#this is what people have been feeling since the dawn of time? Mutual liking? the ability to deal with interpersonal differences

[sputnikodin]

my little sister asked to play splatoon with me this weekend <3 and i watched some star trek on facetime with one of my moms last weekend and it was great ..... It's so crazy like wanting to spend time with my family and knowing how to initiate spending time with my family and doing it and enjoying it ..... having good and less-fraught relationships with everyone is still new and alien to me. i love it

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich is a morning person and Rook is only a morning person under duress, which becomes only a minor issue after the gods are finally dead because Rook's ideal wake up time is roughly noon, and Emmrich's up at the asscrack of dawn every day whether he works or not.

It's six thirty AM and Rook's face-down on the bed, titties out and hair splayed across three pillows, and Elgar'nan breathed this last breath less than a week ago. Emmrich gave the various factions of Thedas exactly three days to demand Rook's attention and, on the morning of the fourth day, grabbed Rook with one hand and Manfred with the other and asked the Caretaker if there was an Eluvian that might deposit one anywhere in the area of the Cumberland countryside.

Emmrich apparently maintains a small country house here, for 'Whatever occassion might arise' (demented) and it's modest but pretty. Manfred trampled straight into the rose garden when they got here and hasn't emerged since, but Emmrich claims that's normal for him. Rook personally believes that Manfred, even, is still processing their mutual ordeal, but she's content to let him do it with the caterpillars and the rose petals. Not like a skeleton can be pricked by a thorn.

The moment they arrived, Emmrich sought out the housekeeper and told her that her services would not be required for the coming week, and to stand by on the subject of next week as well.

"Go celebrate the world not ending, Helga!" he'd said, maybe a bit too loud and manic, as he closed what was surely much more than a week's salary into her hand. Knowing Emmrich, there was already a very robust system in place to assure that his housekeeper received her generous salary every week--this was merely some sort of consolation pay for the very difficult task of being given a week of vacation.

Helga was Elven, at least as old as Emmrich and blinked at him like a vaguely surprised cat. She swept her gaze over Rook as well before leaving. She'd been smirking, Rook thought, as the door closed behind her.

Thus, they've been alone in the house, and Rook has been sleeping, staring vaguely into the distance, sleeping, reading from Emmrich's extensive collection, looking at the ceiling while trying to forget the sight of Bellara's blighted eyes, sleeping, bouncing on Emmrich's dick like it's her job, and sleeping sleeping sleeping.

They've been here for two days, more or less 48 hours, and many of those hours were spent in his lap. Fucking him, yes, but also just clinging onto him like an extra limb because right now, she feels like she might disintegrate if he isn't touching her. He reads to her. Smiles and laughs through so many stories from his life. She thinks about Solas disappearing into the Fade, maybe never to be seen again. The last God of her people.

When she goes too quiet, sometimes he tells her a joke or puts a little chocolate in her mouth. Once, he ate her out while humming the Nevarran national anthem and she laughed as she came. Sometimes he joins her in melancholy and they lay together and cope. Sometimes she cries, mostly from exhaustion and relief and grief, and he kisses her face. Sometimes he cries. From exhaustion and relief and grief, probably. She tucks her head under his chin and rubs her small hand up and down his broad back, and then she swipes the snot and tears out of his mustache with her very own thumb because she loves him, she loves him.

This morning, she flutters her eyes open and enjoys the texture of the silk sheets against her bare body (Last night, and for lack of a better term, Emmrich fucked her to sleep--apparently, when the world isn't in active peril, he's very into the whole tantric thing. Hours of crazy hot, dragging sex that destroys braincells, but only the ones she's better off not having.) and she does that for about thirty seconds before she realizes it's just barely light outside, blue and cool. Then she starts wondering why the fuck she's awake right now.

The answer becomes apparent immediately: Emmrich is in the ensuite bath, running water and making the weirdest, loudest noises. She thinks at first that he's managed to gag himself with his own toothbrush, but then he sneezes, blows his nose with a honking noise like a malfunctioning horn, and clears his throat so thunderously that Rook thinks he must somehow be drowning.

She rolls out of bed and wobbles into the bathroom, birthday suit and all, because clearly he's become sick in the night and it's now up to her to guide him back to bed and care for him. She's surprised, then, to find him looking hale and healthy in front of the sink. He's wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and down slippers. He's making an absurd clicking sound and swirling a finger inside his ear.

"Are you okay?" Rook demands, propped on the doorjamb.

Emmrich jumps a foot on the air, winces as he jabs his own eardrum, and says, "Ow! Darling, please don't sneak up on--"

"You are being so loud," she says, because the polite section of her brain hasn't woken up. "Are you choking? Are you sick?"

"No," Emmrich says slowly. "I just--oh, the door must have fallen open. The floor isn't terribly even here. I'm sorry, darling--sound does carry in this old house." He twirls a finger behind his ear and clinks again. "I fear I suffer seasonal allergies, dearest, and it's been a long while since I slept more than a night or two outside of the Necropolis or the Fade. There's quite a bit of...mucus..." He clears his throat.

"Gross," says Rook, and then, "It's dawn, Emmrich."

"Mm-hm." Emmrich is now leaning across the counter, two inches from the mirror and examining his mustache like a jewel appraiser.

"Why are you making heinous old man noises at dawn?"

His eyes veer towards her reflection in the mirror, and they make eye contact in the glass. Very neatly, and with a raised eyebrow, he says, "Heinous old man noises."

Rook starts making hawking, gutteral noises in the back of her throat. It's a pretty faithful imitation.

"Dearest," he yells over the sound. "I apologize for waking you--"

"I cannot believe," says Rook, "that I'm going to spend the rest of my life being woken up at dawn by the hacks and sneezes of a man who wears wing tip shoes."

She's halfway through a half-asleep snicker at the hilarity of her own statement when Emmrich fixes her with a surprised look in his wet eyes and she realizes she's never actually voiced the idea that has become an unspoken certainty in her mind: That he's the love of her life, and her life may not be as short as she was thinking it might be this time last week, and that she wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her ambiguously-numbered mornings waking up to him.

She also realizes the truth of the situation. The baths in the Lighthouse were communal, and one never knew which companion they might encounter during their morning routine. Emmrich is fastidious and spends a great deal of his energy in broadcasting the image of a man who is utterly put together in everything he does. Never a hair out of place or a thread loose. It's a privilege of the highest order to witness him this way. Sleep-mused hair, shadow on his jaw. The bleariness of sleep in his eyes and, yes, even the throat-clearing and nose blowing.

Emmrich clears his throat and whispers, "Forgive me. I've...lived alone. For a very long time."

Rook's eyes water as she croaks, "Not anymore. I don't...want you to."

A smile spreads his face. It is wobbly, boyish, and so so beautiful. The absurdity of the situation finally reaches her--she is very naked and he's only slightly more dressed and there is a perfectly warm, perfectly comfortable bed steps away.

"Come back to bed," Rook says. "Please?"

He does.

[stickthisbig]

Well, I've seen one too many terrible takes so here I am

I've been writing fanfic for 20 years. There was no period where nobody fought. There was no period where fandom was not a popularity contest. People have always presumed to know what was best for fandom and tried to force it on other people. Someone is always at someone's throat. That is human nature.

The one thing that absolutely has changed fandom for the worse in the last five years is the idea that consumers and creators are different people.

Fandom is a potluck. You can have a plate for sure, but I cooked this for the other people who cooked. If you didn't bring anything, I hope you like it, but you're a guest here. Instead it's become so normal that we're cooking for the guests, who are just gonna bitch about how the ambrosia had nuts in it when the ingredients are written on the sign.

I'm sorry if you find it intimidating to comment, but my god, commenting is nothing next to writing. If your feelings are hurt that writers don't like one emoji comments, try pouring your heart out for 30k words and the only comment being an eggplant- and then someone telling you you're ungrateful for not wanting it!!

You're not required to pay your way with creation. I am not saying that. I am saying that readers who curate rec lists understand authors better than readers who don't. Podficcers certainly understand commenting. There's been stress between fanartists and fic writers since the dawn of time, but we mutually respect the craft. If you want to leave better comments or understand why authors get so mad, fucking make something and post it.

If you only read, I'm delighted you're here, but you're a guest. You know how many times I've gone after someone for leaving just an emoji or a backhanded compliment? Fucking none, because I have home training. I don't think it's productive to set rules for commenters, because authors don't even agree on that shit. Absent a consensus, it's incumbent upon me to stare at the notif, sigh, and archive it. But I absolutely am not entertaining that commenting is prohibitively hard, or that your feelings are more important than the author's. Sell that shit somewhere else.

[stayinlimbo]

We Become We

pairing: husband!lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to lovers, marriage of convenience, fluff, poor attempts at me trying to be funny, mc's gender is not specified word count: 1.02k note:  i am not dead yay. i tried my best since i haven't had time to write for almost a month so please take this as a peace offering ♡

Marriage. It’s an interesting concept, isn’t it? 

You’ve always thought so, at least. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc. 

Yours happens to be a man named Lee Minho. The same man you’ve been friends with for as long as you can remember. The same man who asked you to marry him for a reason you didn’t get to learn until he was already down on one knee. 

(“I’m sorry, you want me to WHAT?” “Marry me. Please, I need health insurance.”

“Okay, yes, sure, whatever; now please get off the floor. People are staring.”)

Lee Minho, who, after dragging you to the courthouse and legally becoming your husband, finally elaborated on how his job would pay him more and cover both of your health insurances if he was married. So really, in his words, he was “doing you a huge favor” by marrying you. 

And, in all honesty, he really was. No, you didn’t have a ring to show off your new husband’s weird skill at finding loopholes in company policy, and you’re like thirty-five percent sure the two of you are committing some kind of marriage fraud, but does it really matter when you can finally start using the hot water in your dingy apartment without worrying if you’ll have enough money to fund your crippling caffeine addiction? The government will have to drag you kicking and screaming before you resort back to mankind’s cruelest form of torture: cold showers. 

Not to mention that marriage didn’t even change your relationship with Minho. And why would it? You’re still you, and he’s still him. He gets on your nerves just the same, maybe even a little bit more after he decided to frame your marriage certificate in his living room and send a photo to all your mutual friends. You’ll never forgive Minho for laughing at your helplessly panicked state when the group chat wouldn’t stop exploding with messages and incessant calls. 

You’re still his best friend that resides in his apartment four out of seven days of the week while he inhabits yours for the other three. Maybe that’s why, two weeks after your “wedding,” when it was time to renew your lease, Minho suggested with a simple shrug of his shoulders that you move in with him since “you’re here all the time anyway.” 

You’ve really got to learn how to say no to him because now you wake up next to your best friend/roommate/husband in his one bedroom, one bathroom apartment at the crack of dawn with a light pressure on your chest and fur in your face when his cats decide you need to wake up right now to feed them. 

Not to say you don’t like the new arrangement! No, that would be the furthest from the truth. 

Sure, you didn’t appreciate your skin care routine being interrupted by the unexpectedly high-pitched scream Minho let out when he saw you in a face mask for the first time, and what kind of person still has their phone’s brightness turned up all the way before bed? But who else would willingly tolerate your deliriousness before your morning coffee or indulge in your pleas to cook your favorite food three days in a row? 

Living with Minho has only made the purely platonic feelings you harbor for him grow stronger.

That’s what the fluttering in your chest means every time you see him, right? The reason for the smile that grows on your face when you hear the distinct jingling of keys at the front door?

Yeah, that must be why heat spread across your cheeks when he handed you his phone to text one of his friends back, because since when did the heart emoji make an appearance next to your pinned contact name?

You just care about each other, that’s all. It’s normal to want to make sure he arrived at work safely and ask how his day is going during your lunch breaks. It’s normal to start receiving back hugs before bed—a comforting weight as Minho’s chin rests on your shoulder while you apply the rest of the products to your face. 

It’s natural to have doubts about the nature of your relationship during an evening walk, acutely aware of his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you silently study his features illuminated by the soft glow of the scattered streetlights. What if he meets someone else and falls in love with them and wants a divorce and– oh. 

Has he always looked at you like that? With his gaze softening as it locks with yours? With the corners of lips lifting into the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen? With all the stars shining above you finding a second home in his eyes? A look so loving that it takes your breath away and you can’t tell if you’re about to laugh or cry in relief. 

And when you return home to get ready for bed, the familiar feeling of hands wrapping around your waist and a careful pressure resting by the crook of your neck quells the remnants of your worries.

It’s you and Minho. Minho and you, just as it always has been. Just as it’s always meant to be.

The distance between your bodies on the bed becomes nonexistent when you curl yourself into his side, laying your head on his shoulder and intertwining your legs with his as he immediately, unhesitantly, adjusts his arm, his fingertips finding purchase on exposed skin and roaming across the span of your back. A kiss to the top of your head is the last thing you feel before the gentle lull of breathing and the rise and fall of his chest begin to soothe you to sleep. 

…

Ah, marriage—what an interesting concept. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc. 

You love your husband, and you’re beginning to think he loves you too. 

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

[sirxaibs]

Astarion X Reader

✨Reader is Horn✨

masterlist

funnily enough, there is no sex in this fic. Just a short drabble of communication.

The campfire crackled under the dim twilight, casting long shadows across scattered bedrolls and worn boots. The air was still thick with the scent of the last skirmish blood, sweat, and a hint of singed hair. Everyone was winding down. You sat cross legged near the fire, arms resting on your knees, deep in thought. Astarion lounged nearby, wine cup in hand, eyes glittering in the firelight. He watched you closely, as he often did, as though trying to read your every thought like a well worn book.

Then, with all the casual weight of commenting on the weather, you announced. “I think I’m going to have sex.”

Silence. Even Lae’zel paused mid sharpen, casting you a side glance. Astarion straightened slightly, eyebrows lifting in both amusement and interest.

“Are we now?” he drawled, setting down his cup. “Well, I’m flattered. Not surprised, of course but flattered.”

You blinked. “What?”

Astarion leaned forward, lips curling. “Darling, there’s no need for coyness. If you need someone to… satisfy your sudden urges, I’d be happy to oblige. Gods know I’ve been waiting for you to finally admit it.”

You stared at him for a beat, then snorted. “Oh. No. I wasn’t talking about you.”

The silence that followed was somehow louder than the last one. Astarion’s smile twitched, just a little. “I beg your pardon?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “I was thinking… probably Gale.”

Astarion looked like you’d just slapped him with a wet sock.

“Gale?” he repeated, aghast. “You’re choosing the walking arcane lecture over me? That man has more monologues than passion, and his idea of foreplay is a history lesson.”

“He’s sweet,” you said simply, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “I don’t know. I just feel like I need to get it out of my system. Nothing deep. Just… need to do something irrational for once.”

“Gale,” Astarion muttered again, then let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “This is some sort of fever dream. Or perhaps a punishment from the gods.”

You smiled. “Astarion, not everything is about you.”

He grinned back, sharp and wounded. “It should be.”

You stood up, stretching. “Anyway. I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll sleep on it.”

“Oh, by all means, take your time. I’ll just be here, knowing I was passed over for a man who talks more to his floating book than to actual people.”

You gave him a pat on the head like an annoyed cat and turned toward Gale’s tent.

Behind you, Astarion called out, “If he starts reciting poetry during the act, run.”

The fire had long since crackled into glowing embers, its warmth now a quiet hum in the cool night. The camp had settled into silence, the sounds of rustling blankets and steady breathing drifting in from the other tents. Astarion sat alone, still where you’d left him, wine cup now untouched.

He stared into the dark woods, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t thinking about monsters or traps. No. Something far more unsettling had taken root in his mind.

You. You and your ridiculous declaration. You and your infuriating unpredictability. You and… Gale. He scoffed aloud, quiet and bitter. Gale, with his grand words and glowing hands. Gale, who probably asked for consent like it was a spell component.

It doesn’t make sense, Astarion thought, fingers curling slightly at his side. You’re allowed to bed whoever you wish. You owe me nothing. I never claimed to He paused. Frowned.

“Gods,” he whispered into the dark, realization dawning like a slow, creeping horror. “I’m jealous.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue. He almost laughed him, jealous? It was laughable. He’d never needed anyone before. Never cared if someone wandered off after a flirtation, or if they found pleasure in another’s arms. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Pleasure without consequence. Desire without attachment. But tonight, watching you casually toss aside what he thought was a mutual spark no, knew was had stirred something ugly and unfamiliar in him.

“I don’t get jealous,” he said aloud to the night, trying the words again, firmer this time. “I don’t do jealousy. It’s beneath me.”

But the fire in his chest said otherwise. It wasn’t just bruised ego. That he could handle. He wanted you to choose him. Not out of convenience. Not out of need. But because you wanted him, just him. He leaned back against a log, running a hand through his hair with a low groan. “This is an absolute disaster.”

For the first time in centuries, Astarion wasn’t sure how to play the game. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to play at all. He wanted to be with you. But how the hells did he even begin?

Morning crept into the camp slowly, light spilling over bedrolls and dewy grass. Birds chirped far too cheerfully for anyone’s liking especially Astarion’s. He sat on a rock near the fire pit, legs crossed elegantly, skin glowing like always, and of course he looked amazing. Until you walked out of your tent.

“Well, well,” he drawled without looking up. “If it isn’t the temptress of the Weave herself, back from a night of sonnets and magical satisfaction.”

You stopped mid stretch. “What?”

Astarion turned to you, faux innocence painted across his face. “Oh, don’t play coy. I’m just dying to know how our dear Gale fares in the bedroom. Did he conjure you a glowing review? Perhaps summoned a satisfaction score from the Weave?”

You blinked, then burst out laughing. “Calm down, loverboy. Nothing happened.”

His smirk faltered.

“…Nothing?” he repeated, cautious.

You dropped onto a log across from him, grin wide. “Nope. We talked for like ten minutes, then he got distracted explaining the theory behind dreamscapes and how the mind processes intimacy while unconscious.”

Astarion looked like he aged a century. “Of course he did.”

“I almost fell asleep standing up,” you added. “I think at some point he forgot I was there.”

Astarion made a strangled sound in his throat and tossed a twig into the fire. “Well. I’m sure that was incredibly titillating.”

You rested your chin in your hand, watching him with a glint in your eye. “What’s with the attitude? I said nothing happened. A girl’s allowed to have urges, you know.”

His eyes flicked to yours, fast and sharp. “…Urges?”

You shrugged, teasing. “Yeah. Just figured it was time to get it over with. Stress relief. You know health reasons.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “You were going to treat it like a medical appointment?”

“Exactly. Routine check up. The doctor was just… overbooked.”

The vampire groaned and threw his head back. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Mm, maybe I will, we will just have to wait and see unril you stop being jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow.

“I was… annoyed. That’s different.”

“Mhm. You sure you weren’t picturing Gale putting on a robe and lighting candles while reading me his dissertation on foreplay?”

“I hate how accurate that sounds.”

You chuckled again, leaning back on your hands, eyes on him now with something softer. “You’re cute when you’re bitter.”

Astarion’s gaze flicked toward you again, but this time there was something quieter in it. Something careful. “And you’re a devious minx when you laugh like that.”

“Oh?” you smirked. “Scared I’ll seduce you with my wit?”

He looked away, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” he murmured. “Scared I already am.”

––––You sat cross legged on a blanket just outside the camp, your sketchbook resting against your knees. Gale was beside you, hunched over his own page with careful strokes, charcoal smudged on the side of his hand. It was quiet. You could hear the rustle of paper, the soft exhale of Gale’s breath as he concentrated. Every so often, he would glance at your work, but he never commented unless you did first.

“Is that the Underdark cave?” you asked after a while, tilting your head toward his page.

He smiled, barely lifting his gaze. “It is. Not as foreboding on paper, is it?”

You hummed. “I would say it is still very foreboding.”

“I like it too,” he said, voice quiet.

You looked at him then how the light caught in his curls, how the frown of focus softened his features. There was something incredibly human about Gale in moments like this. Something grounding. Then he set the charcoal aside with a gentle sigh and glanced your way.

“I’ve been meaning to bring something up,” he said carefully. “Last night… when you mentioned what you wanted from me.”

You tensed slightly, setting your pencil down. “Right.”

“I was flattered,” Gale said with a small smile. “Truly. You’re… lovely, and clever, and far more patient than this strange journey has any right to demand. But I want you to know it’s not about you.”

