#this was my first piece! wanted to do a small one to get the feel for it before going with my bigger project ideas

[navybrat817]

Cooking Together

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you to cook a meal with him.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, longing, pining, canon divergent neighbor AU, flirting of sorts, mention of HYDRA, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for @stellar-solar-flare’s Starry Winter Sky Event! I went with cooking together and Neighbor AU as a small expansion of this nonsense. February has had some lingering January energy, and I hope you enjoy what I was able to write! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If you asked Bucky if he thought he was a good cook, he’d say he was decent. He retained some of what his mom taught him many years ago and he carefully followed recipes once he was completely free of HYDRA. It was admittedly a bit of a rough go at first. Being able to choose what he could eat was a foreign concept after he didn't have the choice for so long. It got better each day. Every single meal he got to reclaim a piece of himself by making the choice of what he did and didn’t want.

Until today, he always cooked alone.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” you smiled, graciously accepting the apron he handed you.

Bucky had moved into the building a few months ago and you lived across the hall. As far as neighbors went, you were the best. Since day one, you always greeted him with a smile and a kind word. You never played your music too loud or disturbed anyone. Alpine adored you, which told him everything he needed to know since she was the best judge of character. And you never once objected to looking out for her when he had to leave for a mission.

Out of paranoia, he left harmless little “traps” to see if you'd snoop through anything the very first time you went over. Nothing that would hurt you or draw your attention, of course, but something that would let him know if anyone tampered with anything. You didn't. You were a genuinely good and respectful person, and that made him trust you more.

“Thanks for accepting the invitation. And allow me,” he offered, stepping behind you to help you tie it. His fingers lingered on the fabric and he took the moment to inhale your sweet scent before he stepped away. He didn't want to be a creep. “And it’s the least I could do since you offered to watch Alpine. Again.”

“I love watching her. She’s wonderful.”

The photos you sent were something he always looked forward to when he was away. Some of the captions you added made him laugh and smile. His favorite was a selfie you took with Alpine’s cheek against yours. He saved it as “my girls”, which you weren’t aware of.

Because you technically weren’t his girl.

“Well, she adores you,” Bucky smiled. He adored you, too. It stunned him when he found out you were single, and he was selfishly thankful for that. 

“I’ll have to get her another toy,” you said, your lips curling in a small smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

He laughed, a warm and easy sound. “Between the two of us, she’s spoiled rotten and she wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He never expected to be a cat dad, but life surprised him. In fact, it also surprised him that Alpine wasn’t camping out nearby or brushing against one of your legs. She was a smart cat and likely somehow sensed that he wanted alone time with you.

“Well, she deserves it,” you winked before things went quiet.

One of the nice things about hanging out with you was that he didn't mind any bouts of silence. They didn’t feel awkward or tense. In those quiet moments and stolen glances he felt like he had the best conversations with you. He was happy and felt safe being in the same space as you.

“You know,” Bucky began as he set the ingredients on the counter. He lucked out by having a decent sized kitchen since he took up a lot of space. “If I was a better neighbor, I would've just cooked a meal for you while you relaxed.”

It felt romantic for the two of you to cook together, but you weren't together and now he felt like an idiot. A gentleman would've made you a meal and pampered you. Or take you out for a nice meal. He hadn’t dressed up, opting for his jeans and a trademark Henley while you wore a sundress that had his mind racing with both sweet and filthy images. He didn't have flowers for you either.

His “game”, as Sam would say, was rusty.

“You're a great neighbor, Bucky. The best neighbor I’ve had,” you defended. He tried to be a good neighbor and person. A minor way to make up for some of his forced wrongdoings. “And cooking something together is fun! We could even try something at my place next week if you'd like.”

Bucky almost knocked the salt over, his eyes wide. “Really?” You were inviting him over to do this again?

“Yeah, really,” you replied, taking a moment to scan the simple recipe in the cookbook. You always had the cutest expression when you concentrated on something, and he didn’t want to choose something too difficult for the first meal. “We can take turns picking things out to try and trade off cooking at your place and mine. You can even bring Alpine over if you want.”

He suddenly had the image of you in his arms, dancing around the kitchen as you both waited for a meal in the oven to cook. Soft music, low lighting, his hands on your hips, and a tender smile on your face. Stealing a gentle kiss and keeping his eyes open only for a moment so he could see for himself that it wasn't a dream.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling his hair back in a ponytail and washing his hands to distract himself from his thoughts. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” you exhaled. His heart beat faster when he caught you staring. He liked to pretend the look in your eyes was longing. “Sorry. You just…” you cleared your throat and gestured to his head. “You have really nice hair.”

