run of show, but over the months you had become familiar enough with all the little details that to be busy all night.

Cleaning up was another beast. Everything had to be packed away after each concert, but it seems like all the equipment has multiplied and there aren’t nearly enough containers to put them into. With all the troubleshooting, things weren't where you thought they would be or had been modified and could no longer be stored the way they were previously. It felt like a more intricate game of jenga with costumes, accessories, and equipment that were thousands of dollars.

Debrief was at least a chance for a physical break, but it’s another hour of discussion with your team on what could have been improved and what went well before you’re allowed to go home. You fell asleep in the car ride and Eunsung has to shake you awake when he drops you off in front of the dorms. You’re severely tempted to close your eyes during the elevator ride, but force yourself to stay conscious. You barely make out a greeting to the members, before collapsing on the couch, grateful to finally be sitting.

At least they’re all in an infectiously good mood, even if a few of them had cried from all the emotions during the encore. Their boost of energy cheers you up a bit and after a bit of time resting, you’re happy to join them for a very late meal. They eagerly recount everything that happened during the concert and talk over each other trying to share funny stories of mishaps or entertaining things they noticed in the crowd.

As tiring as it was for you, you think that it’s all worth it. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the members so excited, and as you were exiting the arena, there were a number of Stays that you had encountered, all of them equally as thrilled.

—

Working in the office is reprieve from the craziness of the concerts. The second show was fairly similar to the first, but a bit smoother and with that it was more fun. You knew better what to expect and found yourself enjoying the chaos instead of getting swept away. But even though you enjoyed the experience overall and are still looking forward to the rest of the tour, you now have a better appreciation for the quiet. You're definitely relieved that the initial tour planning gave a bit of time between the Seoul, Japan, and international concerts. 

The next month before you have to leave for Japan is critical, not just for you but also the members. It feels like you barely see any of them outside of the company anymore. Even though they've just had a comeback recently, they're already preparing songs for the next one and juggling that with attending brand events, doing solo interviews, and photoshoots for magazines. 

Chan has never complained about any of it, but you know that their growing popularity means more pressure and that's taking a toll on all of them. 3Racha spend hours going back and forth perfecting portions of songs before sending them for approval, more members try to get involved in songwriting, and everyone devotes their free time to vocal lessons, dance practice, and working out.

You know that they've been offered more days off, but were adamant to keep the schedules as tightly packed as possible. You're proud of them and understand why they've chosen this, but you're also concerned. The only thing you can do is support them and cheer them on, knowing that doing your job well will help them do their job.

—

It's just before 12:30 in the morning when you finally decide to save everything and turn off your computer. Although you're used to the long days and late nights, an early morning schedule means that you have to be back at the JYP building by at least 6 am to prepare, an hour earlier than the call time for the boys. You quickly pack your bag and make your way down to Chan's studio, where he's doubtlessly still working.

Sure enough, when you knock on his door and gently ease it open, Chan has his headphones on and barely nods a greeting before focusing back on his laptop. Knowing that your presence is enough of a signal for him to get ready to leave, you flop down onto his couch and pull up your thread of texts with one of the company drivers. 

You feel guilty but the recent cold weather and ever present threat of sasaengs camping outside of the building mean that he's used to all the late night requests. A fan had recently cornered Chan as he had left one day and had later posted about their encounter, leading to an increasing number of people loitering around the main exit, hoping for a glimpse of any of the members. Although there hadn’t really been any issues, it was enough that the JYPE had sent out a company-wide email about being more vigilant on keeping track of who is walking in and out of the building, as well as more security for the time being.

[12:32 am - sent]

Sorry, Chan-ssi and I will need a ride back to the dorms soon!

[12:34 am - received]

K. Just let me know when you're ready and I will pick you up.

[12:34 am - sent]

Thanks! You're the best! I'll let you know when we're about to head down.

Satisfied, you switch to one of your guilty pleasures, scrolling through Twitter. 