You blinked. “What isn’t?”

“I don’t exactly know my stance on physical intimacy without affection. Not for myself, at least.” His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers lightly dusted with black. “It would feel hollow. Transactional. And I’ve already been part of one dangerous entanglement with shallow roots.”

You were quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. You deserve real love.”

Gale looked up at you again, softer now. “We all do.”

You bit your lip, nodding again. “I respect that. I hope it didn’t seem like I was pressuring you.”

“Dont worry your pretty little head about it. I know. You’re too considerate for that.” He paused. “Which makes it even more baffling how you endure him.”

You blinked. “Who?”

Gale looked toward the center of camp, where Astarion was perched on a fallen log, basking in the sun and pretending not to eavesdrop. “That creature,” Gale said, voice dry. “A walking vanity project, Honestly, it’s like camping with a predatory peacock.”

You snorted.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Gale continued, warming to the roast. “I’m sure he’s quite talented in the dark. centuries of seduction will hone one’s… muscle memory but I imagine it’s about as emotionally fulfilling as being serenaded by a harpsichord made of teeth.”

“Gale.”

“No, really. He pouted for twenty minutes this morning because his hair got flattened during trance. He looked like a drowned cat who couldn’t manipulate the mage hand spell to fix it.”

Astarion glanced over then, voice saccharine: “You’re talking about me again. I must be ravishing to live rent free in the brain of a man who hasn’t even kissed anyone this decade.”

Gale raised a brow. “I’d sooner kiss a gelatinous cube. At least it wouldn’t try to kill me afterward.”

You covered your mouth, barely muffling your laugh. Astarion scoffed but didn’t move. what? he was listening. he couldnt help it.

Gale’s voice softened slightly then, a lilt of sincerity slipping beneath the sarcasm. “But jokes aside… be careful.”

You blinked. “With Astarion?”

He nodded. “He’s clever. Charming. entirely capable of making himself whatever you want him to be until he’s not.”

Your gaze dropped back to your sketchbook, heart thudding.Then, as if to break the weight of it, he chuckled faintly. “Besides, if we’re talking about primal urges, I believe our resident vampire spawn has more than enough… enthusiasm to spare.”

You laughed, leaning your head back. “You think Astarion’s dying to jump my bones?”

“Oh, I know he is. He practically disintegrated when you told him nothing happened between us.”

“He did look like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

“He looked like he’d been given the feast of the century. Honestly before you said anything, I haven’t seen a man so heartbroken since… well, me.” You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling. “But,” Gale continued, quieter now, “just remember there might be someone else who wants that closeness with affection. Someone who might be afraid you’ll offer it to someone else first.”

You turned your head slowly, eyes meeting his. He didn’t say Astarion’s name again. He didn’t need to.for the first time in a while, your heart beat a little faster not from fear, but from the weight of someone else’s longing you hadn’t quite dared to name.

The sun had risen high enough to dry the grass and heat the stones, but the camp was still unusually quiet. Most of the others had wandered off some hunting, some meditating. You were by the water, splashing your fingers across the surface, letting your boots dangle in the current. Astarion’s shadow fell over you before his voice did.

“You know,” he began, casually enough, “I’ve been thinking.”

You looked up. He was standing just off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his eyes were trained only on you.

“is that new or did you want to share with the class,” you said

He huffed a laugh but didn’t banter back. He just stepped closer, his voice quiet. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

You blinked, confused for a moment. “What?”

He met your eyes now. “When you decided you needed… something. That night. Why didn’t you come to me?”

You turned your gaze back to the water, thoughtful. “Because I couldn’t.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Couldn’t? Why?”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then, with a breath, you said, “Because I just wanted meaningless sex. Nothing more.” Astarion flinched not outwardly, but in the smallest corner of his expression, in the way his mouth parted like he’d just been stung. “And that’s not something I could ever have with you.”

You turned to face him now, fully. “Out of everyone in this camp… you’re my best friend. Like, yes, I care about the others. Gale’s a good man. I trust him, I do. But the bond I have with him it’s not like what I have with you.”

Astarion stood there, silent.

“With you,” you continued, voice softer now, “I can’t turn it off. I can’t just pretend it’s only physical. You’re not a passing urge. You’re the person I go to when I can’t sleep. You’re the one I want near me when things go wrong. You’re the one I trust when I don’t trust myself.” He blinked slowly, like the words didn’t quite register at first.

“And if we crossed that line,” you added gently, “I don’t think I could ever call it meaningless. Not with you. Not even if I tried.”

The air felt still around you, like the world was holding its breath. When Astarion finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges. “I think you just ruined every one of my excuses for why I’m not already in love with you.”

You gave him a smile, wide eyed surprise. He sat down next to you without asking, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not saying I am,” he added quickly. “But if I were… that would’ve made it a lot worse.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his arm. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not.”

[hard-core-super-star]

could you write kate missing reader's birthday party ?? pls and thank u

-💜

i bet it stung [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate tries her best to be there for everyone but sometimes, she messes up.

warnings: angst with happy ending; mutual pining, friends to lovers; kate's a mess but she's trying her best; allusions to sex + mentions of hickeys; NOT proofread

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: HEY GUYS! i've been spending most of my time working on polishing vampire!kate and trying to figure out an upload schedule for new chapters BUT i suddenly got hit with inspiration to tackle this request and now it's here. i actually really liked how this turned out, sorry to the anon who requested this because it took me a RIDICULOUS amount of time to write it 😅 as always, thanks for the love, support, and patience. hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

You didn't want to think the worst of your best friend.

You wanted to be kind and patient and understanding and not give her the silent treatment like she deserved. But what else were you supposed to do after she broke yet another promise to you?

Maybe it was stupid, maybe you were being overdramatic, or maybe you had a damn good reason for feeling so disappointed.

It wasn't the biggest deal in the world, you knew that, but that didn't stop you from wanting to shut down and hide in your room. You couldn't do that, though, since you were still in the middle of your living room, celebrating your birthday.

Well, celebrating is putting it nicely.

It's more like you're sitting on your couch, surrounded by people who know and love you, and trying to act like your heart isn't sinking down into your stomach and making it churn with something akin to anxiety. What's bothering you isn't anxiety, though.

It's the fact that Kate looked you right in the eye and promised she would be there before the end of the night. Your birthday wasn't exactly the best day for the archer to go off on a complicated mission but it wasn't like she had a choice.

At least, that's what she had said before running out the door with that breathtaking smile on her face.

You had believed her at that moment but then night came and Yelena showed up at your apartment with a bottle of unlabeled vodka in her hand and no awkward archer at her side. It would have been fine if the blonde hadn't mentioned she had no idea where Kate was even though she had told you Yelena had assigned the mission to her.

You didn't want to make a scene, though, you were supposed to be enjoying your day and getting slightly too drunk with your friends while eating ridiculously expensive cake.

Your change in mood didn't go unnoticed by the Russian or the rest of your friends.

"She'll be here," Peter says, offering you a small smile. "She's just a little late."

"Yeah!" Kamala joins in, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. "When has Kate not been late to something, right?"

Yelena opens her mouth to answer but the glare you send her way makes her rethink her words. "She is…awful at time management."

You snort, lifting up your cup. "Cheers to that."

Your friends join in and you down the rest of your drink, thankful that the bitter taste of the alcohol distracts you from your bitter feelings.

The rest of the night looks the same with drinking and crappy jokes and far too many slices of cake. Your friends leave a few hours later and it's not until you turn the music off and silence engulfs you that you remember your disappointment.

More than that, it suddenly dawns on you that you're alone.

That Kate still isn't back.

It hurts more than it should.

You know she didn't lie but she still chose not to tell you she wouldn't make it. She promised she'd show up and she didn't.

You're in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen, doing your best to hold back your tears because you are not going to cry on your birthday, when you hear the sound of the front door opening.

It takes a lot of self-restraint to stay instead of running away like you want to. You already know you'll end up forgiving her for missing your party, no matter how stupid the reasoning she gives you is.

"y/n."

The simple sound of her voice is almost enough to get you to break. You're determined not to break down this time, though, and certainly not in front of her.

You take a deep breath before turning around to face her. Your eyes instantly fall on the badly wrapped present and the almost crumpled bouquet of flowers in her hands. Any other day, you would have found it cute.

It's hard to break your habit despite how upset you are and you find yourself scanning her for any clear or severe injuries.

It doesn't take you long to notice the marks on her neck. You assume they're bruises, that her messy hair and disheveled appearance are part of whatever trouble she ended up getting herself in tonight.

But then you look closer.

And suddenly the room feels far too small, the air too thick to let you breathe.

Kate instantly takes notice of what's stolen your attention, placing the flowers down before her free hand comes up to nervously rub at her neck. You're not a genius but you know all her tells by heart.

"You didn't," you say, your voice barely above a whisper but brimming with danger.\

"It's not- I didn't-" She cuts herself off with a sigh.

You know exactly what that means. She doesn't even have an excuse. No stupid explanation to make you feel better. If anything, that makes her guiltier.

Of what? You're not too sure. You just know your best friend was out getting laid when she was supposed to be here with you.

Your unspoken feelings for her only make her betrayal worse.

"You're fucking unbelievable, Kate."

You see a flash of hurt stain her usually bright eyes but you don't care. You can't. Because all of you've done since you met her is care and it's gotten you nothing but heartache.

"y/n."

The soft tone she uses tugs at your heartstrings and yet you force yourself to keep going. To walk away and put enough space between the two of you so you don't have to keep staring the truth right in the face.

Kate doesn't love you. Not the way you want her to. And even though you love her, you can't keep letting yourself get hurt like this.

Not anymore.

So, you walk away.

Unfortunately, you still live together which makes your plan to ignore her for at least a few days practically impossible. Maybe it's immature but the only thing you can do is stay in your room and avoid interacting with her as much as possible.

Avoiding her does little to soothe your hurt feelings, though, and hearing her pace outside your locked door like a scolded puppy makes things even harder. All you can do is remind yourself you already know what her excuses will be anyway so what's the point of letting her in just to be hurt again?

It's a good plan but it doesn't take into account how…persistent Kate can be.

You assume she'll end up doing something to catch your attention but you never once think she'll climb the fire escape and knock on your window.

That's exactly what she does, though, which leaves you pretty much unable to ignore her.

You think about it for a second but then your eyes meet hers and you get up before you can stop yourself.

It's stupid, you know that, but that knowledge doesn't stop you from opening your window. You don't let her in even though it's ridiculous to make her stay outside.

"Do you need something?" You ask.

"Yeah, to talk to you," she replies, her eyes nervously searching your face. "I need to apologize."

"You don't have to, you-"

"Yes, I do and you have to let me in." She seems just as surprised as you are by her words.

You momentarily think about shutting her out and yet somehow, for whatever stupid reason, you don't. You take a step back and allow her to climb in through your window like all those times before. At least this time she's not bleeding.

An awkward silence settles over both of you as she stands in the middle of your room. You regret not cleaning up a little before making your way to the window since now she's subjected to all your haphazardly thrown tissues and incredibly messy bed.

"What now?" You question, already fidgeting with your fingers while you wait for her to talk.

"Now…I tell you how sorry I am and how big of an idiot I am."

"Kate, we've been friends for years, I already know you're an idiot," you say with an eyeroll that holds way too much affection.

"True," she says with a chuckle. "No, I um…I really messed up but not in the way you think. I did miss your party but I…I didn't hook up with anyone. Not really, I-"

"You really don't have to explain this to me." You rush out, not at all wanting to hear those kinds of details from her.

"Yes, I do." She takes a step toward you and it takes all your restraint to not step away from her. "I don't want you to think I went out and slept with someone else on your birthday-"

"Kate," you try again. "You're an adult, you can do whatever you want."

"I want to do that with you!"

There's an edge of desperation to her voice that makes you pause. More than anything, her words confuse you.

"What are you talking about?"

A groan escapes her lips and before you know it, she's getting rid of the space between you and gently taking your face in her hands. She tilts your head until you're looking right at her and your breath gets caught in your throat from the proximity.

"I. Want. To. Be. With. You." Kate whispers every word into the small space between your lips. "I did get caught up on a stupid mission but I didn't sleep with anyone else. I just had to get creative and I took a page out of Natasha's book. I didn't think I'd end up with a massive hickey, though."

It's absolutely ridiculous.

It honestly borders on stupid.

So much so that you laugh.

You laugh until the weight you've been carrying for who knows how long falls off your shoulders.

Until finally, finally, you're able to lean in and kiss the girl of your dreams.

Kate may be an idiot who always gets herself in the worst kinds of troubles but…she's your idiot.

Finally.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Mind Games

Erik x Y/N

Erik didn’t know she was telepath. He has a very active imagination…

Requests Open!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual themes

Only a few weeks had passed since the introduction of Erik Lehnsherr to Y/N. The introduction had been brief but left an aura of lingering tension between them. Y/N couldn't help but notice how Erik's eyes find their way toward her in a room full of people. What Erik didn't know, however, was that every thought in his head was available to her like an open book.

Y/N's mutant ability? She could read minds, and Erik's was a particularly loud one-borderline inappropriate most of the time, to say the least. He thought he was subtle, but his inner monologue told her otherwise.

Tonight they were in the kitchen, alone. The others had all gone off to bed and only the two of them were left behind in the silent space bathed in the soft, indirect light from above. Erik stood by the counter, drinking his coffee without really tasting it while Y/N leaned against the island, stirring a cup of tea.

They spoke of everything under the sun but his mind was elsewhere.

"She's beautiful." "She probably doesn't even like me, though." "God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her-”

Y/N stifled a smile. She'd gotten used to the whirling chaos of Erik's thoughts, full of admiration and compliments with the stray thought that, more times than not, could have turned the kitchen ten degrees hotter. Tonight, though, was different, and Y/N could feel it even before Erik's next thought echoed in her head.

“She has such gorgeous lips. I bet they’re soft…bet they’re good at-..No, no don’t think that.”

“But, then again….she’d look good on her knees. Looking up at me. Her mouth around my-”

Y/N's spoon clattered onto the counter, breaking the silence. Erik's eyes snapped up to hers in surprise.

"Sorry," she muttered, tucking back a laugh. She looked at him and saw the faintest flush on his cheeks. He hadn't any idea she'd just heard his most intimate thought.

She'd been playing this game, concealing her skills from Erik for weeks now. She found it amusements-end that, with quite a frequency, his mind veered off in dangerous directions. It wasn't that she didn't like him- quite the opposite. He was magnetic, charming in a brooding sort of way. There was attraction between them, mutual in its forging, though only Y/N was cognizant of both sides.

But standing here, her mind traipsing further down a road she probably shouldn't follow, Y/N knew it was time to show her hand. "Erik," she said, breaking the comfortable silence. He raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee cup down. "What is it, darling?" She hedged, watching his response closely. His brow furrowed with concern, probably misreading the seriousness in her expression.

Y/N took a deep breath. "I'm a mutant, like you," she blurted out, and he nodded, expecting her to continue. "But my ability… is that I can hear people's thoughts."

Erik blinked at her, bewildered at first, then realization dawned on him. His mouth opened, though nothing was heard coming from it. She could practically see gears turning in his head. All that stuff he had been thinking for the last couple of weeks piled onto him in one second.

"She heard. everything?!" "Oh God, shit. Oh, hell."

His face flushed red as he stared at her, mortified. "You- you've been,” "Listening to you?" Y/N finished for him with her lips twitching into a grin. "Yeah, I have."

Erik groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Dear God, I thought I was being subtle." "Not even a little, Erik." Y/N couldn't help it and burst out laughing. It was a rare sight, the ever-composed Erik flustered like that.

He peeked at her between his fingers. "And you've heard…. Everything I've been thinking?" "Mm-hmm," Y/N replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of her tea like this was the most normal conversation in the world. "You've had some pretty interesting thoughts, Erik." Erik looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Darling-”

Y/N stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Relax. It's not like I didn't already know how you felt."

He blinked at her again, this time less with embarrassment, more with curiosity. "You did?"

"I've known since the first time you walked into the room," she admitted, softer then. "And, for the record, I don't mind your thoughts. I kinda like them."

A small smile turned up the corners of Erik's lips; his embarrassment was quickly replaced with one of more confidence. He closed the space between them, stepping closer to her. "You could've told me sooner, love."

Y/N shrugged, placing her cup on the counter. "Where's the fun in that?”

Erik laughed, his hands tenderly reaching out to lay on her hips. "I just can't believe I spent weeks making a fool of myself inside of my own head."

"Oh, you were doing just fine out loud too," Y/N teased, grinning back up at him.”

He smirked, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, since you already know what I've been thinking, there's no point in hiding it anymore, is there?"

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "You've been driving me insane, darling. Every time I see you.”

Y/N's breath caught, her mind buzzing with the proximity. "You could have said something." "I'm saying it now," Erik murmured, his lips inches from hers. "Unless you've changed your mind?" "Not at all, dear," Y/N whispered, closing the distance.

Their lips met in a slow, heated kiss, and for once, Erik didn't have to say a word. But Y/N was more than happy to hear every single, dirty thought running through his mind.  She knew it was going to be a hell of a lot more fun now that the game was out in the open.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Chilling

Masterlist

Pairing: Henry X Reader

Synopsis: You were in love with the blacksmith's boy since you were both children. One day, he stumbles into into the apothecary, covered in blood and wounds, asking for you. As the last survivor of the hunting party, you start to suspect what has changed him.

Tags: fluff, eventual smut, werewolves, friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, danger, some death, gore,

Chapter 1

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village into a shroud of cold shadows. In the dimly lit apothecary, you moved with purpose, tending to the sick under the warm glow of flickering candles.

The room smelled of herbs and remedies, a comforting scent that enveloped the two children and their mother nestled under thick furs. Your hands moved carefully, wrapping the children tightly as you spoke to them in a soothing tone.

"You see, this medicine is made from a special herb. It's like a little helper for your body," you explained, your eyes meeting the curious gaze of the youngest child.

"Why does it smell sour?" the girl asked.

You chuckled, “To me, it smells like oranges. Trust me, after a few sips, you'll feel much better and be playing with your siblings again."

Turning your attention to the reluctant boy, you's smile remained unwavering. "I know, it doesn't taste like your favourite sweets, but it is still good stuff. Drink up, and you'll be back to your adventures in no time."

The boy eyed the tea suspiciously and reluctantly took a sip.

As you comforted the children the mother's discomfort became apparent. Her forehead is damp with fever. You placed a damp cloth on her forehead and she sighed.

"You'll be alright," you assured before ushering the kids into another room, telling them to drink their tea.

Returning to the mother, you reassessed the situation. The bucket beside her bed was full, and she was wiping her mouth. A realisation dawned on you. You delicately asked, "Have you been intimate recently?"

The woman nodded, and understanding swept over. She was with child.

In that moment, the door creaked open, revealing the figure of Rebecca, the village healer, and your mentor.

Rebecca entered the apothecary, shaking off the snow from her cloak and depositing a basket of herbs and roots onto a table. "The cold has arrived sooner than expected this year," she sighed, eyeing the flickering candles that cast shadows on the walls.

Her gaze shifted to you, engaged with the now cleaned-up woman. A knowing smile played on Rebecca's lips as she assessed the situation. "Congratulations, Lucy. Wonderful news,"

As you helped Lucy with a wash basin, you made small talk about breaking the news to Michael, Lucy's husband. In the midst of their conversation, you couldn't resist asking, "How do you do that? Can you read minds?"

Rebecca snorted, not confirming or denying the accusation.

After everyone was cleaned up, children tucked back into bed, and Lucy given a herb to induce sleep, Rebecca noticed the weariness in your eyes. "The night has almost fallen. You should get some rest,"

"What about you?" You asked.

Rebecca dismissed you with a wave, "Don't worry about me. You've been working too hard. I can see it in your eyes. You shouldn't have to do the work of five people."

You chuckled, "Especially with winter colds."

The howling wind outside and the distant howl added an eerie soundtrack to their conversation.

"Sounded louder," Rebecca commented cryptically.

Perplexed, you asked, "What are you talking about?"

"The howling," Rebecca replied, your tone filled with a solemn warning. “One was louder than the rest…”

Oblivious to the ominous undertone, you shrugged and packed your things. "I haven't noticed. If you're okay here, i'll take that offer to go home."