The compliment had his heart racing even faster. “I have nice hair?” he asked. Your fingers would feel amazing in his hair.

You ducked your head for a moment before you met his gaze with a soft smile. “Yeah, you do.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, his shoulder brushing yours when he stood beside you. Electricity lightly cracked between you. Did you feel it, too? “Um, I peeled the carrots before you got here. Would you like to cut them?”

“Oh, I think you’re better with a knife than I am,” you giggled.

He puffed his chest out and twirled the knife he selected in his hand without thinking about it. Part of him was showing off because, well, he wanted you to stare again. “How about I help you?”

“Help me? How?” you asked.

“Here.” He placed the knife in your hand and stood behind you once he had the carrots on the cutting board. “I’m going to preface this by saying I’m far from an expert, but I usually cut them into decent sized pieces before I dice them.”

“I trust your judgement,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. Your faces were close enough that he could kiss you if he leaned in a fraction. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t take what you didn’t offer.

Carefully placing his hands over yours once you faced forward, he felt that electricity crackle again as he helped guide you. He angled his hips so he didn’t press against you, but still stayed close. “See? You’re a natural,” he whispered against your ear when you made the first cut through the vegetable.

He heard the hitch in your breath and how your blood rushed faster in your veins. He felt your skin warm under his touch as you cut the next piece. He also caught the slight tremble that went through your frame when his grip tightened, but he didn’t sense any fear. He hadn't detected any sort of fear or disgust since he came into your life.

But what he sensed in this very moment was excitement.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered back. The way you spoke his name was breathy, beautiful, and he longed to hear that again. “You’re a great teacher.”

“I’m not,” he said, thankful your back was to him so you wouldn’t see the pink that tinted his cheeks. “But I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you are,” you stated, tempting him to turn your head toward him to kiss you. If he did that and you stabbed him, he wouldn’t blame you or hold it against you. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am glad you invited me over,” you said.

He stopped himself from putting his face in the crook of your neck. “I am, too,” he said, smiling to himself as he helped you finish up. “And now that you’ve mastered the carrots, we can chop the onions.”

“Onions? Oh, no,” you groaned playfully.

As the sound of both of you laughing a second later filled the room, Bucky was glad he went with his gut and asked for you two to cook together.

And maybe before the night was over, he’d ask you out on a date and prove to himself that his game wasn't completely hopeless.

I wonder just how he'll ask you out! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kaivenom]

Since February 9th is my birthday I got an idea, how about what one piece dilfs do on your birthday?

What the OP Dilfs do on your birthday

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: oowwwww, happy birthdayyyy, i am so glad that you asked me for this.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He prefers a rather small event, just him and you, maybe Perona and even Zoro if he can.

But if you want a party with other people, then he would try to tolerate other peoples presence.

Picture this: the backyard of your families house, all with balloons, food and all your relatives from all ages.

Then Mihawk with a glass of wine having to stand children and annoying aunts.

When you didn't found him anywhere, you searched for him and found him with your grandma (or another old female relative) gossiping.

When you left the house and finally are alone, he finally gave you your gift... probably jewelry.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He doesn't make it an official holiday but every one takes it like that cause there is a parade all over the city.

Like a Valentine's day 2.0

Privately he does a big feast on the castle and it's the only time you got to sit on the throne (and not his lap).

Like he says "You are the queen for the day"

He even orders some people to do humilliating things to make you laugh, but you have to stop him and reassure him that you just need to be with him on the moment.

Every one of the crew was invited to the party which means that Doflamingo ordered them the exact gift they have to get you, so you can have everything you want.

Baby 5 told you his plan so you went to thank him for the party and for being so sweet and lovely, at least for your special day.

Sr. Crocodile

A surprise trip, to anywhere you want like... you woke up and he asked you were you wanted to go, you said and hours later there you are.

You went to all the sites you wanted and he even ordered some fireworks for midnight.

He reserved on your favourite restaurant and he even "asked" (he literally threatened their families) to do your favourite cake.

Of course, all the things you've been wanting since christmas, he got them from you.

In the case the trip couldn't be made cause you already had plans with friends and family, expect him to celebrate before you go and wait for you to continue celebrating.

He understands that you can share your time with other people and he won't interfere but he absolutely would use all the other time you had.

Quality time and gifts are his love language so expect that a lot.

Smoker

You both go a day out at work for personal affairs.