Your first account had been created before you worked at JYP and was used to keep up with some of your friends. You had made your second account when you started working with Xdinary Heroes as a show of support and also to get more insight on the fans to better cater to them. Now, that account and the newest one you had for Stray Kids were purely for fun. Sure, it was sometimes useful for work to see what piqued interest the most and what people were complaining about, but you mostly wanted to see people's reactions to content, it saved you money from subscribing to Bubble, and you could bookmark fanart that you thought the members might like to see.

You didn't post much and if you did, made sure nobody would be able to deduce that you were part of the staff. Your profile was generic and you followed a mix of Korean, English, and Japanese accounts, as well as some of the popular translation ones.

Everyone was excited for the upcoming Japan tour dates, especially after the recent Seoul concerts. The preview for the Japanese merch had just been released today so it dominated your timeline. Even though you haven't been on in a few days, you're glad to see there's still a lot of posts from the concert and that so many people, regardless of whether they were able to attend, enjoyed the show. 

Technically you had been there and there were a few screens scattered around that were streaming what was happening on stage, but all the staff were so busy that you had only been able to catch a few glimpses of the performances. Based on your conversations with other managers and coordis, it would continue similarly for the next few concerts as new issues arose and would have to be solved on the spot. You were hoping that you'd have a chance to be part of the crowd for at least one night sometime this tour.

After scrolling for about 15 minutes, you lower your phone a little bit to peek and see what Chan's doing. He’s still working on a song and doesn’t look close to stopping. You frown, usually he’s pretty good about wrapping up his work shortly after you arrive.

“Channie-oppa,” you call, keeping your tone light. “Are you almost done?”

“Yup,” he says absentmindedly, not even pausing in the work that he’s doing. You stare at him for a moment, but give him the benefit of the doubt. You know there’s more pressure on him than usual, there’s looming deadlines for their next album and limited time to do everything with preparations for the rest of the concerts. Even if it means sacrificing a little bit of energy, you don’t mind giving him some extra time.

After you notice 15 more minutes have passed, you bite your lip, not wanting to interrupt again, but also wanting to get home to rest and Charge for as long as possible. With a press junket scheduled to start early in the morning and continue for most of the day, you know that Chan has a long day ahead of him, and that yours was going to be even longer since you had to arrive before the members to help set up everything. 

It’s when the driver you had contacted sends you a text asking for an estimate on when you want to be picked up, that you decide to speak up.

“Hey, how much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“You can go home first,” Chan says instead of answering your question.

"Tomorrow your schedule starts-" you start to explain, but get cut off.

"I know," Chan says, sounding annoyed. He finally turns around to face you and tugs his headphones off roughly. "But this is important, I need to finish as much as I can right now, okay?"

"I’m saying this for your benefit. You'll be able to work better after you rest. I think it would be good if you took a break tonight."

"I'm good now!” he snaps. “I'm really good now. I was also good when you were not here. When you weren’t my soulmate. I worked as much as I wanted. I did things I liked. Even without you, I was fine every day."

"I- '' You swallow hard and look down, biting the inside of your cheek hard. Without anything for your hands to do, your fingers find a hangnail on your thumb and pick at it. "I just want to help you."

"Thanks, I don't need it,” he says, exasperated. “You really don't have to do these things for me. I can order my own dinner. I can choose when I want to work and when I want to stop. If I need to check my calendar, I can look it up by myself. You aren't family. You aren't my girlfriend. Yes, you’re a manager for Stray Kids. Yes, you're my soulmate, but you don't have to…. try to do everything, you know? It’s enough for you to just live your own life and do your job as a manager, but you don’t have to do anything extra.”

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, but the sound comes out with difficulty. Your throat is tight and aching while your nose is starting to stuff up, making it harder to breathe normally. You blink rapidly to keep your vision clear, eyes stinging. You know crying won’t do anything to change the situation except maybe make it worse, but you can’t help it. You’re almost glad when Chan continues on without waiting for a reply, as you don’t think you’d be able to say anything if he wanted you to.