As you opened the heavy wooden door, Rebecca cautioned behind you, "Be careful, y/n. No shortcuts."

With those words echoing in your mind, you donned your cloak and stepped into the biting night, leaving the apothecary behind, the wind carrying with it an unsettling howl.

As you ventured through the village on your walk home, the air grew colder, and darkness descended. Winter's biting cold pierced through your cloak, urging you to quicken your pace. The villagers had retreated indoors, leaving the streets eerily quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps echoing and the wind whooshing through the creaking, naked trees. The quietness was haunting, a stark contrast to the usual lively hum of the village.

Passing the dressmaker's shop, you glanced into the window, where a distorted reflection of a beautiful dress beckoned. You cast a brief glance down at your own worn garment. You've worn it almost every day for three years. The fabric clung tightly, showing your growth over the time.

A sudden snap to your right shattered the silence, and you spun. In the shadows, a pair of glowing eyes seemed to stare back at you. A gasp caught in your throat, and you broke into a run. The chilling wind whipped at your hair as you sprinted toward your brother's farmhouse at the edge of the village.

Reaching the safety of the familiar door, you stole a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding. There was nothing but the winter night. You hurriedly entered the house, shutting the door with a shiver, leaving the cold and the unsettling encounter outside.

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You closed the heavy wooden door behind yourself, and the warm glow of the farmhouse kitchen welcomed you. Your brother, his wife, and their three children sat around the sturdy wooden table, eating a hearty stew from a pot placed at the center.

Will, holding the twins and little Mary devouring your small bowl, greeted you with understanding smiles. "Sit, eat."

As you filled your plate, your brother's wife picked at the sleeve of your worn dress, the dirt from the day's work evident.

"Can you mend this for me, Sophie?" you asked her.

Sophie nodded, "Of course! Leave it with me tomorrow, and I'll have it done by the morning. Can you wear something else in its stead in case it takes me some time?"

You pondered your dress options while taking a scoop of the stew. "I have my festive dress, but there's also my grandmother's old work dress. It's a bit big, though."

Sophie grinned mischievously, "Festive dress it is, then. Remember the harvest festival? The butcher's boy couldn't take his eyes off you."

Blushing, you chuckled, gaze drifting to the window. Your mind lingered on Henry, the blacksmith's nephew. You secretly had a crush on him since you were both children

He lost both his parents and older brother to cholera. Had to grow up fast, becoming the first to apprentice at his uncle Jen’s smithy at the age of ten.

You, only seven years old at the time, found him captivating, though your friends didn't share the sentiment.

You were quite chubby as a child but harsh winters and harvests have made it difficult to stay that way. The same applied to him, although unlike you, who became thinner, Henry bulked. As the years passed, he transformed from a lanky, sickly boy into a broad and capable young man, drawing lots of attention from the village girls with his tall build, strong arms, constantly covered in veins and dirt from working at the smithy.

Despite the two of you being friendly enough, Henry hadn't seemed to notice you much, always engrossed in his important errands at the smithy.

Sophie's voice brought you back to the present. "The butcher's son is handsome and well-off. Perhaps think about it?"

"Perhaps." you considered.

As Sophie departed for bed, you cleared the table before removing your dress, leaving it for Sophie. You settled down on your bed in the kitchen in your night dress, covering yourself in a heavy wool blanket and turned your head to the side.

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In the midst of the night, you found yourself in a dream.

You wandered through a frost-covered forest, shadows dancing beneath the moonlight. Distant howls of wolves echoed, and Henry 's figure emerged from the mist.

As you approached, he turned, revealing the handsome face you often found herself dreaming of.

Henry 's deep brown eyes held a warmth.

"Y/n, my y/n" his words muffled in your dream but you still found your heart beating loudly.

"Yes, Henry." you gasped.

Henry 's arms enveloped you, pulling you closer in a tender embrace beneath the moonlight. He lifted your chin up to meet his lips in a soft, tender kiss that lingered minutes after he pulled apart and trailed kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, where he lingered, playfully nipping at your collarbone.

You gasped.

"I want to sink my teeth into you..." He whispered. You felt your cheeks burn, along with the rest of your body.

Suddenly, the dream shifted. The forest darkened, and the wolves' howls intensified. A giant figure, cloaked in shadows, appeared. Your heart raced as you recognized the glowing eyes from your earlier encounter.

"I want to sink my teeth into you." The figure whispered. Your pulse picked up as the dream twisted into a chaotic dance of uncertainty.

You woke up with a start.

The farmhouse was silent, bathed in the soft glow of the hearth. you lay in the quiet darkness, the dream fading.

Unable to shake off the disquieting feeling, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb your family, and donned your warmest attire. The creaking floorboards betrayed your departure, and as you stepped outside, the winter night embraced you once again.

The village slept peacefully, shrouded in a blanket of snow. Your breath formed visible clouds in the frigid air as you made your way to the apothecary. The flickering candlelight within revealed the familiar shelves of herbs and potions.

Rebecca, already awake, greeted you with a knowing smile. "The threads of fate weave a complex tapestry," Rebecca mused. "Your dreams may hold clues to the challenges ahead. Stay vigilant, you, and trust your instincts."

[untildawnss]

Hii do you think you could do Sam x reader where they are best friends but then something leads to another & they find out they like each other 🤔🤔 could be a smut if you’d wanttt

more than a friend - samantha giddings x reader (until dawn)

i'm sorry this took so long, i had the worst writer's block. i did not go too far into the smut because genderneutral smut is hard to pull off.

notes: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, gn!reader, bisexual!reader, bisexual!sam

cw: mentions of jealousy, implied smut, alcohol

wc: 3,2k

it had always been you and sam. best friends, soulmates, partners in crime, inseparable ever since that day in kindergarten when she sat down next to you asking to trade her carrots for some of your cucumber slices. there was barely anything that could keep you apart for more than a day or two. from the moment you both felt like you had some kind of agency there weren’t even family vacations without the other. both of your parents had accepted quickly that you’d make any time spent apart hell for them. because no one understood you like sam did and no one got her like you did. you didn’t need words to communicate a novella to each other. and sure, you’d fought a few times during those teenage years, but it was never serious. when push came to shove it was like a switch was flipped and neither of you could be mad when the other went through the mess of hormones, heartbreak and rebellion.

none of that had ever changed, even through your early twenties when you could only see each other on screens at awkward times for either of you, studying on different sides of the country, at times on different continents. and you’d still make time for those vacations together, just no partners, friends or family allowed. just the two of you, hanging out and falling into familiar routines and rhythms, all inside jokes and nostalgia and plans for the future. and sometimes when sam had a boyfriend or girlfriend and talked about them being a part of this future you’d feel a little weird about it. sometimes you imagined whoever you were together with at the time in five, ten, twenty years and then you’d break up with them as soon as you had the chance because the thought didn’t feel right.

it was your birthday. 29. one last year of being in your twenties. you’d always thought that come 30 you should probably start taking life more seriously. now that it was a year away you wondered what you were thinking. life was too much fun and you didn’t really care about being serious or if people told you that the clock was ticking. well, it was mostly weird people on dating apps. and when you were with sam you’d sometimes swipe or scroll and make fun of the weird profiles and sometimes sam would snort and say “hell no!” and you’d take a sip of wine to stop your heart from fluttering because she was your best friend.

you were excited for the party. josh and sam had insisted on a theme for your birthday - 10 years ago - and had taken over the planning. old friends from high school were invited, there were kegs and all the awful drinks you used to drink in your late teens, whatever you could get your hands on at the time, a playlist with all the fun songs you used to dance to and everyone had been asked to dress like they did back then and to get to the washingtons’ place at 8pm. you looked at yourself in the mirror. you never thought you changed that much after graduating but when you were looking at old pictures you couldn’t believe some of the choices you’d made back then. it was almost painful to style your hair the same way you did then. you checked your outfit again and again while you waited for sam to pick you up. your phone vibrated on your bedside table. i’m outside. your heart skipped a beat. you took one last look at yourself before walking outside to meet sam at her car.

“oh my god,” sam burst out laughing as soon as you got into the passenger seat. “i can’t believe you still have that outfit.” you looked at her, your hand splayed on your chest, feigning hurt. “rude much? also, are you kidding me? it was the best concert ever and we’re literally matching.” you side-eyed sam, who looked back at you, still grinning widely. “true. and you still look cooler than me.” – “oh please, you’ve always been the cooler one, sammy.” you rolled your eyes at sam as she started the car. “okay, compromise. we’re both very cool. also, happy birthday, your present is in the glovebox.” she put the car into first gear and started driving down the street. you opened the glovebox and saw a plain red envelope with your name written on it in sam’s neat handwriting. “aw, sam, you didn’t have to get me anything.” – “you say that every year. come on, open it.” you carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a birthday card with a cartoon version of your favourite animal wishing you the best birthday ever. when you opened the card, two pieces of paper slipped out. concert tickets. the same artist whose concert sam and you had worn the outfits you were currently wearing to the first time you went to see them. you were positively jumping in your seat. “holy shit!” sam slowed down as you approached an intersection with a stop sign. when the car came to a halt you almost jumped into her lap to hug her. “thank you, thank you, thank you. oh, i love you so much for this.” sam grinned, satisfied with your reaction. “knew you’d love it. and i love you, too.” you bit your lip and quickly turned to look out of the passenger side window. you were blushing way too much. what the hell was wrong with you?

sam and you spent the next 15 minutes wondering where the people from your high school were in life and who would be showing up. obviously your friend group would be there and since you were all different ages, you’d gotten acquainted with a lot of people from different years. the washington house was bound to be packed. just like old times. only this time the booze was legal. sam pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. you had slipped the tickets back into the glovebox. you feared that if you got too drunk you might end up losing them.it was a few minutes past 8 but you could already hear loud music as soon as you opened the car door and the amount of cars made it obvious that a fair amount of people were early. you made your way towards the front door, sam right behind you. the door was slightly ajar and you walked inside. you could feel the bass vibrating in every cell of your body. sam took your hand and pulled you into the living room. you were immediately tackled by ash and jess who wished you a happy birthday loud enough to alert everyone else in the room to your presence. you were hugged and smooched and lifted and turned more times than you could, or cared to, count before sam told you to close your eyes for just a second. she was grabbing your arm again and your heart was beating faster. your body seemed to be taking the theme of the party a bit too seriously.

when sam told you to open your eyes again, your friends were standing around a giant, beautifully decorated sheet cake. after you blew out the candles, josh started cutting the cake and offered you the first piece. everyone else had to serve themselves. it was your favourite. soon enough you had a drink in your hand and wondered how this was ever your go to when you were younger. it wasn’t bad, but not exactly good either. you spent a lot of time hugging new arrivals, getting introduced to significant others, spouses and siblings that were tagging along, hearing even more people wishing you a happy birthday and catching up with people you hadn’t seen in years. but you spent even more time being distracted because you were scanning the room for sam whenever you noticed she’d been gone for a while. once or twice you spotted her talking to someone she’d had a crush on back in high school and you felt weird about. jealous, maybe. and you didn’t like it at all. suddenly, you heard a loud crackling and feedback over the speakers. people all around jumped and flinched at the sound. “sorry, everyone. but now that i have your attention i am inviting you all to join us for beer pong in the backyard, seven minutes in heaven in the lounge, truth or dare in the game room or spin the bottle in the sunroom. this is a high school party, after all. obviously our guest of honour will be participating in all of these games but you’ll never know when. test your luck and you might get lucky tonight, folks.” josh, of course. an entertainer at heart. you should have known there was more to this theme than just dress up and the best and worst of songs that were more than 10 years old. you caught sam’s eye across the room and she was smiling widely, beckoning you to join her in the sunroom and obviously a bit tipsy, judging by the redness in her cheeks. you snaked your way through the crowd to get to her. it felt like forever and no time at all until your hand was in sam’s again. “are you happy with your not-really-a-surprise surprise party?” sam sounded so giddy that you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling so hard that your cheeks were hurting. “yeah, i am.” – “love it. love you.” sam started towards the sunroom and you were glad that she didn’t look back at you. your face was burning up.

you settled down on a thick cushion on the floor, sam on your right. jess and chris were sitting across from you, drunkenly singing along to the song currently playing and bumping their shoulders against each other. somewhere to your left were emily and hannah, telling josh and beth that they were not allowed to join because only one of the siblings could play spin the bottle and hannah was there first. sam leaned her head against your shoulder as you watched the washington siblings bickering over who should get first pick for the games and more people filed into the room and occupied the cushions and couches. there were about twenty people in the room when someone said that maybe that was enough if everyone wanted to get a turn. sam shifted back into an upright position. her posture was immaculate. she looked at you out of the corner of her eye and you quickly turned your attention to the bottle in the middle of the circle. “so,” you cleared your throat. “who’s first?” jess and chris snorted. “well, it's your birthday. obviously you go first.” jess flourished dramatically at the bottle. “what jess said.” chris was still nodding along to the beat. “obviously.” you grinned and leaned towards the middle of the circle, giving the bottle a fast spin. it spun for a few seconds and landed on a guy you’d had a few classes with. both of you got up and you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before sitting back down. the person on your left was next. during emily’s turn the bottle landed on herself three times before finally landing on sam. you joined the chorus of ooohs and aaaahs on every turn but it didn’t feel right this time. you kissed three more people, chris and hannah among them. when it was finally sam’s turn the bottle landed on jess. you felt disappointed and drained the rest of your drink.

next up was beerpong. you and sam were pretty much unstoppable as a team and the game was over before you knew it. you were more than tipsy at this point but not drunk yet. sam gave you a high five and when you dropped your hand hers was back in yours in an instant. you took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air to calm yourself and the heart threatening to beat out of your chest.”what’s next?” sam asked, absent-mindedly stroking her thumb across your knuckles. “truth or dare?” – “truth.” you looked into her eyes, one eyebrow raised. “how drunk are you? how many fingers am i holding up?” sam laughed. “i was kidding.” – “i know. let’s go.” – “i was talking to the other you.” you gasped. “the other me? i thought i was the only one for you.” samwas no longer laughing. “you are.” and you weren’t sure if she meant it the same way you did.

the questions and dares didn’t really keep your attention. people got dared to confess damages they caused to their parents’ houses during parties or when they were home alone. people were asked if they ever cheated on anyone. people were dared to go streaking. people were asked if they’d ever had an STD. sam was asked if she was currently crushing on anyone. you bit your lip and looked straight ahead, not daring to look at her, your best friend. your best friend whom you seemed to be in love with. “yes.” you took another sip of your drink and caught josh looking at you from across the room.

“i guess only seven minutes in heaven is left.” sam’s cheeks and the tip of her nose were redder now. you always knew that she had built up a comfortable buzz when she looked like that. “uh, yeah, i just have to go pee real quick. i’ll meet you in the lounge, yeah?” once again she grabbed you hand, but she only squeezed it this time. “yeah, see you in a minute.” you had been at the washingtons’ more than enough times to know your way around. the upstairs bathroom at the end of the hallway where beth’s and hannah’s room used to be was only for the ‘inner circle’. that was exactly where you wanted to be right now, just for a minute or two, to catch your breath and think. maybe splash some water on your face. someone was already upstairs when you got there, leaning against the wall in front of the bathroom. josh. “are you the queue?” you tried joking but you clearly weren’t doing a good job. “nope.” josh popped the p and looked right into your eyes. “so, sam, huh?” – “shut up. is anyone in there or can i go pee now?” josh reached behind his back and turned the handle to open the door for you. “go ahead.” you could hear him leaving through the closed door.

you got to the lounge a few minutes later. sam had saved you a seat between her and josh. great. “what did i miss?” you hoped the little pep talk you had given yourself in the bathroom was enough to get you through the rest of the night. “not much. chris is in the closet with that cheerleader who broke her leg during junior year,” sam said. one of her legs was tucked under the other and she was back to leaning against you. “oh, but things might get interesting,” josh whispered from your other side. you shot him a warning glare but you were dead-certain that he didn’t care at all. you knew what was coming and it made your hands sweaty and your throat dry and your head spin. “ooh, do you think they’re making out?” sam giggled. “heh, yeah, probably.”

sure enough, when chris and the cheerleader exited the closet to loud applause, josh loudly cleared his throat and got up. “since our guest of honour missed the first round, they should be next to have their seven minutes in heaven wiiith,” he paused dramatically and looked around the room, pretending to decide who would get into the closet with you. “sammy.” you grinned at him, just to avoid frowning. “cool.” – “yeah, cool,” sam added. you didn’t look at her.

the closet was roomier than you remembered but you felt almost claustrophobic when josh pushed you and sam into the room and locked the door behind you. “timer starts now.” the light was dimmed and you truly felt like a teenager again, standing in there, face to face with sam and not knowing what to do or say. and you were still not really looking at her. “is something wrong? you’ve been unusually quiet today. did somethi-“ – “i think i’m in love with you,” you interrupted sam. “wh-what?” you swallowed hard. “i think i’m in love with you and i think i have been for a while.” in the blink of an eye sam’s lips were on yours. you stumbled backwards until you hit the wall. sam pulled away from you for a second. “sorry.” she grabbed your face with both hands. “you should have said something.” and then she was kissing you again, just softly enough to make you dizzy, just hard enough to make your knees buckle. you finally realised what was happening. a good thing. you started kissing her back, your hands no longer hanging uselessly by your sides but now tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, pulling her as close as possible as if they were afraid that she would leave otherwise. neither of you seemed to remember where you were. one of sam’s hands was slipping under your shirt, yours were wandering down her back and across her hips and started undoing the button and zipper of her jeans. she started kissing along your jaw and down your neck. “oh my god,” you panted. you leaned your head back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. sam’s kisses were sending pleasant tingles and shivers down your spine. suddenly her head snapped back up. “how long have we been in here?” – “oh my god,” you were more shocked this time, though still out of breath. “i almost forgot about the game.” you ran your hand through your hair. “we are not having sex in here.” you nodded in agreement and then started laughing. “so, does that mean we’re having sex?” sam hummed her approval and moved back in for another kiss. “mhm, just not in here.” more kisses, along your jaw again but then behind your ear. you felt ready to explode with this unexpected but welcome shift that made you so aware of every single part of your body. “sammy, kiss me again.” you couldn’t even hear yourself. your voice was too low and your own heartbeat was louder in your ears than the music in the living room. it was just a quick kiss, not because sam or you wanted to stop. someone was knocking on the door. “time’s up.”

like almost always, sam’s hand was in yours when you walked out of the closet to loud whooping and whistling. “finally,” someone yelled. “get a room, you two,” someone else shouted. you and sam turned to look at each other. she was noticeably dishevelled and her lipstick was smudged. josh sidled over to you and you rolled your eyes. “don’t say anything.” he grinned at you and sam. “oh, but i will. josh knows best and you are excused. you know the way. have fun.” sam shrugged. “we will.” once again she pulled you out of the room, her fingers interlaced with yours this time.

[stargirl-writes]

denial

pairing : force healer jedi! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 1.5k

masterlist

summary

anakin skywalker confessed his love for you. except, you turned him down, reminding yourself of your duty to the jedi. weeks would have passed and you're reaching a breaking point where you can no longer deny how you felt about him.

tags : angst, mutual pining, fluff towards the end,

warnings : pretty much just denial of how reader feels, and angst with a happy ending (!)

notes : hi lovely people! this is the first thing i'll post under this blog! thank u for taking interest in my little imagine, i hope you like it!

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated !

It has been a few weeks since Anakin Skywalker told you he loved you. For a moment, the cruelest thing to do seemed like the sweetest thing he could say.

For you both know that the Jedi Council will forbid you to delight in this feeling.

No attachments, live to serve the good, clear lines. No devotions.

You didn't understand how loving someone can be so corrupting, after all, the Jedi Code taught you compassion for all things. That in itself is an act of love. Living so detached from things just makes it all feel... meaningless.

Why hurt for love? Why hurt for not loving?

But now, ever since Anakin told you he wanted you, you are held by a ravenous grip that left you feeling breathless. Suffocated.

Because the truth was simple: You wanted to hoard Anakin in your heart and keep him there. You wanted Anakin.