He mades you breakfast and put it on the bed, this day, you are the only thing on his life.

You do everything you want this day: a picnic? done, a fancy restaurant? movies and popcorn?

All of it? also yes.

He even tries to cook himself a birthday cake but the attend gets so bad that you had to help him.

He is reticent about it but when you suggested him that this is the perfect couple birthday activity, he accepted.

The ussual movie flour fight type of thing, but you ended up doing the dessert and you finally made your wish.

But there is no better wish than to have spent the day with him.

Akagami Shanks

You are free from all your responsabilities on the ship.

You are the first to be served on lunch and everyone left you alone to be at peace.

More than that the day went awfully normal, even with Shanks, you started to even feel crazy cause nobody even said "good birthday" but they clearly know due to their behaviour.

Then Shanks ordered to arrive on an island without warning, was almost night so you decided to go to your room, a little sad about the day.

So, half an hour later, Shanks lifted you up and forced you outside, to the night, and you saw how they had prepared a surprise party.

You almost slapped all of them for the secretism but you know you have a soft spot for these idiots.

Food, alcohol and cake passed among everyone and lasted all night.

Shanks took the moment when they all were drunk to be more affectionate and attentive with you, showing you how much love he was acumulating all day for the brithday girl

[00valentina-writes00]

Ambessa x depressed wife?

♡♥︎ Ambessa with a depressed wife ♥︎♡

♡ Ambessa is a woman of action, not words. She sees the weight pressing on you before you even say a thing. At first, she watches—gauging, assessing—before she decides how best to handle it.

♡ She does not pity you. Pity is for the weak, and you are not weak. You are hers. And if something is dragging you down, she will fix it.

♡ She is not the type to ask, “What’s wrong?” Instead, she studies you, pieces things together. The way you linger in bed longer, the way your appetite wanes, the way your usual spark dims—she notices it all.

♡ Ambessa does not tolerate inaction. If you struggle to get out of bed, she does not coax—you will feel her presence looming before she gives a single, firm command: “Up.” She will not drag you, but she will not let you waste away.

♡ She brings you food and watches you eat. She does not force you, but she does not leave until you have taken at least a few bites. If you refuse, she raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “If you will not care for yourself, then I will do it for you. And you will not like my methods.”

♡ When you are too tired to leave your chambers, she does not push—that would be counterproductive. Instead, she ensures that your space remains orderly, warm, lived in. She will not let you disappear into the shadows.

♡ She reminds you of who you are—not with sweet words, but with cold, sharp truth. “You are my wife. The strongest woman I know. Do not insult me by acting otherwise.”

♡ If you cannot find the strength to tend to yourself, Ambessa will do it for you. She brushes your hair, dresses you in fine silks, and fastens your jewelry. But she is not gentle. There is no coddling, only firm hands and the unspoken message: You are not lost. You are still here.

♡ She takes you to war meetings, to social gatherings, to anywhere that reminds you of the world beyond your mind. She does not ask if you want to go—she expects you to.

♡ If anyone so much as implies that you are fragile, Ambessa’s gaze alone is enough to silence them. You are not weak, and she will break the jaw of anyone who suggests otherwise.

♡ She does not allow you to isolate. If you hide away, she will find you. If you do not speak, she will wait. If you are distant, she will pull you back.

♡ Ambessa speaks little of emotions, but her actions are unwavering. She places a hand at the small of your back when you hesitate. She stands beside you when you falter. She waits when you need time—but never too long.

♡ If you struggle with sleep, she does not press you about it. Instead, she sits beside you, sharpening her blade or reading while you toss and turn. You are never alone in the dark.

♡ She ensures that your needs are met, even when you don’t voice them. A warm bath waiting for you. A meal set aside, whether you eat it or not. A weighted fur draped over your shoulders when you sit by the window for too long.

♡ She does not believe in empty reassurances. If you confess your struggles, she listens in silence before saying, “Then we will handle it.” And she means it.

♡ Ambessa does not tolerate self-deprecation. The first time you call yourself a burden, her eyes darken, and her voice is low, steady, dangerous. “You will not speak of my wife that way. Ever.”

♡ She keeps you moving. If you cannot find purpose, she gives you one. A task, a responsibility, something to remind you that you are not aimless.

♡ She does not ask how you are feeling—she knows. But if she catches you struggling, she will place a firm hand on your shoulder and say, “Tell me what you need.” And when you do, she makes it happen.

♡ If you ever break down in front of her, Ambessa does not panic. She lets you feel it—lets you cry, rage, collapse under the weight. And then? She steadies you. Lifts your chin. And reminds you, “You will rise from this.”