“I know you think you know what this industry is like after 3 years, but you don’t. I was a trainee for 7 years, I’ve been an idol for longer than you've worked here. I know better than anyone what my limits are. You've told me how controlled you felt when you used to live at home, but sometimes I can’t help but think that some of your eomoni’s methods have rubbed off on you. I don't need someone constantly nagging me about this and that. I don’t need you bringing me food just because you think I need it. I don’t need you reminding me about schedules. I don't need you sitting around my studio trying to get me to go home when I'm not finished with my work. And I definitely don’t need or want you telling me when I should be taking a break, resting, not working, sleeping, all of that. Please, please, can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds wet and thick and cracks in the middle of your words. Not knowing what else to do, you bow in apology and are grateful that your face is hidden when you realise that the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes have finally fallen. You wipe them hurriedly, feeling mortified, but Chan hasn’t even noticed, already turned towards his laptop and with his headphones back in place. Even though he can’t hear you, you still say, “I’ll just go ho- back to the dorm now.”

As expected, he doesn't reply.

You must have subconsciously backed up when Chan's tone had risen, because you were now only a couple steps away from the exit, making your retreat easier. You close the door behind you as quietly as possible and beeline to the bathroom.

The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights hurt your eyes and exaggerate the redness of your face when you stand at the sink and stare at yourself. Where the skin was worried away on your thumb, there are now smudged beads of blood that you wash away. You splash your face with water to wipe away your tears, then press a soaked paper towel against your eyes to try to cool down the swollen skin there. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you almost laugh at the pitiful expression that stares back at you. It reminds you of all the times you did this when you were younger after conversations with your eomoni, meticulously applying make-up to hide any signs of weakness. You had gotten better over the years, at cleaning yourself up carefully and preventing yourself from crying in the first place.

After blowing your nose, you leave and head toward the building’s lobby. You don’t think that you can face anybody else tonight, so you text the company driver again, telling him that you’re getting a ride with someone else but that Chan would probably still need to get a ride home a bit later. You don't wait for confirmation before locking your phone and dropping it into your bag.

For once, you’re grateful for the cool air as you step outside the doors, the usually biting winds feel refreshing against your hot skin. At this time of night, there aren’t many people around, which means nobody pays attention as you start walking towards the dorms.

You take deep breaths to try and calm yourself down, pressing your cold hands against your cheeks which are still flushed with emotion.

You feel humiliated. Had you really come across as that desperate and overbearing in your interactions with Chan? 

One of your eomoni’s favourite ‘reminders’ to you growing up was that you were too much.

You were too emotional, too dramatic, too sensitive. You spent too much time daydreaming, imagining a future for yourself that would never happen. You were too open with people, too trusting. 

People don’t want that, she would say. They want you to be polite and quiet. You can have opinions, just keep them to yourself. You spend too much time doing whatever you want and not enough time listening to what people are telling you to do. You're expected to be obedient. Don't overstep.

It hurt to know that maybe there was truth in her words. It was clear now that you had done more than overstep.

Chan had sounded stressed, angry, and his tone had been cold, much sharper than you had ever heard before. He had been cruel, even. But what had caught you off guard the most was the deep-rooted frustration that you had heard. It meant that this likely wasn't the first time that he had thought these things, it was just the first time he had shared them with you. It was a wound that had been festering and he was just now exposing it for you to see.

You hate that you had caused that.

You also couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by your display of emotions in Chan’s studio. You hoped that he hadn’t noticed, but found it hard to believe that he couldn’t tell your voice was more choked up than usual. You used to pride yourself in having full control of your emotions, but had found yourself caught off guard so many times since you had met your soulmate.

You had become too soft-hearted and you hate that too.

Mechanically, you let yourself into the dorms and complete your nighttime routine as quietly as possible. All the other members are home, but their doors are closed and lights are off. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you curl up on your side of the bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly. 

The wound on your thumb stings.

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