Of course, you didn't mean it. Anakin Skywalker is the only one who truly knew you. He shredded down your walls to find you where you're most vulnerable and loved you anyway. He wasn't scared of the things about you he didn't understand. Things you, too, find difficult to accept.

But caught by the abruptness, you could only tell him "We can't" before storming out of the room that one night.

You were perplexed, because for the longest time you have resigned yourself to the idea that you were the only one feeling it.

And now he says he loves you. All along.

He loved you.

He loved you despite, despite, despite...

And you turned him down.

Because you can't....

You were bound by duty first. And your duty is to serve the Republic. You can't have Anakin, not if he is supposed to be the chosen one.

You still cried in your sleep; angry and tremendously sorry you turned the closest thing to love away.

You can't take the Republic's only chance of surviving this war. He was meant for something larger than you are. Larger than both of you. You understood this, but it didn't really make it hurt any less.

It fell into this odd... silence between both of you.

You'd catch yourself looking for him in every room you find yourself in. A force of habit. His force signature used to be a warm beacon of light to anchor you, now every time you sense Anakin, your heart aches.

Haunted by the images in your mind of what could be if you allowed him to love you. Terrified that you've allowed yourself to want to share a lifetime with him.

You can't. You wouldn't.

You shuffle in your bed, unable to find a spot so you can comfortably rest. You were becoming more frustrated, for your mind just won't turn itself off.

You grabbed your robe and pulled your hair away from your face, tying it back.

With a sigh, you sit up. It would be futile to attempt any sleep, dawn was already breaking from the windows of the Jedi Temple.

Force healing is something that not every Jedi practices, for it requires a deeper state of discipline and precision. Besides, there are medical droids that can take care of the wounded.

The council had briefed you on your mission for today, you're stationed at the med-bay to overlook the casualties after the recent attack on Kamino.

You valued healing; no matter how forgotten it may have been for the Jedi Order. So, this mission is equally important to you as fighting in the front lines.

The halls of the temple were still quiet, deep in sleep. You wander around, not really knowing where to head.

You hear a shuffle from behind, and instinctively, you turn.

You halt at a balcony— entranced by the rising sun. You breathed deep, wondering when all became so complicated.

A pair of blue eyes meet your doe-eyed gaze. You surveyed him, he looked like he just came from battle, his robes were covered in dust, and his eyes were glossy as if he had been awake for some time, too.

"Anakin" you breathed out, realizing it had been the first time you addressed him after the night he confessed.

"[Name]" He answers, sounding tired.

Your heart thumps, unsure, and half-terrified that if he calls your name again, you might fall to pieces.

"How did the mission on Kamino go?" You say, trying to find any topic other than—

Anakin steps forward, leaning against the balcony. You hold your breath. Being so close to him felt like all air vanishes.

"It went alright" Anakin answers, his gaze falling into the horizon.

Your eyes trail on his arm, noticing the dried blood, a gash maybe, you step forward, wanting to get a closer look, your healing instincts telling you something was off.

"You're hurt" You say, your hand carefully moving his robe.

Anakin sharply turns at your touch. Then his eyes bore into yours. You lifted your fingers, realizing you may have startled him.

Anakin always had you. Part of the reason you were persistent in learning healing. Because the anxiety of him hurting never settled, and you wanted to be equipped to take care of him.

"Let me do this, it won't take long" You insisted, because you knew Anakin too well, and he'd not get it checked until someone else forces him to sit down at the med-bay.

The wound started closing and after a moment, it was like it wasn't there in the first place.

Anakin nods, his eyes never leave yours.

You felt it, a ripple through the force. A very specific frequency. A jedi might mistake his hurt as that of a physical one. But you have memorized him too much to read through his pretenses.

The wounds hurt, yes. But he is carrying a lot more pain than he lets on.

So, you continued. Your fingers graze over his skin, channelling the force, willing it to heal the gash.

You withdrew your touch. The silence lingered. It's a silence that makes you feel mad, because it feels like this is how it'll always be for you and Anakin now. Delicately dancing around the elephant in the room.

The silence amplified the voice screaming in your heart.

You may as well just say it out loud because your force signature is latched with it. It involuntarily pours your heart out.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

"Anakin" you began, your lips opening and closing unable to find words to express how you felt.

He turns his head, standing straight, he had an expression you recognized. Some sort of braceness, like he was already anticipating for you to break his heart again.

"I'm sorry" was all you could say.

Even if you would've ran away with him if he asked you to.

Clear lines. No attachments. You'd cross them all if he asked you to.

This was the right thing to do, you think...

"Don't" Anakin shakes his head "Don't... I know you don't mean it" His eyes fall to his feet.

"No, I do" You answer swiftly— no longer able to deny how much it had hurted you too.

You felt tears threatening to cascade down your face. You've heard it said that love turns people soft, but you have never felt more broken now that you have loved something you can't have.

"Anakin, when I said we can't, it's because I can't take you for myself. You're meant for larger things. Only with the Jedi can you fulfill your destiny" You rambled, verbalizing the thoughts you convinced yourself to believe in at night.

Anakin's eyebrows furrowed, but you continued "It doesn't mean I didn't, that I don't—" You halted, your heart and mind tearing you apart.

"[Name]" he calls, "You are no small thing in my life" He tucks a loose strand of hair to your ear.

"I meant it when I told you I love you." His palm presses on your cheeks.

You thought you could crumble beneath his touch.

These weeks, the small amount of time you spent trying to convince yourself that his feelings will eventually pass, never faltered the way how you felt. His absence felt like half of you was missing. And now, he was here, insisting softly.

You can't hold it in anymore.

So, in the absence of words, you pressed your lips against his— slowly, gently, slipping into the intimacy you only ever shared with him.

I love you.

You say between the kisses, hoping it'd suffice for you can't quite bring yourself to say it just yet.

Nothing in the world belonged to you, just this love you were overpouring with. And this kiss— it felt like the beginning of something eternal.

Whatever that may be.

© to @cafekitsune the dividers!

[darlingpwease]

Oh dear just trying find some more Yandere Xie lian

... words are modest enough to work, but we can work with it /pos

the flower and the butterfly

you're too stunning; how did someone like me get you?

𔓘 unhealthy behaviour (mutual dependency, gaslighting, clinginess, obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulation), mild religious themes (worshipping, allusions), abandonment issues, touch starvation, domestic routine, forced relationship / kidnapping if you squint [?]

𔓘 heavy petting, rough sex, hypersexuality, role playing, CNC, mild primal kink, body worship (r.), praise (r.), hyperstimulation (g.), fingering (g.), breeding (g.), mild cum inflation (g.)

Xie Lian was mind-blowing. Not only in his appearance or behavior, which made him look like a timid coquette or a charming maiden, but also in the fact that you definitely do not want to test either his patience or his nerves, especially if you know him from the time when he was His Highness the 'eccentric' Crown Prince, who loves bright clothes and funny conversations, in which his warm hands were always reaching out to you, as if you were a continuation of his own body, — and you must admit that little has changed since that time, at least for you.

Xie Lian was still as charming and full of life, it's just that his temperament and disposition became colder and easier — for anyone but you, however. He still loved physical activities and delicious food, he still loved to emotionally warm and take care of you, he still allowed you to guide him and relied on you to solve logical problems, trusting your advice and words — and did not forget to wrap around you like a vine around another firmly standing plant, and the fact that his figure was just as flexible and slender, while soft palms could rest on your shoulders or chest, only made you feel even more as if you were hugging the first beauty of the Celestial Empire.

... Xie Lian did not like solitude or mundane things, the 'earth' that could pollute, — rather, he was that social aerial butterfly who loved to fly from flower to flower, despite how down-to-earth and firmly standing he was. At least not before.

Previously, he valued his status highly, worried about people's opinions, was afraid of public discussion and was more like the very flower that wanted to attract attention to itself, blooming stronger and stronger than a butterfly. Rather, you were the butterfly — the one who was able to attract the attention of a beautiful and alluring, but unable to move flower, only trying to grab you and lock you in, so that you would not go anywhere else. But for you, he has always been a fragile but luxurious flower, which you took care of as the apple of your eye, taking care that no one plucked and turned him over — after all, you have been with him since childhood, his most faithful companion, so it was natural that you were especially deep and intense related to him; so much so that no one even understood how you manage to be so synchronized and mutually supportive at the same time, as if it is worth separating you, you both will die even at dawn if cannot be sure that will meet again soon, but if you believe, you will never die before see each other again.

You couldn't deny that you spoiled Xie Lian with your determination mixed with almost imperiousness, while Xie Lian gave you too much of this unconditional acceptance and warmth for you to just give it up. He was everything, your everything, but it was nothing strange — nothing more than the relationship of a butterfly and the sun.

You only found out that your 'sun' was a flycatcher when the petals closed over you, leaving you inside forever.

Xie Lian valued social status most of all, always cared highly about people's opinions, was always afraid of 'what people would think', he lived for people. But when he was really bad, only you stayed and didn't go anywhere, even if the scratches from his nails still sometimes hurt like a phantom on your skin, — you will never dare to blame him, seeing with your own eyes how something breaks that you swore to protect your whole life, and that you won't give up no matter what. Because that's your goal. You will never give up, even if it means dying.

Xie Lian also knows that it is he who will protect all the time that he will have, no matter how little or much.

You have always affectionately almost teased him for how driven he is and easily obeys your will, like a duckling following a parent duck, but he also learned a lot during the time you guarded his back from attacks and shielded him from words. You were always in front so that he could follow you, keeping and guarding. You've always told him that as long as you breathe, nothing and no one can hurt him unless you die.

Butterflies are not meant for a harsh life. Butterflies should fly, eat nectar and dance in the air. Xie Lian loved butterflies and he loved you. And he never hid any of this, even if the second fact definitely confused you and made you brush it off when he brought you flowers or peeled fruit with a playful smile, 'as if you couldn't do it yourself' or 'as if you were a person of royal status'. Xie Lian never denied it, even though he knew it wasn't true.

You were his Deity.

His Everything.

And when the petals close, plunging you into eternal darkness, he knows what he's doing. After all, a sun like you is able to hold and shine even in the deepest nights, and it promises that you will not go out.

Never

You are the most precious thing he has left

𔓘 Xie Lian is very clingy — from the day you first met, bumping into the burning gaze of beautiful eyes, and until the very last day, which is never destined to come, he is always by your side just as you are by his side. Xie Lian hates to separate — never — and is always looking for reasons why you should stay together. Contrary to his gentle introversion, he feels really good only when he holds you in his arms or when your hand rests on his waist — and never in other cases. His pure adoring gaze never leaves your figure, fearing that one day you will leave him or leave him, no matter whether by your own will or someone else's, and he will never allow this — and the fact that there is no one in the world who could be his competitor or rival, given his strength, only makes the situation even worse for any of your attempts to leave his side at least for a moment.

When his slender elegant fingers take you by the shoulders, entwine around your waist, gently take your arm, wrap your fingers, or when his nose burrows into your neck, buries itself in your thigh, finds peace on your lap or hides rosy cheeks in your chest, — you know that you have no chance to get out of his sticky, strong embrace, as if your body was first his and then yours, “just like my heart...”

Xie Lian never allows you to leave him even for a moment — if there is a need for you to be disconnected, then he will rather give up everything than let you go. Not you. So many people have already left him — he won't survive if you leave too. Please. You're the only thing he needs. He feels so good. Isn't he good enough? Why do you want to leave? Isn't your cute little house perfect? Isn't the backyard garden laid out for you delightful? Isn't the way you live an ideal for you too? No, you can't. You have to be there.

Always.

You both gave up everything you had to stay together.

You promised that you would follow him in life and in death, for better or for worse. You are his and he is yours. And the fact that his hands never leave you, and his gaze never comes down from you, only confirms this. After all, can you refuse him? You swore — officially and unofficially; you followed him on sunny days and rainy days, through rivers of blood and deadly storms, when he was loved and when he was hated, but your will, mind and heart were adamant, despite fleeting thoughts and desires that could disturb you. And now you want to leave him?

It's your responsibility. It's your duty. You can never leave him.

... This is an order.

𔓘 Even if Xie Lian can sometimes fall into capriciously childish, desperate attempts to keep you, if he sees that you are trying to brush him off or want to leave him, no matter under what pretext, using his authority as the 'crown prince' and having a chance to make childish tantrums if you are too overwhelming and he knows that it will be effective — but otherwise, if Xie Lian is not subordinate, he is, at most, democratic and ready to share responsibility with you. Otherwise, he prefers to follow you in an almost 'sacrificial' manner and go wherever you tell him or wherever you go. If you say go west, he won't even look east; if you say sugar is black, he won't even think about saying it's white.

Despite his emotional playfulness and slight eccentricity associated with the desire to get emotional feedback, Xie Lian never seeks to take away power or responsibility from you, entrusting himself into your hands like a fluffy fragile cat who is sure that you will take care of him exactly as he deserves, and knowing perfectly well that even if your treatment will be 'unfair', then it will mean that he was bad and must improve.

Undoubtedly, he will be offended and will try to get fair treatment, but if you insist, he will only nod and obey. He is not someone who is interested in a power struggle or a change of power dynamics in a relationship — being behind you and with you is much better than against you or ahead of you. Xie Lian has never had any difficulties helping you and presenting things, even if it is clearly morally wrong or aggressive actions, — despite his peacefulness, there are things that are above the norms of morality or understanding of ordinary realities.

And there is nothing special that you are this 'thing'.

The flower never condemns the butterfly for what it does before it gets on the flower, or what it did while it was on the flower.

You are caring and affectionate enough, giving him small gifts (especially things that remind you of the past, like familiar flowers or small hairpins that he would definitely have worn in the past, even if he now mostly keeps them as his most precious things) and taking care of those household chores that he cannot, trying to preserve the memory of his beloved mother through the absence of such 'ordinary' skills, and you accept him as he is — while he accepts you as you are, without objections and questions.

You've been together for more than eight hundred years — doesn't that mean you've already had a diamond wedding eight times, even if you're still not married?

“It doesn't matter,” Xie Lian purrs softly when you point this out, hiding his face in your chest, wrapping his strong thin arms around your waist like a warmed cat. “If you want, we can officially get married. But we're not going anywhere from each other anyway.”

You have nothing to say to him. Having given up everything that was, following your impulse, entrusting everything to him when Xie Lian gave you everything he had in despair, so that you would not abandon him — you could no longer imagine your life without him, you did not know how to live without him. Just like he is without you.

You yourself do not notice when you become as close as a married couple; when it becomes natural for you to stroke his head on your lap, braid his hair and weave flowers and ribbons there, when you let him take care of your hairstyle and clothes, when you absentmindedly adjust the bandages on your hands — the same as at him — or look at him, leaning your shoulder against the door jamb, while he happily hums, doing his thing, although you are sure that out of the corner of your eye he is still watching you. When he hugs you on the back while cooking, takes care of your house and garden, watches you mend clothes or sweep while he fixes doors and windows; when Xie Lian hugs you in a dream, nervously enthusiastically huddles with a shy giggle while he thinks you are asleep, or briefly kisses your cheek before going to bed, and you are sure that he thinks that you are asleep, but you do not have the courage to try to even gently stop him.

In the end, there is no need for this — he has already become like a husband to you for a long time anyway, giving you his body, heart and mind, and you can only accept and give in return, taking care that Xie Lian knows that you love him and take care of him, no matter what.

𔓘 It doesn't matter to him what your sexual preferences are. Do you like dick? Do you like pussy? Are you top? Are you bottom? It doesn't matter — Xie Lian is always ready to meet you in any position and in any form, as long as he feels that you are as excited as he is, even if at first you can be sure that he is 'innocent' and 'pure', given his external and internal manifestation and attitude. But even if you are the first for him in every sense, he knows what he is doing and what he should do — more as an instinct than as a theory or, moreover, practice, although he is not above eavesdropping or fleetingly asking even when he was Crown Prince.

He is in a strong connection with his body and knows what can excite him or how to please even a lying log — especially if you are less sexually active or need a long warm-up — and even if the violent blush does not leave his cheeks while he nervously touches your body, openly admiring, Xie Lian gives his best until he feels that you seize the initiative and get involved in the process, digging your fingers into his hips while his stomach takes your shape and gives you a view of you inside him, feeling how wet and tight he is even if he can't help but hiding face behind hands, whining and moaning your name, mumbling something like 'deeper' and 'stronger' mixed with 'yes yes like that' and 'please please please' when you press his face into the pillow while fucking him.

His body is more than responsive and sensitive to you, and even if you pull his hair, spit in his mouth, spank and leave bites and hickeys all over his body, Xie Lian looks at you with adoration and worship, constantly thanking and admiring, as if unable to shut up from euphoria and delight, screaming your name and 'how good it feels' for him even while he is drooling and almost crying, trembling all over, but unable to stop squeezing and wrapping strong legs around your hips, locking you inside his supple heat.

No matter what, Xie Lian will never stop worshipping you, and during sex it gets even worse, as if the way his pussy or dick drips and practically makes a puddle even on the sheets is not enough — but when you just push inside once and he immediately comes, writhing on you, gasping for air, digging his fingers into your skin while his body tries to recover, and begs you not to stop, even though you see how sensitive Xie Lian is still, you try to be gentle to him, massaging his body until you drive inside at a confident but gradual pace, letting his wet tight walls get used to you inside and stop squeezing and massaging you so convulsively, as if he worships you, shamelessly begging you to never leave him and stay forever in this position, is not enough.

At first you try not to be too passionate and persistent, but by the end you are more likely someone who needs careful care and rest than he is — it's hard to exhaust someone so enduring and enthusiastic about the fact that he is with you like Xie Lian, even if you try to keep up with him, giving all of yourself, but in the end you are almost always on the more vulnerable side than him if you let him be on you before you spent enough time to prepare and his exhaustion, kissing and licking, stretching his wet squelching walls until you make sure that at least at about the same level after a couple of orgasms, watching as he tries obsessively trying to snuggle up to you and take you in — but can only stay under you, feeling how your fingers fuck him while you try to satisfy him with your tongue, assuring that you are only 'preparing him', although you both know that this is only an attempt to superficially satisfy him even before the beginning.

And the way Xie Lian jumps on you, impulsively kissing mixed with bites and purring about how good it is for him and that you are both perfect for each other, you are exactly one, only further assures you that you can just lean back and enjoy seeing how his juices and sperm flow down your skin until his body can't stop moving, as if his life depends on it — and how sweetly painfully he whines when you abruptly turn him over and take control of the rhythm, driving into his supple soft body, looking for any intimacy and connection with you.

Damn it, you are sure that one day you will become just one with him if he continues to squeeze you just as adoringly and as if trying to suck you inside while you stretch him with squelching wet sounds, hearing only encouragement and delight no matter what.

𔓘 Xie Lian can spend hours biting, kissing, licking and playing with your body.

In general, the prospect of staying in bed with you all day does not bother him at all — perhaps even thousands of years will not be enough for him to show and tell you how perfect and amazing you are, and how enthusiastic and hot he is does not help too much when his soft hands explore your body, rubbing and 'warming' in every sense, he is much less shy and ruddy than before, — which makes you wonder how much sincerity or games were in all his words to excite you, — especially when he almost shamelessly bares his body, as if proud of your love marks, even if just a few hours ago Xie Lian was blushing crimson, hiding face behind by hand, shyly taking your hand while you were rubbing between his thighs, stimulating yourself rather than him, since it is always wet and slippery between his soft thighs, as if even your palm between them is enough to make him aroused and ready, without needing any other simulation at all.

There's nothing awkward (or at least not awkward enough for him to refuse) for him to show you his body; even if Xie Lian doesn't think he's the most attractive, his body is what always turns you on, and he knows it, even if he can't figure it out. If you adored your body, it would make more sense to him than your strange passion for his own, but Xie Lian does not complain at all, secretly enjoying the fact that you find his imperfect body so exciting, even if he still turns to things like beautiful erotic underwear and devices like a collar or role-playing games to to excite you.

Some of these games excite and stimulate even more than sex itself — especially when you senselessly breed him outside your house, giving yourself to confirm your right to his beautiful tender body, biting and pressing into the ground until his knees weaken, becoming nothing more than prey in your hands, even if he is in any moment can get out, it doesn't matter whether using force or a safe word, — the sensations are too pleasant and intense to even think about it, letting you drive in and use it, it doesn't matter if he is a 'prey' or a 'capricious prince'.