♡ On the rare occasions she softens, it is in the quiet moments. When she brushes a thumb over your knuckles, when she pulls you against her without a word, when she lets out a breath and murmurs, “You are not alone.”

♡ She does not fix you. She does not try to fix you. Instead, she stands beside you as you navigate the storm. And she will not let you drown.

♡ If you ever admit that you feel unworthy of her, she laughs. A low, sharp sound. “You are my equal. My wife. Do not insult me with such foolishness.”

♡ When words fail, she stays. She sits beside you, a solid, unyielding presence, until you are ready to move again.

♡ If you disappear into your mind too much, she breaks the silence with a sharp, commanding, “Look at me.” And when you do, she holds your gaze until you remember who you are.

♡ When she pulls you into bed at night, it is not always out of affection—it is a command. “You will sleep.” And with her warmth pressed against you, you often do.

♡ She expects you to fight for yourself, but she knows some days are harder than others. On those days, she fights for you.

♡ Ambessa does not need to say I love you often. It is in every order, every push, every unrelenting expectation that you will not fall.

♡ And if you ever do? She will catch you.

[chuuqqi]

♡ྀི ₊ borrowed

️️️⠀ ⠀️️️ ⤷ roronoa zoro ❤︎

꒰ summary: wearing a piece of clothing owned by the swordsman was not a sight he'd ever imagined enjoying as much as he did. ꒱

꒰ contents: fluff fluff fluff! reader is shy & a little flirty. zoro is head over heels for reader. very soft & flustered zoro <3 ꒱

꒰ notes: i have really been craving some soft zoro content and this popped in my head and i HAD to write it out ^_^ ꒱

♡ + ⤿ are very much appreciated ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა !

zoro had always admired you from afar.

you were beautiful, kind, and merry. you moved so gently, as if all would shatter if you didn't do so. you spoke in such a sweet and melodious voice that every time he heard you, his heart would involuntarily skip a beat. you treated everyone on the crew so lovingly that there were many a times he wished he had even a sliver of the goodness that you had.

despite his stoic demeanour, it crumbled every time you were around. he couldn't help the pink that painted his cheeks, his heart that felt like it would thump out of his chest, his mouth that stumbled on his words. you turned him into pile of mush with your presence alone and it was maddening to him.

though secretly, he revelled in this newfound feeling — if it was with you he got to explore it with.

he didn't think there were any more ways for you to make his heart flutter and stomach churn with reverence. that was, until he saw you wear one of his t-shirts.

he did not own many so he wondered how you'd got a hold of it in the first place. he wondered why you chose his t-shirt out of all the others. had you chosen his on purpose? the thoughts clouding his mind were driving him insane.

seeing you engulfed in his top made his entire body turn to goo. it hung on your frame, clinging onto your divine curves. your chest was more exposed than usual which resulted in a blush to tinge his face when he realised he'd been staring for a bit too long.

he couldn't exactly understand why it was so endearing to him that you were wearing his clothes — it could be that he felt a sense of pride wash over him, making him feel as if you were branded his now. he'd give you every top he owned and relish in the sight.

you were sat on the swing with a book on your lap as you swayed mindlessly. the sunlight bore down on you, illuminating your features in a manner that made you prettier than ever. he had just taken note that the t-shirt's length was long enough to cover the shorts you wore underneath. that allowed him to admire your plush thighs as they squeezed together to keep the book in place.

zoro just stared from the rails. he wanted to come sit by you and ask you why you were wearing his t-shirt. it was a simple question. it was not a difficult task. he had done so much worse before and he had never floundered.

so why did he feel so nervous in this moment?

he felt foolish that out of everything he was capable of doing, this is what rendered him hopeless. "i am so lame", he thought, mentally giving himself a face palm at his idiocy.

"zoro!", he heard your voice call him from the swing. "come here." he didn't think twice as he sauntered over to you and plopped himself in front of you.

"what's up?", he asked, combing through with his hair. only after he had sat down had he realised how close he actually was. if he bent forward just enough, he could rest his head on your thighs. that image alone turned his face into an even darker pink than it was before.