When his clothes show a lot more skin, or when you see a blush on his beautiful cheeks after hard work, or when he clings to you trustingly hotly after a hard day, looking with innocent, darkened eyes into yours, you really don't know whether you should admire or be embarrassed, knowing how subtly and frankly he pulls you by the strings — and knowing that you just need to show a little skin or interest so that he immediately responds, more than interested in everything that you are ready to give him.

You don't know of any couple where at least one member was as obsessively adoring and enthusiastic as Xie Lian, who is always on a 'low start' regarding everything that concerns you, but when he squeezes you tightly while you gently press on his stomach, lovingly teasing that he is still 'soft', Xie Lian, blushing shyly and biting his scarlet lip, only complains coquettishly in a weak voice, looking away, that you just don't 'care' enough about him — and you really have nothing left but to take care of him.

Take care of him very carefully.

[bloodpxct]

TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN AND TRANS MEN ARE MEN.

If you are in any way shape or form transphobic I suggest you leave my blog immediately, if you follow me, unfollow me and if you are my mutual please un-mutual me.

Trans people have existed since the dawn of time, you can not change or erase that. You never will. Just because you make laws to oppress them, it does not mean you will get rid of their existence like you hope. The idea of this being a right step for lesbians and women disgusts me. I myself am a gender non-confirming lesbian and I feel disgusted with the UK right now: This law in the UK that has passed will not protect lesbians or cis women. If you do not fit their standard of what is a ‘ woman ‘ you are also in danger.

There is no feminism without trans women, you say you wish for women's freedom and then reduce yourself to biology- the very thing we have been fighting for centuries, as men have used it to oppress us, reduced us down to nothing more than a personal child factory, that our only purpose is to have children.

These arguments are not only harmful for trans people; there are many cis women who can’t have children, who don’t have periods and many other things. Does that make them ‘ less ‘ womanly? No.

Trans people have existed and will continue to exist and nothing shall ever erase that; you will never erase queer people no matter how much you try, we shall always come back to ourselves and find community within each other.

The whole arguments of if polyamorous people, or non-binary people or he/him lesbians are valid is becoming pathetic, because they will oppress you either way; do not cater to the homophobes and transphobes who misdirect you anger at queer identities you can’t understand. Because when it comes down to it, they want us all dead and erased from history - there is no more ‘ valid ‘ form of queerness to them. They will oppress us ALL.

Because when it truly comes to it? They will not care if you're a gay person who hates other queer people, who invalidates the trans community and other identities that aren’t your own. They. Will. Come. For. Everyone. It will not matter in the long run; stand with your fellow queers and stop catering to the homophobes and transphobes causing hate in our own community: it will get us nowhere but a path of more oppression.

FANDOM RESPONSIBILITY :

And now let’s address the issue of J.K Rowling herself. J.K Rowling has funded this law in the UK to pass. She has enabled this to happen.

Do NOT give your money to this woman because this is where it goes; do not buy merch, do not buy the books unless second-hand if you must read them at all at this point, Do not watch the movies- watch them on DVD or pirate them if you want to watch them so badly, do not go to the studios tour in London and most definitely do not watch the re-boot.

The question of if we are allowed to engage in this fandom anymore at all is a hard one. Many have said they feel guilty for even being in the fandom, and I feel that same guilt, especially much more after recent events.

The argument is that by interacting with the fandom we promote her works; which we do, by consuming her content, even if we do not give her money. It would be ignorant to say that we don’t when we do. If you are going to stay in the fandom we MUST accept the guilt that comes with this. Harry Potter is too big to become irrelevant, there will ALWAYS be someone who does not care and gives her money unfortunately, however if anyone decides to stay in this fandom we can at least not give money to her and spread resources to help the trans community. We also must accept that people will be angry at people who decide to stay; which they have every right to be. People are allowed to be upset at people for staying in the fandom, because this is so much bigger now than just hurtful tweets.

Other people argue that taking back this space is the most anti-Rowling thing we can do. I do believe this, to an extent. However that was before she caused such huge harm by this law. I think that this is a problem bigger than you or me or anyone in the fandom.

People will make head-canons of queer characters, transgender characters and say ‘ fuck you Rowling ‘ but in all honesty? If there are no actions taken, it is performative. Find protests, protect any trans people you may know, donate to charities ect. ( for people who are able to do these things obviously, if you haven’t the money to donate or ability to attend protests you can also share resources! )

These talks are uncomfortable, yes, but it truly does not matter at this point. We NEED to talk about these things, not be performative and say ‘ fuck Rowling ‘ and think head-canoning a character as queer is enough, because it isn’t.

Harry Potter is much bigger than people realize; there is not a single person who has not at least heard of it, trying to make it irrelevant will not work, it is physically impossible and is far too late for it. However we can not give Rowling money ( which you shouldn’t have been doing anyway ) but I hope that whoever stays in the fandom and buys merch, that this is a wake up call for them because this is where your money is going.

Engaging in fandom does not directly fund her, HOWEVER! HOWEVER. It does promote Harry Potter ( even if it is not financially ) and we can not deny this. It would be extremely harmful to deny it in fact. However, engaging in things that give her no money ( fanfiction, fanworks, fan-art ect. ) is much less harmful than buying merchandise and giving her money. However- we also must be ever so mindful that people will still be upset and angry if you engage, and they have every right to be.

RESOURCES TO HELP :

here are some links that can help trans people in their times of need; even if you can't donate or attend protests share the links!

trans petition

funds for transfem causes

a charity to help homeless lgbtq members

the trevor project

petition to overturn the UK goverments new definition

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK! List of trans protests

I have not spoken out sooner as honestly, I needed some time. I needed time to articulate and to get my message across and also time to recover from the shock and hurt of this entire situation, and for that I am sorry, I should have spoken out sooner, however I needed time as it is incredibly upsetting. I hope everyone who reads this well wishes and safety, and to my dear trans people, you are so loved, even if it does not feel like it. There will be time, there will be hope, they can not erase you. Please keep living, even if out of spite <3

[helpimstuckposting]

Strangers All Around Me

Prompt: Amnesia | Rating: T | Wordcount: 3,407 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve wasn’t… entirely sure what his problem was. He woke up, worked at a shitty retail job, avoided his weird coworker, and then took his sorry ass home. Every day. That was just… his life since graduating high school. And that was fine, don’t get him wrong, it was fine. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but it’s not like his life was stressful or in peril or anything, it was just… it was fine.

But lately he kept thinking that something was wrong. Something… vague and unattainable. It was just niggling in the back of his mind like a whisper or some misty haze that he could almost see, but not quite. It kept hovering in his periphery, poking him for attention, always just out of sight; if he tried focusing on whatever it was, then — poof — it was gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

It wasn’t always there, either. Usually, he’d just go about his day like a mindless zombie and wish that he was on good terms with Carol and Tommy again, just to have something to do. He felt their absence like a missing limb, like part of him was gone but he could still feel his fingers somehow, a phantom itch on his wrist that he couldn’t scratch because it wasn’t there. Or at least, he thought that feeling was the absence of his once-best-friends, because what else would it be? His parents? He hadn’t missed them since he was twelve.

But sometimes that itching, cloying absence would just fester like an open wound, calling to him — begging him to fill it with… something.

And he couldn’t figure out what that something was.

It might have been Nancy, too. Things were weird with her, though he couldn’t remember if they fought at some point or another. It felt like… like maybe they’d broken up without ever actually saying it. She was avoiding him, too, so it must have been a mutual… whatever it was.

So, he didn’t have friends, he didn’t have a girlfriend (maybe? Jury was still out on that one), and he didn’t know what scratched at the folds of his brain every so often. Big deal.

And if that was everything, he probably wouldn’t think much of it. People drift away, they leave, they move on and leave Steve behind, it’s happened basically since the dawn of time — or, the dawn of Steve Harrington, at least. He was used to it.

But that wasn’t all that was weird. Sometimes he woke up with a scream on his lips, his arms and legs sore from thrashing, and a massive black hole where the nightmare was supposed to be. Sometimes he flinched when the lights flickered, and he could feel panic clawing its way up his throat with sharp talons, digging its way into him until he was gasping with it. Sometimes he’d wake up two hours before his alarm, 6 AM on the dot, scrambling for his bedside clock because he thinks he’s late, but late for what? He hadn’t woken up that early since high school, when he picked up Nancy before first period sometimes.

It just didn’t make sense, and Steve had the thought every so often that he was going a little bit crazy. It was still easy to ignore most of the time. Like he said, it was just a whisper, just an intangible mist that floated around his brain until he focused on it and it disappeared again.

It was… fine. He just wasn’t sure what the issue was.

To be honest, it could have just been residual weirdness from the earthquake. Lights flicker during natural disasters, right? Yeah. And everyone has their own losses and emotions to grapple with from the event. Even his weird coworker, Robin, flinches sometimes when the lights aren’t steady, so really Steve had nothing to worry about, right? Everything was normal.

Everything was normal.

Except when his hands shook and his breath escaped him and he felt like he shouldn’t turn his back to the room; except when he looked at raw meat and felt a rolling in his gut that he never felt before; except when he saw Robin duck to grab something off the ground, and he covered the corner of the Family Video counter with his hand so she wouldn’t bump her head.

She looked at him like an alien for that one, and that was saying something — she usually looked at him like he’d stepped in dog shit right before clocking in. If Steve had been watching himself, he was sure he’d have made the same exact expression, because he’d never done that before. Not for anyone. It had never even crossed his mind until that point, because why would it? He felt like some kind of mom on a daytime sitcom, it was weird.

Robin had brushed it off with an eyeroll and a scoff, acting like the small gesture was something condescending, something he’d done to mock her clumsiness.  And that… that also didn’t feel good. It sort of prickled in his chest, another barb that poked and prodded and said this isn’t right. But it was right, it was normal, Robin had always assumed the worst of him since the moment she saw him walk into Scoops. They were on opposite sides of the high school hierarchy, and she took any moment to knock him down a peg or two.

Which was fine, again. It was annoying and it was stupid but Steve never really cared, never paid attention. If she couldn’t stand being around him, she could just quit and get a different job, there was no reason to stay at Family Video if she really hated him. It was already a little weird that they’d accidentally ended up at the same store twice, but… small towns, Steve guessed.

Or she was a stalker. Either way, it was her choice to leave, so she couldn’t really hate Steve that much. Though, sometimes it certainly felt like she tried. He didn’t want to deal with the barbs, the pointed return of the You Rule/You Suck board, which she’d started to use again in order to tally pretty much everything. Flirting with other girls felt weird, presumably because he still wasn’t sure if he’d broken up with Nancy or not. It made his stomach roll — just like raw meat occasionally did — and it usually caused that weird prickling in the back of his mind again.

Robin had resorted to teasing him about every dorky thing he’d done instead, filling up the “You Suck” side multiple times a week. He made a dumb joke in the absence of anything to talk about? Tally. He miscounted the candy in the storage room? Tally. A girl came in and blatantly flirted with him, and he didn’t flirt back? Tally! He surely thought that would give him another mark under “You Rule”, but apparently he was wrong. He’d gotten exactly one tally in the “You Rule” column, a few weeks ago, and never again.

Some kid he thought might be friends with Nancy’s little brother had wandered in with his mom, making odd faces and gestures as his mother laughed and rolled her eyes. He did this weird thing, where he’d brought his shoulders together like he was made of rubber, and Robin had whispered ‘oh my god, what the fuck,’ under her breath in shock.

“It’s cleidocranial dysplasia,” he’d whispered to her, and she’d reeled back, looking at him once again like an alien had snatched him up and inhabited his body.

“Huh?”

“No collar bones,” he said with a shrug.

She looked at him appraisingly for a moment, eyes combing up and down like maybe he was hiding a textbook under his shirt just to spout random facts and fuck with her.

“How did you know that?” She squinted at him, backing up another step like that one piece of information was a weapon she didn’t know how to disarm. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. She was being ridiculous, over dramatic and a little bit mean, assuming Steve couldn’t possibly just know things sometimes.

Except… he shouldn’t have known that. He didn’t know that. But… clearly he had?

He shrugged, that wriggling little worm of annoyance squirming around in his head again. “Must have read it somewhere.”

“You can read?” Robin gasped, acting for all the world like she’d expected him to be illiterate. And like, rude? He may not have graduated with any honors or prospects, but he did the damn thing. He’d passed English every single year, for fucks sake.

“You can read?” He mocked back, voice entirely too high and whiny to sound anything like the girl in front of him — but if she was allowed to be a bitch, then so was he, goddammit. ‘If you can’t take the heat’ and whatever.

So she’d scowled at him for the impression, and begrudgingly picked up the whiteboard to scrawl the tiniest little tally she possibly could, right in the “You Rule” column. He was shocked for a minute, but the smug smile he wore for the rest of their shift felt good, for the first time in a while something felt almost right about their teasing. Robin had scoffed every single time she caught him smiling, which inexplicably made him smile more. His cheeks hurt after that shift.

He hadn’t gotten another ‘You Rule’ tally since, but her teasing did seem a little less mean from then on, and he’d take whatever win he could get.

It wasn’t until a few days post-tally, that he’d had another… thing to add to his list of Weird Shit Going On.

Eddie fucking Munson.

Munson, king of the freaks, lord of the… the fucking cafeteria tables or whatever. Steve had never even talked to the guy — never even had a class with him, he thought. Though, Steve supposed he wasn’t exactly the best at paying attention. 

Now, though. Now, he couldn’t stop paying attention. He’d caught one glance, one glance at the guy from across the strip mall parking-lot and he felt like he was choking on his own heart. He saw the mass of curly brown hair and all of a sudden, felt like he was trapped in a bubble and couldn’t breathe. The wiggling little weirdness in his head was clawing, tearing at him to pay attention but the more he tried to understand it, the worse the pain in his head became. It wasn’t a wiggling anymore, wasn’t an itch or a mist, it was a pickaxe chopping away and he still couldn’t see what it was picking at.

His heart squeezed in his chest and he had the most irrational urge to step forward, to push through the swinging glass doors, to… to… do something. And then Eddie turned, catching Steve’s eye through the glass, and he felt the tension at the back of his skull snap, like a rubber band against skin. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he staring at Munson of all people?

He shook his head, swallowing a few times to dislodge the lump in his throat. It was another tick in the ‘something’s weird’ column, another thought with nowhere to go, another shadow at the edge of his mind. It was gone again when he glanced out to the empty parking-lot, no Munson in sight.

“You okay?” Robin’s voice cut through the silence like a needle poking right through his bubble, bursting the last bit of haze in his periphery.

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

He blinked a few times, looking back down at the stack of tapes to rewind. What the fuck was that? He’d never once felt… whatever that was — that desperation, that jolt of… something. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe he’d seen the back of Munson’s head, and thought it was Nancy? Maybe he was anxious about seeing her, after avoiding each other for weeks.

“You were staring at Eddie like you were about to burst through the door and… like, tackle him like it was one of your sports things.”

He rolled his eyes. First, that was ridiculous. And second, that was ridiculous.

“I played basketball, Robin. There was no tackling involved.”

“I played basketball, Robin, bluh bluh bluh,” she muttered, voice deep and grumbled, low enough that Steve assumed she didn’t mean for him to hear it. Whatever.

He shook his head again, and returned to the task he was actually being paid to do. There was no sense in fighting with her, or analyzing the weird reaction he’d had to Munson. It was behind him, it didn’t matter.

Except that every single time since then, any passing glimpse of that curly brown hair, or jingle of chains on his jeans, every rumble of a van way too old to function and Steve’s heart was right back in his throat, struggling desperately to escape. If he thought about it at all, his migraine returned, so Steve did his best to shove it away.

He had never once, in the entire span of time he’d known of Munson’s existence, felt anything but vague annoyance or general indifference. He was just that guy that stood on tables, the weirdo who interrupted lunch when no one really cared what he had to say except his own friends. He’d maybe weaseled a few extra bucks from Steve every so often for… party supplies. But he’d never, not once, weaseled his way into Steve’s head this persistently.

But hey, that was a thought. Maybe this was all just residual stress from losing his closest friends, and the mall fire, and the earthquake, and the blank-space nightmares, and the weird Nancy thing. Maybe he just needed to relax a little bit, and his brain was subconsciously connecting Munson to the solution. That had to be it.

Which was why, the next time he caught a heart-skipping glance of that head of hair outside of Melvald’s, he dropped what he was doing and followed Eddie into the parking lot. He probably could have done it more tactfully, could have waited by Eddie’s picnic table and done this all a bit more professionally, but he wasn’t even sure the man still claimed that table, after the earthquake forced Hawkins High students to relocate classes a town over.

It was just… he was desperate for some kind of relief. He just wanted his mind to float away instead of poking at him; he wanted to forget about all the weird shit for just a second, and maybe it would jumpstart his brain back on track.

But cornering the guy was probably not his smartest move. When he rounded the corner to where he’d assumed the van was parked, his back hit the brick wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. It felt like whiplash as he was pinned down, hot breath ghosting over his face and brown eyes dark, squinting with suspicion, as they stared him down.

For a second he had the insane thought that Munson would bring a knife to his neck, could almost feel the cold edge as it pressed into his skin. Instead, both of Munson’s hands were clenched into Steve’s cotton polo, keeping him tight against the wall.

“What are you doing, Harrington? Hmm?” He asked, clenched teeth making the words come out muffled and stilted. His eyes flicked back and forth between Steve’s own, and that stupid fucking itching in his mind was back, cataloguing the details, twisting his stomach like deja vu — like he’d done this, like he’d been here before.

He’d taken too long to answer, Munson’s hands tightening in his shirt, and the rough edges of brick were digging at Steve’s back. It felt significant.

“I don’t remember pissing anyone off lately, so either tell me what you want, or get lost. I’m not really in the mood for a fist fight, got it?”

Steve probably should have expected the reaction, he’d followed a drug dealer practically into an alleyway and though Munson wasn’t exactly known for violence, he was pretty skittish. Steve shook his head with a tight smile, hands up by his head like he was surrendering to the man before him.

“I’m cool, I’m cool, I wasn’t like… I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Sure, and I graduated the first time,” he scoffed, not letting go of Steve’s shirt. His hands did loosen their grip, but Steve wasn’t sure that was a sign of peace.

“What. Do. You. Want?” His words were sharp, digging in just like the brick at Steve’s back, and he had the absent, bizarre thought, that if Munson just leaned in a little he could probably smell the cherry gloss on Steve’s lips.

“Do you still sell?” he breathed, quieter than intended, like Munson’s intimidations were working. Which they weren’t, Steve was just caught off guard.

With a huff and a groan, the man loosened his grip on Steve’s shirt and stepped back. Steve felt like — if he’d let himself — he could fall to the ground right here, knees giving out from the sudden loss of pressure. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was no way he would fall to his knees in front of Eddie Munson, of all people.

“Jesus H. Christ, you gave me a heart attack for a dime bag? Learn some decorum, Harrington.”

Steve scoffed, subtly adjusting his shoulders and trying to appear more collected than he felt. His hands were trembling from the abrupt slam against the wall, the proximity of Munson’s breath against his face, the absent feeling of a sharp blade against his neck like he’d felt it before. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry, I just…,” he floundered for a second to come up with a plausible reason, something that wasn’t ‘I just needed to talk, because it feels like I’m going crazy and I figured weed might help the gaping hole in the back of my head and for some reason my feet keep wanting to walk toward you, like you have the answers to everything.’

“I just haven’t been having the best time lately, and I wasn’t sure where else to find you,” he settled on.

Munson watched him for a second, dark eyes raking over him from head to toe, like Steve was hiding something — like Eddie knew he was hiding something — but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The parking-lot light flickered above, and Steve was too stiff to flinch, holding himself tight so he wouldn’t give anything away.

But Eddie flinched.

He looked up at the light like it personally offended him, shaking his head to collect himself. He tugged at his jean jacket, and smoothed it out before addressing Steve again.

“Fine. I assume even the king knows where Forrest Hills is?”

Steve nodded, following along as Eddie jerked his head toward the van. Steve was parked around the corner, still in view of the beat up van that Eddie tossed his small bag of groceries into. He watched — a bit anxiously, leg shaking the whole car as he bounced it in the footwell — and waited for the hunk of metal to start.

He took a deep breath. It would all be okay. He’d follow behind in his beemer, he’d buy a whole fucking ounce or even two, and he’d smoke away the itch and the weirdness for at least a few hours.

He slipped out of the parking lot as Munson’s van finally growled to life, squealing as he braked for Steve to follow him. He couldn’t really tell if he was anxious, excited, or nervous. He knew he could dull the itch, fill the empty spaces with smoke and leave it there, and that was an exciting prospect — to finally have a moment of peace where he wasn’t drowning in confusion over his own brain. But that wouldn’t last forever.

Eventually, the smoke would clear and he wouldn’t be drifting through the fog, eventually he’d run out of weed and have to go back for more.

He could keep ignoring it, find his way to Munson’s trailer again and again until someone forced him to stop. But something was weird in Hawkins, something had to be going on in those blank spaces that his mind seemed to drift just outside of — and eventually, Steve didn’t think he’d be able to ignore it any longer.

—

Bingo Prompts

[ellewritesalright]

Nine Long Years - Part 6

Nikolai Lantsov x Rietveld!reader, Kaz Brekker x sister!Rietveld!reader (platonic)

Part 5 --- Masterlist --- Part 7

Synopsis: After watching your brothers die, you found yourself working on the Volkvolny. In the many years since then, you somehow became the queen of Ravka while your brother somehow survived firepox and life in the Barrel, rising through its ranks. In disguise during a diplomatic trip with your husband Nikolai, you meet Kaz Brekker for what you think is the first time, only to find out that he is your long-thought-dead little brother.

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while, huh :) ? Get ready to buckle up again cause this part is another 10k words of mess and destruction <3 Hope you're ready for it. Also this part picks up directly after the events of part 5 and then takes place over a few months, so I hope it makes sense to y'all

Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of death, angst with minimal fluff in this part, mentions of sickness, panic attacks, firepox, mentions of the Hertzoon con. and if i'm missing something pls lmk

Word Count: 10,020

……….

FIFTH YEAR

You had a bag packed and ready by dawn. All you had to do was find a horse, then you'd be headed far away from this camp and the people you'd devoted so much of yourself to. Even if it pained you to leave them, it would pain you more to stay; so you snuck out of Tolya and Tamar’s tent and into the camp. You quietly approached the stable area. Not everyone was awake yet, but a few soldiers were up and roaming already. Still, no one noticed you as you went along–or, you thought no one noticed. As soon as you laid hands on one of the horse's reins, a voice called out to you.

"Leaving so soon?" 

You turned and saw Mal with his arms crossed.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with your captain and Alina's engagement, would it?" He asked.

"What's it to you?" You countered, dropping your hands to your sides.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you and him are involved. So if you leave, what's stopping him from wanting a real relationship with Alina?"

You rolled your eyes. "He can have a real relationship with whoever he wants, I don't give a shit."

"But I do." He pursed his lips and sighed. "I care about Alina, and this whole… situation with Sturmhond is stupid."

"Prince Nikolai, not Sturmhond," you corrected. "And I rather think he'd call it 'mutually beneficial' for him and the saint."

"It's a sham is what it is."

"Well, take that up with him, not me." You turned back to the horse you planned on stealing.

“Back to the topic, though. You're leaving?" 

"You're staying?" You sassed over your shoulder.

"I love Alina. No matter how angry I am with her or with Nikolai right now, I love her. So I'm going to protect her and stand by her, even when we don't see eye to eye."

You glanced back at him, voice quiet. "How can you do that?"

"Because it's always been her and me. Together. And I would rather be with her and be miserable than be without her and be devastated."

"I don't think I can do that for Nikolai," you admitted, eyes drooping to the ground.

"Do you love him?" Mal questioned.

More than anything, you wanted to say, but all you could manage was a shaky nod. 

"And how would you feel without him?"

"Terrible." You felt your blood boil at the thought of it. "But having him like this–in the night, behind closed doors–when she'll have him in every way that counts? I can't live that way."

"She won't have him like that," he scoffed. "She loves me as much as I love her, and she wouldn't have him in any way other than ceremonial. I mean, it's like a stupid show for the Ravkans, for saint’s sake."

You whipped around to him, bordering on incensed. "And when they're married, when they have to have children--heirs--what then?"

"It won't come to that. I won't let it,” he ground out, his face going red.

"You can't stop it, Oretsev."

"Just watch me, Rietveld." He looked as angry as you felt, but he took a breath and made his next words calm yet firm. "I won't let it happen. And if you stick around, there's even less of a chance it will happen."

"I can't watch this 'show,' as you put it. It hurts too much just thinking about it all; seeing it would kill me."

His face softened. "Rietveld, please, stay with us. At least until we make it to Os Alta. You could find a job in the city, or you could always stand as a private guard–that’s what I’ll be doing. And if it ever feels like too much, come talk to me. Vent to me. I’m on your side here–I hate this all just as much as you do.”

You considered his plea. You didn’t realize how this would affect him too. It felt like the lash of this engagement had only cut you, but it was selfish to not realize how others around you were bleeding. This sort of thing hurt everyone involved, not just you–though admittedly it hurt some people more. With a frown, you realized how Alina and Nikolai must also be in pain. 

But despite your deeper understanding of the situation, you couldn’t feel sorry for Nikolai–he was the one who’d dealt the blow, and he would have to lick his own wounds.

“I’ll stay,” you told Mal. “But I swear I’m not going anywhere near Nikolai. I’ll only be here to stand guard of Alina with you.”

“You realize they'll likely have to spend time together and you’ll have to see him?”

“All I have to see is Alina, he’ll be peripheral from now on.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you.”

You nodded at him and squared your shoulders. “Where is the saint then? I’d like to start working.”

……….

At first you thought the journey to Os Alta would be no big deal, that you would be able to handle how he rode side by side with her or in a pretty little carriage while you were riding ten feet behind at all times. And it almost was no big deal, for the most part. Alina didn’t seem swayed by his joking or small talk, she was too proud to let him in after he’d lied about his true identity all the time he was at sea with her and Mal.

But it was when you stopped in all the little towns on the way to the capital that things became rough. Nikolai put on a show for the Ravkans, charming them left, right, and centre. And his pretend affections--if you could even call them pretend considering how real they looked–slowly showed more blatantly in front of the townspeople and First Army escort. His hands would linger on Alina’s as he helped her off her horse; his eyes would watch her softly, as though she was the light of his life; he spoke of her to his travelling companions and hosts with a reverence and care that made your stomach twist each time you overheard it.

You kept yourself busy, preferring to spend your time with the horses or sitting in the corner listening to the gripes and gossip of the First Army soldiers. If ever Nikolai glanced at you and you caught him, you always glared back until he looked away first. Sometimes you saw a glimmer of hurt in his eyes from your harsh stare, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel bad for him. This was his doing, after all.

Sometimes Tamar or Tolya would sit with you. They would all glare at Nikolai just like you did, though you tried to dissuade them. Well, you didn’t try very hard to dissuade them; you would give them each a look if you ever caught them doing it, but you never said anything as you were silently grateful that they sided with you. The twins had known Nikolai longer than they’d known you, and you felt weird being the reason they were icy with him. And yet, you kept repeating to yourself that this was his doing, that they were also upset about the way he treated you.

The arrival at Os Alta could not have come sooner. You were glad to be in a more permanent spot, though you couldn’t say either building would ever feel like a home to you. You were used to the open decks and low ceilings of schooners and ships, or the modest rooms of inns, or even the little farmhouse you’d grown up in. The Grand and Little Palaces were greater than any building you had ever seen. When you’d been in Ketterdam, you thought the exchange was the most massive place in the world, but now you knew you were wrong; the Grand Palace stood three intimidating stories high, with marble and gold inlaying almost everything. 

It was odd picturing Nikolai’s youth here. You couldn’t imagine being a child in a place like this; how impersonal it all felt to you, with its glimmering white walls and landscape oil paintings, but how much worse it would have been to be a kid here. You supposed that was why Nikolai had made an effort to fill the captain’s cabin on the Volkvolny with all manner of cozy blankets and furniture and knick-knacks he’d acquired from his travels.

Luckily for you, though, the only times you had to be in the Grand Palace was when you were on guard for Alina and she had a meeting or had to attend dinner over there. Most of your time was spent with Alina in the Little Palace. While still massive, the Little Palace had much more charm to it, with its lovely carvings and pearl embellishments. On days when you weren’t guarding Alina, you’d taken to sitting by the lake and watching the Second Army summoners training.

And, now that you had more officially started working as a member of Alina’s guard, the times you saw Nikolai were more manageable. Most times you saw him, there were royal officials or army generals around, so he had dialled back his smittenness with Alina compared to when you were all on the road. Moreover, he barely spoke to you, though you supposed that was because you never spoke to him. The most you conversed–though it was one-sided–was a short greeting and nod from him before you tilted your head away to watch whatever Alina was doing. He didn’t push it beyond that; he didn’t dare, knowing the anger you carried last time you two spoke. 

It felt slightly odd to you that the last time you’d actually talked to him was weeks ago when he told you of this engagement with Alina. You’d never gone that long without speaking, not since you first met him. Even before you were his second in command, he made it his mission to speak to you and every crew member on the Volkvolny at least weekly.

His greeting to you today was the same as it had become as of late. You were with Alina at a meeting of First and Second Army generals in the Grand Palace. At the end of the meeting when almost everyone had cleared the room, Nikolai approached you.

“Rietveld,” he smiled at you, giving you an almost awkward nod. But rather than keep it at that, he also said, “You look well.”

You wanted to scoff. You’d barely gotten any sleep the night before because of your nightmares. They’d returned since you started sleeping by yourself again. Night after night, you kept waking up having relived your brothers’ deaths, and there was no one with you to help you through it. 

You tilted your body away from Nikolai, doing your duty as you looked at Alina. You knew she was safe since she was just speaking with Mal, but you needed the poor excuse to turn away from the infuriating man beside you.

“I thought you might like to know that a team of Fabrikators and I are rebuilding the Hummingbird after the crash through the fold. It will be docked at the lake behind the Little Palace, so you’re welcome to visit it any time, to see how it progresses.” He spoke with all the confidence he usually exuded, though one look at him and you knew better; his eyes were nervous as he extended this small gesture of goodwill. He was worried about what you might say or do, you just knew it.

You almost said nothing, but as you looked into his eyes, you let out a short huff and grumbled, “Well let’s hope this one flies better than the last.”

“Truly,” Nikolai grinned, pleased that you’d given him a response.

You looked at Alina again and noticed she was leaving the room, so without another word, you left Nikolai.

……….

It was happening again.

You were on the streets of the Barrel, hurrying to reach your brothers after a long and stressful day of work. You wove through the alleyways, your feet moving like air; you were weightless–drifting. There was a light scraping, the prodding of the Bodymen's hooks against the cobbles, and a horrible thought came to your mind. You tried to move faster, but your feet were still drifting. All you knew was that you had to get there faster–had to say goodbye to your brothers.

Suddenly, something shifted and you were upon the tall stack of crates Jordie and Kaz were hiding behind in their time of illness. You stepped up slowly, only to see Nikolai sitting there in the place of your brothers.

He lay in a heap on the cobbles; weak with firepox, and mumbling nonsensically. Your feet could not move fast enough to be with him. 

You crumbled down to your knees beside him. And you reached for him, but he used what little strength he had still left in him to push you away. You tried again, but he swatted you back with a sick wail in his throat. Again and again, you reached for him, trying to hold him in your arms, to touch his forehead or grab his hand, to comfort him in whatever way you could, but he always evaded you.

And then when you finally got hold of his shoulders and leaned in to look at his face, he shoved you away with a great force. You were knocked down beside him, and his face turned angry–hateful.

Suddenly, he shouted at you, "This is all your fault!" 

You woke up with a start. Sweaty and shaking in the dark, you rushed to light your bedside lamp. The dim flame brought you some comfort, but as soon as you started to dwell on the images you’d dreamt, you felt nausea gripping you tight. You could taste the death in your mouth, stirring a sour, stale sickness inside you. You sat on the edge of your bed, your body doubled over and your head between your legs as you tried to shove the rot away.

You tucked your knees up to your chest as a sob tore through you. It was moments like this that made you most angry over Nikolai’s engagement; moments where you used to rely on him to help you, but where you couldn’t anymore. Since that trip to West Ravka a year and a bit ago now, he was the one to pull you out of any nightmares and back to the warm reality of his arms around you. But now for the last two months, he was all the way in another stupidly grand building. And engaged. And utterly unavailable to you. 

You huffed, shoving to your feet despite how weak your limbs felt. With a cloak over your pajamas and your boots to protect you from the autumn evening chill, you travelled out of your stifling bedroom, through the tall halls of the Little Palace, and out into the open sky of the outdoors. You gulped in the crisp air, clearing your lungs of death as you listened to the crickets. You looked out at the lake behind the Little Palace and spotted Nikolai’s new flying boat modelled after the Hummingbird. The bobbing boat beckoned you closer.

In the moonlight, your boots crunched towards the short dock on the lake. It creaked underfoot as you approached the boat. Kingfisher was written in scripted lettering on the small vessel’s stern. The deck wasn’t too large, though there appeared to be a cabin beneath it, judging by a small circular window on the port side. You noticed the flicker of candlelight through this window, and before you could turn tail and run back in the direction you came from, you heard his voice.

“Can’t sleep?” Nikolai called out to you, appearing from the open hatch of the cabin

You gulped, not wanting to meet his eyes. You muttered, “Something like that.”

“I can’t sleep either,” he said.

He stepped towards the ramp that connected the ship to the dock. You ignored how he wrung his strong and greasy hands on a cloth. You also ignored the sweat on his brow, ignored the memories of all the times you’d once worked beside him. All the times you’d admired the concentration sculpted along his beautiful face. He wasn't dressed like the prim prince you'd seen the last couple of months, he looked more like the privateer you loved.

“Would you want to come aboard and look around?” he asked softly, his voice reminiscent of all the nights you’d once spent with him by your side.

You nearly shook your head, nearly said you should go back to sleep. But the lingering fears in your mind kept you from returning to the Little Palace. All that was there for you was nightmares and a Nikolai that despised you. At least this Nikolai spoke softly, with a lingering affection.

Silently, you climbed the ramp and boarded the Kingfisher. Your arms crossed as you took in the sails and rudders, the fine lacquer keeping the fine wood intact. The sway of the waves beneath brought you some peace. It was too long since you’d sailed.

“Come check this out?” Nikolai asked of you, tilting his head towards the stern.

You stepped over to the back of the boat, keeping a secure enough distance beside him as he braced his hands on the wheel. You eyed the lever that would adjust the sails so that Squallers could lift the boat. The designs were updated, but most everything looked the same as it was on the Hummingbird. Nikolai pointed to the back mast.

“When I pull the lever now, this mast will only tilt halfway, allowing smoother steering than the last one did,” he explained, his eyes alight. He looked like a kid on the first wintery day of snowfall.

He looked over and caught you staring at him. You turned away as soon as you could, but the damage was done. The soft adoration in his eyes snapped whatever tough resolve you’d built up over the last few months, and you took a sharp breath. It came out in a shaky exhale, and you brought your hand to your mouth.

“This is all your fault!”

The words he cried in your nightmare flashed through your ears, and you felt your throat tighten. You started sobbing, nothing held back as hot tears dripped down your face. You heard Nikolai sigh softly as he realized you were crying. Without hesitation, Nikolai brought you into his arms, holding you under the watchful eye of the moon. You should have been strong enough to push him away, to remind the both of you what you’d lost. But you just weren’t strong enough. It wasn’t in you to push him away like he had pushed you away in your dream.

"What’s wrong, my darling?" He murmured into the crown of your head.

“Nightmares.” There was so much more to your pain, but this was all you could say.

His voice fell to a whisper, "Oh, darling."

He held you close, swaying you for a moment as you stood on the deck, then he ushered you to the cabin hatch. He brought you below deck, sitting down on a plain bench with you as a lantern burned in the corner. As you sat there, you felt the boat swaying gently, rocking you. 

Nikolai's one hand caressed your back, rubbing warm circles into you, as the other cradled the back of your neck, holding you securely as you leaned against his chest. He smelled like salt, grease, and pine; it was a combination so familiar and so Nikolai. You forgot what it was to breathe him in.

There was a bubble in your throat, an aching pressure on your larynx as you sobbed into his half-laced shirt. You tried to keep it inside, tried not to let the bubble burst and the truth come out, but you hadn’t been good at hiding things from him ever since the first night he saw you cry.

“I just miss you,” you whispered, praying he didn’t hear you.

His hand stilled on your back for a moment, then he kept rubbing along it. He heard, then. And yet, he didn’t say anything. He just held you to him as you kept crying. 

The scent of him lingered as you stayed in his arms. Even after you shut your eyes and felt your brain slowly falling asleep, you could smell him. The boat kept rocking, and soon enough your body fell asleep in the comfort of his familiar arms.

……….

You could hear birds when you woke up. The air smelled crisp. Your eyes blinked open, looking around at the cabin of the Kingfisher. It looked bigger in the light of dawn. You lifted your head off of Nikolai's chest.

A sick form of embarrassment took root in your chest. There was no humiliation quite like falling asleep in the arms of someone you swore you were done with. And he awoke with you, just as light a sleeper as he'd always been. He smiled softly at you, and you had to look away and get up lest you do something even more stupid.

"I should go," you said, straightening out your cloak as you went to the hatch. It was still dawn, the sun had barely risen, but you needed to be off of this ship and back into your room before people started waking up.

"Or you could stay," Nikolai replied quietly, standing with you. "We could talk about us? About last night?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Nikolai," you huffed.

"Darling, you were sobbing last night. I haven't seen you as bad as that since that time we were stranded in West Ravka." Nikolai sighed, stepping a bit closer to you. You let him grab your hand. "I made a promise to myself that night that I wouldn't let you cry alone ever again.”

You pursed your lips, saying something he knew. “You’ve already broken that promise."

“I know. I know I have, so the least I can do right now is talk and listen to you until you’re better.”

“I’m not going to get better," you scoffed.

He knew that too, you were certain of it, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, he said something much more stupid. “If I knew the people of Ravka would accept me as their king I never would have–”

“Stop,” you said tiredly, dropping your hand from his. You folded your arms around yourself. “I don’t want to argue right now. You’ve made your choice, and that’s that.”

Nikolai went quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor. You took a breath and climbed up the hatch, into the open air, and into reality. You walked across the deck, but stopped at the ramp when he cleared his throat and called your name.

"I have a test flight of the Kingfisher this afternoon." He gave a weak knock to the mast, a paltry smile on his face. "You're more than welcome to come watch.”

“I’m on duty later, I’m not sure I can come.” At your sides, your fingers balled into your cloak.

“I invited Alina already. She said she has Grisha training, but she might be able to make it.”

You nodded politely. “Then perhaps I’ll see you again later.”

“Perhaps.”

You turned to leave but he called your name again. You looked at him, watching his nervous eyes.

“I… I hope you know that you can always come to me when you’re hurting. I’ll never turn you out,” he said softly. “Or if you’re not upset but you just feel like talking to me, I’m here for you.”

His words made your blood sting. You knew he didn't mean to make you mad, that he was being sincere and kind, and yet you couldn't stop the low-boiling rage that seeped into your veins. Why he couldn't just say that he missed you and that he had made a colossal mistake, you didn't know. Why he felt the need to cloak his regret in some twisted extension of goodwill, you also didn't know. 

If you were even angrier, you might have called him a coward, but instead you shook your head and gave him another polite smile.

“Thank you, your highness, but don’t ever expect me at your door.”

He frowned and glanced out at the lake. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. You know we’re beyond formalities.”

“I’ve nothing else to call you now besides formalities.” You turned on your heel. "Have a good day, your highness. I won't bother you like this again."

"It wasn't a bother," you heard him mutter as you descended the ramp and hurried back to the Little Palace.

……….

Your day wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sure, you woke up in Nikolai’s arms, but other than that nothing of note happened. You guarded Alina, you escorted her around, then you came back to the Little Palace. 

As you were turning down your bed for the night, you heard a soft knock at your door. You expected it to be one of the twins challenging you to a game of cards before bed as you sometimes did with them. So you gently called out for them to come in. 

It was not Tamar or Tolya. Or even Alina or Mal, the only other people whose quarters belonged in this wing of the Little Palace. It was someone who was not supposed to be here.

"No," you shook your head at him as you glanced back and saw him. You hadn't snapped at Nikolai this morning, but as he shut the door behind him you felt the urge to chew him up and spit him out. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here?"

"You said you wouldn't bother me, but I made no promises not to come and bother you," He said with a playful shrug. "Besides, last night reminded me of how terribly I sleep without you."

"You shouldn't be here, you'll be caught," you said quietly, though with a measured level of anger.

"By whom? The twins? Mal? Alina? They all know our feelings for each other, and they won't care."

You crossed your arms. "Well, I care. Staying with you on that damned boat last night was a momentary lapse of judgment, not an invitation to make this into a habit."

"To me, it's just a way to sleep better," he said softly, stepping a bit closer to you. "I would rather have four hours of high-quality sleep with you in my arms and have to sneak back to the Grand Palace while it's still dark. The alternative is tossing and turning alone in my bed because I feel so incredibly alone I could scream."

“I don’t care if you’re lonely! I don’t care!" You stormed up to him, glaring a hole into his beautiful hazel eyes. "I'm lonely too, but I don’t cry about it to you. Because what good would it do? Would it change your mind? No, it wouldn’t."

Nikolai raises his brows slightly, a signal he's about to talk, but you cut him off with a huff.

"So, your highness, no matter what you say to me, no matter how badly you want me to, I will not warm your bed. Not if there is no real future with me by your side as anything more than a mistress that you hide away from the world!” 

He opened his mouth to try to speak again but a loud knock on the door cut him off before he could.

You raised a hand in front of him in a halting motion. “Don’t. Don’t say whatever it is you’re going to say. I don’t want to hear any more on the subject or I will leave Os Alta. I will pack my things and head for the coast. Because I won’t do this. I… I can’t.”

You ignored the tremble in your lip as you watched him stand there, dejected. Something in the way he stood made him look like a small child after a scolding. It was almost enough to make you feel bad for lashing out at him. Almost.

Another knock at the door made you take a breath, and you stepped back from Nikolai again.

“Come in,” you called out.

The door opened to Tamar, Tolya, Mal and Alina standing in the hall. Great, you thought, you’d woken everyone with your yelling. With your luck, all of the Little Palace heard your grievances.

Tamar and Tolya came to your side, not-so-subtly standing between you and Nikolai. Mal and Alina remained in the doorway.

“Is everything alright?” Tamar asked, carefully looking between you two.

“Nikolai was just leaving,” you muttered.

“Good. I’ll walk him back,” Tolya said.

“I’ll go too,” Mal piped in.

Nikolai shook his head with a sad little frown. “I don’t need you to–”

“C’mon, your highness.” Tolya ushered him from the room.

The last you saw of him was an ashamed glance he cast over his shoulder as he passed Alina in the doorway. Once he was gone you approached the summoner.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you said to her. You looked at Tamar. “You and the others as well.”

“It’s alright.” Alina gave you a paltry smile. “If you want me to, I can punch him again.”

“Same,” Tamar said. “Or I’ll get Tolya to do it. That would be a spectacle.”

You chuckled. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you.”

When you looked at Alina again you saw a guilty gleam in her eyes. She almost matched Nikolai’s levels of shame as she wrought her hands. Then she suddenly hugged you. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled beside your head.

You wrapped your arms around her. 

It wasn’t her fault, though you couldn’t deny that you resented her a little. She would have the greatest love of your life, living in the peaceful eye of a hurricane, while you would be caught up in the worst storm imaginable, peering through to them with desolate eyes as you tried not to lash out and harm them.

But it still wasn’t her fault. It was squarely on Nikolai. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to her, to so much as accept her apology.

Alina let go of you, and she and Tamar said their goodnights.

You couldn’t sleep, so you lay in bed, watching the stars through your window. 

You recalled starry nights at sea, when the sky and the water were one with twinkling specs of white on the darkest blue you’d ever seen. Nights when you were happy, wrapped in a warm and familiar pair of arms, and the worst kind of storm you knew of only involved heavy rain on the deck of a ship.

……….

As luck would have it, there was a hunting party leaving the next day. Mal was going, and after the fiasco with Nikolai the night before, he invited you to join him and the group of nobles and high-ranking military faces on this hunt.

You gladly seized the opportunity to be away from the palace for a spell, and now you were riding horseback alongside Mal. The last time you'd ridden beside him was the road to Os Alta, but you shoved that memory aside. Nikolai was there then, putting on the show of his engagement for the Ravkan people. Saints, no matter what you were doing or what memory you carried he always seemed to linger, staining your mind and your every moment. 

You shut your eyes for a second, your grip tight on your reins.

"Everything alright?” Mal’s voice reached your ears.

You glanced at him. “I’m fine.”

“Rietveld,” he started, eyes darting around before he lowered his volume. “I hope you can enjoy yourself this week. You deserve the time away from it all.”

“I know.” You nodded. “I just… I don’t know how to get through this.”

“Well, you’re faring better than our lovely prince.”

Were you though? You might have been the one to reject him last night, but you were also the one who broke down in front of him then passed out in his arms the night before. You supposed neither of you were taking this well.

“And how are you and Alina?" You asked quietly.

He turned his eyes ahead. "We're…"

You nodded after a long moment when he could not respond. "Yeah. I get that."

"It's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"A whole bucket-load of shit is more like it."

He shrugged in agreement.

……….

While you could admit it was a marvel watching Mal tracking, the hunting part of the trip was not nearly as interesting as the evening dinners. You'd be sat at tables between Ravkan lords and generals and dignitaries, listening to their stories and answering their questions. Speaking with them reminded you of your time with Lady Trokowsky; so many of them were as curt and prim as her. And though some of them were also a bit pompous for your liking, you held your own in their conversations. Plus, when there was wine and good food, even the most irritable guests were made tolerable.

"Were you really a sailor, Ms. Rietveld?" One of the lords asked you on the third night. "Grigor here says you were, but I can't imagine you at sea." 

"And why's that, my lord?" You raised a brow. "Do you not think me capable?"

"Oh, not at all! Aside from our esteemed Oretsev here, you've shot the most game--I think you are very capable indeed. I just can't envision a young woman as refined as you in the life of a sailor."

"You think I'm refined? My lord, you flatter me," you said, smiling politely and tilting your glass at him. That was what Lady Trokowsy used to do when paid a compliment; you took your cues in manners from your time with her. You noticed Mal leaning forward in his seat.

"Ms. Rietveld is more than accomplished. If I'm not mistaken, she knows five languages, she can track and divide large sums all in her head and without paper, she's quite gifted with a sword, plus if you're bleeding and broken she's great to have around when there's no corporalniks nearby."

The table guests all nodded their heads, murmuring in approval, and you gave a slight look of thanks to Mal. As their new favourite hunting guest, his word meant a lot to these people. You were grateful for their good opinion; you hoped perhaps one of them might offer you a job or help you once you one day decided to leave Alina's guard.

Dinner carried on, with many of the guests asking you more about yourself or even just your opinion on local matters or the state of the war. They all seemed pleased by your answers, and you left for your tent that night feeling good about yourself and your future. Mal walked with you, and he nudged you with his elbow.

"We've got a future diplomat on our hands," he smiled.

"Well, you helped out quite a bit."

"I said one thing. The rest of that was all you, Rietveld. You charmed them all by yourself."

You sighed at his words. A small grin took up your face. "I kind of did, didn't I?"

"You definitely did." He turned to you as you stood outside your tent. "I'm glad you came on this trip. And I'm glad you got to see what kind of life you might have ahead of you."

"And what kind of life is that?" 

"A life of rubbing elbows with the Ravkan 'elite.' You're already pretty good at it, but it's nice practice for once you're one of them."

You gave him a look. "Mal, that's never going to happen." 

"It will once Nikolai marries you," he smirked.

You frowned at his chipperness. "He's already engaged, remember?"

He lowered his voice, looking around to check if anyone was nearby. "Alina's not going to marry him. Trust me. She doesn't want that life. When all is said and done, she won't go through with it."

"And you think he'd just marry me?" You asked in an irritated whisper.

"Yes. He loves you."

"I have nothing to offer him. At least Alina's a saint."

"He loves you, Rietveld," Mal repeated.

You looked at him, saw the certainty in his eyes, and had to look away again. You hated how sure he seemed. How confident he was, even though you knew better and he should know better too. Even if Alina didn't end up marrying him, Nikolai wouldn't marry you. The last few months had shown that. He would no doubt choose a princess or a very rich man's daughter, of which you were neither of those things.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Oretsev," you muttered, then ducked into your tent. 

……….

Alina was there to greet you and Mal when you arrived at the Little Palace. But unfortunately, Mal kept riding to the stables, practically ignoring Alina. You had no idea what happened there between them to have him ice her out like that; all trip Mal had only complimentary things to say about Alina. Still, you supposed if any of the hunting party asked your opinion of Nikolai you would only say favorable things.

Regardless, Alina was there to offer you a hug and walk with you inside the Little Palace.

"How was your trip?" She inquired.

"Good. It was nice to be away for a bit," you said, remembering the tense circumstances before you'd left. "And nice to spend time with Mal. He's a good friend, even if he embellishes a bit."

"Saints, he embellished what exactly?" She raised her brows worriedly.

"Well, he was talking me up to some of the guests and he made me out to be some daring and sophisticated hero."

"Why's that?" She chuckled.

"No idea why. At one point he even said I went to the university of Ketterdam and graduated top of my class. Meanwhile, I was never educated past fifteen years old; I was raised on a farm, for saint's sake."

"Well, I'm glad he talked you up." She smiled at you. "I'm sure it made those stuffy lords and generals more pleasant to be around if they thought you were admirable."

"I suppose it did." You looked at her. "He talked you up too. Turned more than a few of them on to your side as the new leader of the second army."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he's really good at all of that."

A gentle silence filled the air. You weren't sure if it was because you'd told her what Mal got up to while they were apart, but she decided to talk about what Nikolai had been up to. Apparently, he mostly spent his time fine-tuning the Kingfisher or a number of other inventions he'd set up work on near the Summoner Pavillion. 

"Also, last week he did something odd," Alina said as you arrived at the wing where both of your rooms were.

"Odd how?" You asked.

"Well, we were meeting with the royal family's jeweller." She saw the quizzical curve of your brow and added, "For Nikolai's birthday next month."

You pursed your lips. "Oh. Right."

"Part of the preparations was getting fitted for outfits and choosing which royal jewels and crowns to wear. It was a lot." She sighed. "And when we were going through the royal jewels, that’s when he did something odd."

"Oh?"

"The jeweller was showing off different crowns and tiaras for me," Alina blushed slightly, "and when he pulled out some sapphire crown, Nikolai lost it for a second."

The mention of a sapphire crown made your face burn. Could it be the crown you'd helped Nikolai recover? The crown he'd once put on your head and called you moya tsaritsa--his queen? Your heart hammered in your chest.

"He…" You furrowed your brows. "He lost it? What do you mean by that?"

Alina leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice despite how you were alone.

"Well, I wouldn't compare it with other people's losing it, but for Nikolai, it definitely made him lose it. He's usually so calm and everything, but he looked upset. He got all pale and then he looked at the jeweller and sternly said something like 'I told you very specifically not to put that crown in the selection.' And when the jeweller said that the queen wanted me to pick from everything, Nikolai started to go red, and he said 'I don't care what my mother said. This crown isn't to be worn.'"

Your lips parted slightly, and you glanced away for a moment, parsing out what she'd said.

Had Nikolai really been that upset over seeing that sapphire crown on display? You cared to know what upset him about it. Was it the sight of it? Or was it the thought that Alina might have picked the crown he foolishly thought you would one day wear? You weren't sure. You didn't even know if he had actually thought you could be his queen; but regardless, he had to know now that you weren't an option.

Alina chuckled slightly. "That's odd, right?"

"Yeah…" You said softly. "Odd."

……….

It was your first day off after you'd gotten back from the hunting outing. So, like most of your days off, you decided to take a walk on the Little Palace grounds. There was a pretty path behind the lake, and you were admiring the changing leaves of the trees all around you. It was understandable then that you didn't notice someone's sudden presence.

A throat cleared ahead of you on the path and you instantly snapped into focus. Your eyes landed on Nikolai and you almost sighed but then your jaw tensed instead. Since you got back you had seen him while on guard, but you hadn't been alone with him since that night he'd snuck to your room. You were afraid that the furious nature of your last conversation would only continue if you spoke again.

He gave you a slight smile and a polite nod. His hands were clasped behind his back. You took in his clothes, the slightly unkempt way his fine shirt was tucked, and the grease spot on his trousers. He must have been working on the Kingfisher again when he saw you walk by and chose to follow you. Still, he didn't look like he was in the mood for an argument either, not with his diplomatic smile.

"How was your hunting trip?" He asked, finally breaking the silence between you.

"Fine," was all you said.

He nodded, shifting his weight on his feet. "I hope you weren't too bored with all the lords and generals. I know how dreadful those trips can be."

"It was fine, really," you said, crossing your arms. "Mal is a good friend to have around those sorts. He and I spent all the time while we weren't shooting to talk up our little saint; to win public opinion of her."

"I didn't think Oretsev was clever enough for that," Nikolai grumbled, the annoyance of his words hidden under a smile. "Using influential lords and the likes to bolster the public's opinion of Alina… good on him, I suppose. It's a smart tactic."

Something about his words, or perhaps his slight irritation and the fact that he had no right to be irritated, irked you to no end.

"You hypocrite," you scoffed. "You frown down on Mal for using these lords and changing their opinions to help your fiance, and yet it's you who's engaged to her just to use her sainthood to bolster your claim to the throne."

Nikolai chuckled lightly. “And she is using me so that my family doesn't declare her and all the other Grisha enemies of Ravka. I wasn't frowning down on Oretsev for using these hunting parties. Using people for one's own advantage happens all the time in politics.”

“So I’ve learned," you said, your eyes narrowed slightly on him. You watched him for a moment. "Were you using me?”

“What?” He turned to you, his eyes turning from slight amusement to a blinking bewilderment. “Of course I wasn’t using you,” he said softly. “Do you really think I was using you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Nikolai. You told me you wanted us, now and always. You put a crown on my head and called me your queen.” You tugged your simple chain out from under your shirt and let Nikolai’s ring dangle on it. “You gave me a ring that I, very stupidly, believed meant something… And then you made me feel like an idiot for thinking you could ever be mine–that I could ever share my life with a prince.”

"You still wear the ring?" His eyes seemed hopeful.

"I… that's what you've latched onto?" You blinked at him.

He stepped closer to you. His eyes were earnest. "I'm sorry. I wasn't using you. It was always love between us; I wasn't going to exploit that."

"No, instead you broke it."

You saw it on his face. Yes, I broke it, was written in the mournful line of his mouth as his eyes drooped to his shoes.

"If I could take it all back," he said quietly, "I would. And you would be happy and I could stop worrying and it would all be back to the way it was before."

Your fingers balled up at your sides as you scowled. "And how was it before? You expect me to believe you would have married me once you were back to being a prince? When you were still Sturmhond you were so ashamed of me that we didn't even let the crew know we were together!"

"I wasn't ashamed–" he started but you stepped closer to him, eyes furious.

"Why would I believe you'd ever let the royal court know you wanted to be with a common sailor?"

"Because I would!" He exclaimed, a desperate glint in his eye as he brushed his hands through his hair. "Because I love you and--despite what you think–I am not ashamed of that love. I never have been."

He took your hand, and--ignoring the urge to break free and slap him or shove him into the dirt–you let him. He took a breath, letting his eyes meet yours again once he was ready.

“What I’m trying to say is that I–"

Nikolai cut himself off at the sound of footsteps approaching. He dropped your hand and took a step back, and you pretended his actions didn't sting. The approaching footsteps turned out to be Vasily, and you kept down the groan you wanted to make.

"Vasily," Nikolai nodded.

He put on a charming smile, though his chest rose and fell quickly. You didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking because you were thinking the same thing--how much had his brother seen between you two? It was a wonder with the way Vasily stared so skeptically at you both.

"Who's this you're speaking with, brother?" Vasily asked, sleazily eyeing every part of you besides your narrowed stare.

"This is Rietveld," Nikolai answered calmly, though you noticed how his hands were desperately trying to not ball up at his sides. "She was my second in command at sea, now she's one of Alina's guards."

He sneered as he glanced between you and Nikolai. "Ah yes, one of your… crewmates. Seems quite pretty for a sailor. I think you spoke about her before… didn't you say she was Kerch?" He addressed you. "Are you Kerch, girl?

"Yes," you replied with gritted teeth. He bent a superior eyebrow and you added, "Moi Tsarevich," with the bow of your head.

"A Kerch sailor," he mused. "I wonder where you met her… Was it Ketterdam?"

"Yes, brother," Nikolai said, his words carrying a careful twinge of annoyance.

"Such a pretty thing… I wonder, where in Ketterdam could you have found her?" He made no attempt to hide how he watched you like you were a piece of meat. "Did you pluck her from the Barrel?"

"Vasily," Nikolai warned with a low voice.

"I imagine she came from somewhere lush and expensive, at least I hope you didn't buy her out of one of the cheap brothels. Though she does have the scowl of a cheap whore."

Nothing more could be said on the topic, as Nikolai's fist came in contact with Vasily's jaw. You heard an ugly thwack sound, and Vasily stumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the dustiness of the dirt path.

"You filthy mutt!" Vasily spat. "You nearly knocked all my teeth loose!"

You expected Nikolai to straighten out with a diplomatic apology, sarcastically citing a lapse in judgment or pretending his arm had spasmed. You expected him to act as prince, but at this moment he was privateer instead. He bent down beside his brother and grabbed him by the collar.

"If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, I will punch you so hard you bite off your own tongue," Nikolai threatened. "Am I understood, brother?"

"Some brother you pretend to be–"

Nikolai's grip tightened. "Am I understood?"

"Yes," Vasily sneered.

Nikolai let go of him and stood to his full height, dusting himself off. He was back to being a dignified prince. "Good."

Nikolai glanced at you then glanced down the path in the direction back to the Little Palace. You took the hint, and silently but with quick steps, the two of you walked along.

The image of Vasily in the dirt brought you joy, though you couldn't say the same for the way Nikolai threatened him. Nikolai's actions frustrated you to no end, making you frown as you walked. It wasn't his job to do that, to fight for you, but he was a fool who treated it like his duty.

Once the Little Palace was in sight, you spoke to him.

"I've dealt with worse than Vasily, I don't need you to defend me," you asserted.

He looked at you. "I know you don't, but I wanted to."

"You don't get to anymore," you said, "you have a fiance to defend instead now."

Nikolai scoffed. "He called you a whore, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Let it slip by. Defending me is not worth the wrath of your brother."

"Please, I've already earned his wrath just by existing." He smiled. "And besides, it was nice to give him a whack like that. He deserved it for what he said."

You wanted to agree with him that Vasily deserved a whack, but you held firm. It was hard to tell if you were just being contrary for the fun of it or if you meant it.

"You shouldn't let him get under your skin," you muttered. "Don't do that again, Nikolai."

He slowed and you slowed with him. Stopped in the shade from the Little Palace, he looked at you, his stare earnest.

"I could tell you I will only let myself lash out at him just this once, but I would be lying." You thought he might hold your hand, but as he reached for you he thought the better of it and clasped his hands behind his back. "I would be lying, because if he–or anyone else for that matter--speaks about you like that again, hitting him would be the least of what I'd do."

……….

FIFTH YEAR - KAZ

Kaz didn't know why he was in Lij. 

He hadn't been in his hometown since he moved away from it at nine years old. But he was walking the harbours of Ketterdam on his day off from the Crow Club and saw a boat travelling down the coast to the southern farmlands of Kerch. Next thing he knew, he was sailing away from Ketterdam. 

Then he was in his old, simple little world. Acres upon acres of farmland, a town square with market vendors and people who smiled at other people without trying to steal their wallets… it all seemed so foreign to him now. 

He went up the hill to his old farmhouse first. It had sat in disrepair for a few years now since his siblings moved to the city. The fields were wildly overgrown, but it still looked like a plot of good land. Kaz trudged through the weeds to the barn out back. It only took him four seconds to pick the lock on the barn door. The inside was empty, but it still looked alright.

He didn't dwell for long, though. He stood in the barn, shut his eyes for a moment, breathed in the farm air, thought briefly of his family--of how he missed them--then he left.

He relocked the barn, instinctively leaving it how it was found, then set out on another path down the hill.

Kaz passed by the well-kept house of Old Lady Trokowsky. How that Ravkan bat frightened him when he was younger. He had no idea how his sister managed to visit with her every other day just to read to her and keep her company. As Kaz recalled, her tongue was always so sharp, and she would shout at him and Jordie from the upper porch above her front door whenever they got into the slightest bit of mischief.

He wondered for a moment if she was still alive; in his memory, she seemed ancient, after all. 

A broken post on her otherwise perfect fence caught his eye, and he nudged it with his foot.

"Rietveld? Jordan Rietveld!" A worn voice called out as soon as his boot made contact with the post. 

Kaz's eyes snapped wide in surprise, and he instinctively straightened out at the memory of reprimands gone past. He looked up to the porch above her front door, and sure enough, sitting there by the railing was Old Lady Trokowsky. He would have smiled at the sight of a familiar face if he wasn't so frightened of her.

"Jordan Rietveld, what are you doing to my fence? And what are you doing back in Lij? Your family's supposed to be in Ketterdam!" 

Kaz blinked up at her. Did she really think he was his brother? That he was Jordie?

"Well, young man?" Her gravelly old voice called down to him again.

He felt like a child under her eyes. He was fourteen now, yet he felt like he was six and following along with whatever trouble Jordie was getting into.

Trokowsky waved an arm in a resigned manner. "Oh, come inside, boy. I've got hot chocolate and cookies that I'm too old to stomach now. Eat and talk with me, Jordan."

Kaz paused at the gate. He wanted to pass by and head back to the town, but he felt a strange desire to go into her house. The closest he'd gotten to the house was standing in the doorway with Jordie when Da would sometimes send them to fetch their sister home early; the inside of it was always a mystery to him.

He passed through the gate and went up the stone path. It felt like he'd get in trouble, but he opened the front door and peered into the front hall. A caretaker for the bat came down the stairs to greet him. She directed him up the stairs and straight to the front where Lady Trokowsky would be waiting on the upper porch. 

His eyes roamed the walls as he went upstairs. All these Ravkan portraits and plaques adorning her house--the burgeoning criminal in him told him he should swipe something, but he ignored the urge. His sister had always spoken highly of Trokowsky, despite how the bat would shout at him and Jordie, so he would respect his sister by respecting the bat's belongings.

He stepped onto the upper porch and noticed immediately that her eyes had a slight wispiness to them that no doubt impaired her vision. Cataracts, if that was the right term. This was likely why she didn't recognize him as Kaz but as his brother.

"Ah, Jordan Rietveld," she greeted in her worn voice, gesturing to the rocking chair beside hers. "It's been years, hasn't it?"

Kaz nodded and took a seat beside her. "Yes."

"How are you, boy? How is the city treating you?" 

Like hell.

That's what he wanted to say. He'd been chewed up at spit back out by Ketterdam. He was rising through the ranks of the Dregs, but not without a few scrapes and tussles. He'd grown to be a swindler and a scammer, though he supposed that information would be quite useless to this old lady.

"Very well," he lied, feeling compelled to smile for the bat. "I've just been promoted at work."

"Oh, isn't that wonderful?" 

She did something that was nearly a smile. Her wrinkly face tightened slightly with the weak force of her mouth muscles, stretching her lips in a kind position.

"And how is that young brother of yours? Is he still as much trouble as you?" She chuckled fondly.

"Kaz is dead," Kaz said bluntly. He almost didn't realize he said it at first, but then he noticed Trokowsky's face fall.

"Oh dear… I'm sorry to hear that. Your sister always spoke so highly of her baby brother," she said with a sad coo.

Kaz glanced away over the balcony. "Well, she's gone now too. Moved across the world."

"I suppose that explains why she stopped writing to me." Trokowsky sighed. "I thought she might have passed in that plague–what a terrible, terrible bout of firepox it was this last time…" 

If only she knew, Kaz mused, holding back a wry smile.

"Do you ever see her? I'd love for you to tell her I say hello and that I miss her company," she said softly.

He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. "I see her every few months. She comes to visit me in Ketterdam, or I go visit her in Novyi Zem."

"Oh, good. I'm glad to hear that." She smiled again. "Your family has suffered enough without being separated by something so trivial as the sea."

It seemed as though Lady Trokowsky might have said more on the matter, but a sudden coughing fit wracked through her. Kaz's body recoiled from her wheezing. It brought back memories of plague. 

He balled his gloved hands into fists and he looked away from her as he waited for her coughing to end. She recovered from her fit, and he stayed long enough to finish his hot chocolate and eat three cookies while he listened to a couple of stories from the bat. But he didn't stay much longer than that. Trowkowsy grew tired, in need of an afternoon nap as the elderly sometimes need. She gave him a kind parting smile as her caretaker wheeled her to her room.

Kaz waited in the main foyer until the nurse came downstairs again. He procured a Crow Club card from his pocket and handed it to the caretaker.

"Please let me know when she passes," he nodded to the caretaker.

Then he left and went down to the town square again, heading for the municipal office. He tried to acquire his family's farm back from the township. He didn't quite have enough money to buy it back yet, but he knew he would put it under Jordie's name when he did. Or perhaps Jordie's middle name would lend itself better as the ink on a dotted line. Either way, he could not secure the deed today, so he found his way to a ship bound up the coast to Ketterdam, back to the city of thieves and barterers.

A few months later, Kaz received a short letter. Lady Trokowsky had died of her old age. 

At her funeral, the name card on the grandest bouquet of flowers gifted was simply: "The Rietvelds."

..........

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment on this new part--I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Part 7

Masterlist

Taglist: I will reblog this part with the tags because there's too many of you to tag and tumblr won't let me do it all at once

[hyesunnyshine]

Mutually Exclusive (Dawn and Dusk)

Pairing: Kristen and Bucky Applebees

Word Count: 2k words

Summary: Kristen has made some costly mistakes this year. But all of them pale in comparison to her biggest mistake of all: being a shitty older sister.

Content Warning: mild language

cooked this up because i love bucky. like that's literally little bro, get behind me pookie

There were three things that Kristen Applebees hated the most. People with no social awareness, flat sodas, and spending time with her parents. So it was no surprise that the Applebees residence was not graced with their eldest child’s presence very often.

It took a couple days after her friends had dealt with Porter and the votes for student body president were officially counted before Kristen had realized it had been nearly two months since she’d checked in on Bucky. She had stood up abruptly from the kitchen table, leaving her portion of Lydia Barkrock’s lasagna half-finished, to immediately give her younger brother a call. 

To add salt to her wound, he picked up on the second tone.

“Kristen! Congrats on being student body president. I prayed to Helio at church for a month straight asking if he could watch over you and help you win. I’m so glad it worked!” 

The twang in his voice was reminiscent of the way her old classmate Buddy would talk. But where the Dawn’s had a gritting accent that always put Kristen on edge, Bucky’s was sweet and playful like a rollercoaster. Her brother always had a way of making her smile and shake her head in amusement.

“Thanks Bucky, I really appreciate it. How were your exams? Everything go well?”

“Oh it went okay. I feel really good about the written exam for paladin classes. I used Professor Dawn as a source for my essay about Helio and Sol!”

“Oh,” Kristen’s speech trailed off in surprise. “Okay, I hope that’s not a conflict of interest…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Anyway, now that you have a lot of time, why don’t we hang out soon? You could come to Mordred? I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

“Um…” Bucky paused, hesitance in his voice. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad said that the haunted manor was full of the spirits of sinners.”

Kristen grimaced. Damn our parents and their Helioic bullshit. 

“But…” Her ears perked back up at the sound of her brother’s voice. “I did want to ask you a bit more about your god– er I mean your worship practices. Yeah. Maybe I could take your advice and, uh, apply it to Helio and our church.” Bucky’s words come out more robotic than Principle Grix. He never was the best liar.

“Of course! I’m always open to sharing some insight. And hey, I’ll show you my super cool bedroom. You know I sleep in a chapel?”

“Wait really? Woah, that's so cool!” A low voice barks from the other side of the line, and Bucky resumes speaking in a rushed tone.

“I- I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Oh okay–”

The line disconnects, and Kristen is left with an unspoken I love you lingering between her crystal and Bucky’s.

- - -

Kristen stands at the front door of her family’s house for ten minutes before she musters up enough courage to ring the doorbell. She expects to see Bucky being the one to open the door, but instead a displeased Mac and Donna Applebees greet her in the doorway.

“Oh,” the cleric instinctively shrinks into herself before a voice bat’s the anxiety away. Come on Kristen, you’re better than this. They don’t control you. She clears her throat.

“Hey, is Bucky ready to go?”

Her dad narrows her eyes. Yesterday, Kristen had sent them a message on her crystal to notify them of her arrival. No request or ask, just a simple I’m picking Bucky up tomorrow at noon. It was a harsh way to approach them, but she feared Bucky wouldn’t have been able to leave their parent’s watchful gaze any other way.

The Applebees say nothing, just continue to inspect her like she’s an inappropriate sculpture in a public park. Kristen shifts her eyes from her mother and father to inside the house, where Bucky comes barreling down the stairs in a yellow button-up and khakis, a baseball cap with a corn kernel patch in his hand.

“Hi Kristen! I’m ready to go.”

Her face immediately lights up. “Hey bud. Let’s get outta here.”

Bucky rushes out of the doorway excitedly, and before Kristen can do the same, Donna reaches for her forearm and taps her.

“Have him back by seven.”

Kristen looks at her mom’s eyes. The same critical and disappointed stare, but something is different this time. She can’t quite identify what it is, but it feels similar to hope. Of what? That she’ll re-embrace her family’s problematic worship? Or that Bucky will eventually learn how imperfect his older sister is and come to dislike her? Maybe she’s being a bit too cynical, or maybe it’s realistic. Kristen’s not sure.

But it gives her just enough determination she needs to nod and follow Bucky into the street.

- - - 

After a tense introduction to the company of Mordred Manor (unfortunately, Wretchrot has impeccable timing and nearly scared the life out of Bucky), the two make their way into Kristen’s room, a tray of sandwiches and potato chips from Lydia in their hands. She opens the door unceremoniously, setting the tray of food at her messy desk, before turning to her brother with arms spread out theatrically.

“Ta dah! This is my room.”

Bucky takes a moment to absorb his sister’s new life. The lesbian flag and star decals on the walls, the coat rack with her yellow track suit jacket and cowboy hat hanging from it, and her bookshelf filled to the brim with all kinds of books about deities, knick-knacks from her adventures with the Bad Kids, and a small glass case with the purple shards of her goddess Cassandra floating in it.

“Wow…” Bucky’s words dwindle as he sits at the edge of the bed, starry-eyed.

“I know, it’s a bit lame. And dirty.”

“Are you kidding me?” The boy breaks from his trance to look at his sister. “This is so cool! Your room is awesome.” 

For once, the full force of her brother’s awe for her hits Kristen without an ounce of her parent’s gloom to dampen it, and she can’t help but feel a bit teary-eyed.

“Thanks Bucky.”

After Bucky does a scan of her book collection and they finish eating their lunch, the Applebees siblings flop on the bed, a steady conversation passing between them.

“I didn’t really want to enroll as a paladin, ya know.” Kristen turns her head toward her brother at this. His arms are up in front of him playing with a stuffed corn plush from her desk. “But Mom and Dad insisted. Apparently one of the advisors for paladin classes told them it would suit me best.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Me neither. But they only told me once word got out that the teacher died. Must’ve been bad enough that they decided to tell me.”

Kristen’s stomach fills with dread. “Oh, what was the teacher’s name?”

“Mr. Cliffbreaker. He was kinda scary-looking at first, but he really cared about my oath and stuff, even gave me private lessons to help.”

At this, she shoots up into a seated position. The sudden movement scares Bucky into dropping the stuffed toy flat on his face.

“What did he teach you? Was it about anger?”

“Sorta, I told him that I was frustrated at my party for pushing me away because I kept talking about Helio, and he told me to turn that into a feeling I could channel through my paladin oath.” Bucky pauses, thinking for a moment. “I think he mentioned justice and vanquishing sin.”

Kristen is silent, and he takes that as a sign to go on.

“I don’t really remember, honestly. Stopped tutoring me after winter break because of some teacher stuff he said. So I never got too far with it.”

When Fig decided to audit paladin classes. 

Bucky sits up so he’s eye level with his older sister. “It kinda didn’t feel right with me? I don’t know, I didn’t miss it when we stopped the lessons. Maybe I’ll try–” He cuts himself off again, “I mean, now I can dedicate my time to an oath for Helio. Yeah.”

Whatever he was going to say next is cut off from the hug Kristen tackles him with.

“Uh, Kristen?”

She doesn’t respond, scared that her voice will crack and give away her crumbling demeanor. Tears are beginning to pool in the bottom of her eyes, but she commands her body to not let them fall.

I almost lost my brother. A tear falls onto her cheek and she quickly wipes it away. I almost let Porter manipulate my fucking brother for his twisted plan. And I would have been powerless to stop him. 

The thought repeats in her head like a fire alarm. He would have taken Bucky from me. He would have turned Bucky against me. He–

The voice pauses. No. Porter didn’t try to steal her brother. Kristen let him.

She remembers the first day of junior year, how Bucky’s face had lit up with excitement, but Kristen was too busy trying to get a reaction out of their parents. How Bucky always tried to approach her during lunch breaks and after school, but Kristen always had somewhere to be or something to do. How, when Kristen met up with her family for brunch to gather intel on Bobby Dawn, she spent the entire time talking to their parents, and Bucky was silent the entire time at the table.

Why, the voice echoed, why after all the shit you caused this year have you not learned your lesson. Why do you insist on blaming others before anything else.

They stay in an embrace for a long moment, Kristen wordlessly rubbing Bucky’s back, him eventually bringing his arms up to wrap around his sister’s shoulders. It takes a bit of time for the cleric to recompose herself, but eventually she does and leans back. Her brother, a quizzical look to his eyes, waits for her to say something.

“Yeah, it doesn’t suit you.” She ruffles his hair and Bucky lets out a giggle.

“Tell you what, why don’t we head to Basrar’s? My treat.”

“But the cleric stuff–”

“That can wait, it’s your summer break!” She gets up from the bed and grabs her staff, teddy bear, and track jacket to tie around her waist. “No need to think about school during vacation. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve split a banana sundae between us”

The sparkle in Bucky’s eyes returns at the mention of ice cream and he leaps off the bed, cap falling off his head, and out the cathedral doors. Kristen snorts, picking his hat off the floor and running after him.

- - -

The sun is starting to set as the Applebees siblings walk down the suburban street and back toward the house. Bucky, feeling rejuvenated after the sugary treat, is talking excitedly about ideas for his sophomore year project.

“I mean, I know we won’t be able to do something as amazing as you and your friends, but maybe a small mission to spread the word of Helio would be good. Like, maybe up in the mountains of chaos–” He stops as his feet reach a familiar driveway.

 “Oh, we’re already here.”

Kristen doesn’t need to be particularly insightful to see the disappointment in her brother’s face, but he quickly masks it with a smile.

“I had a lot of fun. Can we do this again?”

“Of course, Bucky. You’re my brother.” Bucky’s face shoots in a bigger, more genuine smile, and he throws his arms around his sister for a quick hug.

“Okay! I’ll see you later then.”

“Wait!” She interrupts him before he can turn to go inside. She takes her teddy bear and hands it to Bucky. “I want you to have this.”

He looks at the toy with confusion before she continues.

“It will, uh, help you with spell casting. I used it to help me not feel overwhelmed by everything that goes on during intense fights. Kinda like an emotional support animal?” Kristen feels her cheeks flush. God, she was always terrible with words. “Maybe it’ll help you with paladin stuff. Or- or if you wanted to try something else out, it would be helpful.”

A wet sniff cuts off her next thought as she sees Bucky begin to cry. Immediately, she begins to panic and fuss over him.

“Oh fuck– I mean, oh gods. Hey, I’m sorry bud. I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“No, no.” Bucky wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Thanks, Kristen. I love it so much.” He smiles, eyes red and slightly swollen from tears, and takes the teddy bear into his arms and squeezes it tight. “I’m gonna take really good care of him. Swear it.”

Kristen smiles as relief washes over her. She ruffles her brother’s hair one last time.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“See ya!” 

With a final wave, Bucky runs through the front door, and Kristen watches as a small shadow goes up the stairs and disappears as the lights come on in her little brother’s bedroom.

[missadmyre]

Date Night at Ghost Town

It wasn't often that his mentee, Randy, would invite him to do little activities such as fishing inside the Nomicon, such moments he appreciates as it reminded him of the peaceful memories he once had back at the living world.

When Randy had intivited him to come with him at the Celebration of the Founding of Sanctus Civitas in the Ghost Realm, he couldn't believe at what he was being offered to. "A trip to the Ghost Realm?" He asked.

The teen then replied, "Yeah, Danny invited me and Jake to come with him to the Ghost Zone for the celebration. Since you're some kind of spirit or something, maybe you could also have a chance to go there? I mean, it's gotta be kinda wonk to be lonely inside this book."

The First Ninja denied Randy's invitation at first, skeptical as he finds it nonsensical but also dangerous, given that he is the very foundation of the Nomicon. Should he be absent from his duties, he feared that an unexpected force would invade at a time of weakness, something of which he wouldn't allow.

Yet, even PlopPlop started to bug him about the boy's invitation, finding it weird that his ally had also approved of the boy's attempt. Eventually, he decided to go, finding it hard to resist two of his people and their charm to annoy to him.

As he tries to find an appropriate attire to wear, he discovers an elegant robe from back when he was alive, a kimono that dates back to the Kamakura Period. A gift from his fourth brother, a craftsman at heart.

On the day of the celebration, he, along with Randy his friends set off to the Ghost Realm, finding themselves in a dense forest with a jagged dirt pathway. Following the path, they reach the marble stairs, climbing up as they were greeted by a Torii Gate with two bells hanging on each side.

Ringing the bell four times on each bell while citing a chant that guarantees their entry, they soon were able to enter through the gate and into the celebration. The place was brimming with energy, hundreds of ghosts, spirits and souls running around around having fun.

The setting was beautiful, a dreamy dawn accompanying it. It was like a mix of a fairground and a ceremony, which would happen later that night as the procession of the Hyakki Yagyo would happen later that night. Stalls of food and games were placed left and right, attracting attentions of passerbys.

As he was about to ask the boys about his purpose in this, he was confused to find him, the warlock. Snarling, the First Ninja asked "What are you doing here?". The warlock chuckled, "Oh my, ask your kid, he did set us up for our date". Eyes twitching, he turned around to find Randy and his friends smiling, telling them to have fun as they ran away to enjoy the event.

Sighing, he faced Chase as the lizard hybrid held out his hand, "May I accompany you?". He begrudgingly accepted, knowing damn well that he himself won't be able to disagree.

Randy, while walking with Jake and Danny, smiled as his plan worked. He had planned it since the day he realized both their feelings are mutual, just way too stubborn and prideful to recognize them. He pleaded PlopPlop to go along with his plan, which after many attempts and bribery, he finally agreed.

Jake had been able to contact Chase, it wasn't hard considering that their main topic would be about the First Ninja, but what was hard was to convince the lizard hybrid that none of what they were planning is a trap.

The two heroic teens had known about their guardian's feelings about each other for a long time, even more so when they received the news that they were practically married. Grimacing at their pining, they planned to get the two to spend time with each other to work out their feelings.

When Danny had gotten an invitation to the Celebration of the Founding of Sanctus Civitas, they knew it was their chance to set the two immortal men on a date, letting Danny in on the plan as they tried to make their invitation look natural.

"Hey Randy, I know you set this up and shit for a long time, but come on! Let's enjoy the event, man!" Jake exclaimed.

"Hold on a minute, gotta take a picture of this." Pulling a camera out of his pocket, he placed it at the direction of the two immortals who were walking by the crowd, zooming in and pressing the button as it emitted a flash.

Click!