"nothing," you hummed whilst placing your book aside. "you kept looking here so i called you over."

he wanted to dig himself a hole. the fact that you had noticed him leering at you made him feel so abashed. he thought he was being discreet, stealing glances at you when you weren't looking. but wait... did that mean you had been staring back at him? that would be the only explanation, right? he did not want to get his hopes up but just thinking about that possibility made it nearly impossible for him to hold back the small smile that tugged at his lips.

zoro could sense that the silence that had fallen between you both was about to turn awkward so before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "why are you wearing my t-shirt?". it came out harsher than he had expected and that earned him a second mental face palm.

he saw your cheeks redden as you softly bunched up the end of the t-shirt in your hands. "how cute," he thought. your gaze averted his as you said, "well, it was laundry day for me and i didn't have any comfy clothes to wear so i just picked up a top i found that was clean."

and it was his.

"i hope you don't mind," you murmured. your hands now rested on either side of your legs and you pushed yourself forward, your faces now a few inches apart. the distance made his heart race and he swore if you were any closer you'd be able to hear it hammering. he could smell your dulcet scent wafting in the breeze, intoxicating his senses.

he cleared his throat as he croaked out, "no. it's fine. you can wear my stuff."

you smiled and brought your hand near his body. it hovered for a moment before your finger slipped into the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing. he felt your finger graze over his skin as you slowly ran it along the collar. his body tensed up under your touch, his mind turning hazy at your actions. "even this one?", you asked in a tone so sickeningly sweet, he had to restrain himself from pressing his lips onto yours.

he cleared his throat once more before replying, "yeah, wear whatever you like."

you let out a little giggle, removing your finger from his collar. you still hadn't moved back, your faces seemingly even closer than it had been several moments ago. he could feel your breath on his lips and the heat radiating from your body. if his eyes were not deceiving him, the blush that tinted your face had darkened.

"do you like when i wear your clothes?", you asked shyly. it was rather baffling to him that one second you seemed so brazen with your behaviour and the next you seemed so coy. it was admittedly one of his favourite things about you.

he had to reel himself back in from his thoughts that had begun conjuring up various romantic scenarios of the two of you. he peered at you with a docility that he reserved only for you. your entire face was glowing under the sun and he truly believed there wasn't anyone who could compare to you.

his voice came out quieter than he wanted but thankfully you had heard him, "yeah. because it's you."

had it not been for the proximity, he wouldn't have heard the tiny squeal that you let out. the amore he had for you had grown tenfold in that very moment. you slapped your hand over your mouth and shut your eyes, clearly embarrassed by your own reaction. he didn't know if you had meant to but you placed your forehead atop his, letting out a muffled groan.

zoro's eyes were the size of saucers. he was completely frozen, unaware of what to do. your eyes were still closed and your mouth still covered as you continued to grumble to yourself. it felt like you were saying something but he couldn't think of anything except for the fact that you were so close to him that everything around him had blurred. he did not move a muscle, fearing if he did then the moment would be torn away from him.

it was just you and him right now.

he did not know how he had managed to muster up the guts to do this or what compelled him to do so — he lifted his hand up to your face and gently pulled your hands down. your eyelids flickered open and your mouth was slightly agape. his gaze fell to your rosy lips, dreaming about how soft they looked and how kissable they looked. the things he would do to even get a peck from you. he imagined you'd taste heavenly.

your hands had found its way back to his t-shirt, this time scrunching it up in your grasp. zoro wanted nothing more than to pull you into his embrace. it took a great amount of constraint not to do so though since he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable or get upset with him. instead, his index finger carefully brushed over yours, tracing careless circles. it wasn't a grand gesture but he heard you hum at his actions, which suggested that you weren't averse to his advances. that sent him over the moon.

you had pulled yourself back, your face now in front of him. gingerly, you intertwined your fingers with his — his calloused, rough hands were such a stark contrast to your delicate, tender ones. he held onto them as if they were the most precious jewels the world had to offer, unintentionally drawing hearts all over.

he truly could stay like this forever...

"guys! it's time for lunch!", sanji yelled from the kitchen.

the sudden noise caused you both to jump, nearly making you fall off the swing. you stood up, grabbing your book and raced to the stairs. before you scurried up, you turned back to zoro, face completely flushed as you said nervously, "i'll return your t-shirt tonight!". then you dashed to the kitchen, slamming the door behind you.

zoro buried his head in his hands, letting out a miffed moan. "stupid love cook," he grumbled.

[kreayshawni]

pls…. i js want to kiss bill…im so embarrassed but i need that geeky white boy, i wanna put him in my pocket.

i’ll take anything xreader you give me

OFCC !! thank youuu for the request (*￣3￣)╭

kissing bill would include...

this is literally the only time he's ever brushed his teeth. you know how in cartoons they spray like.. perfume in their mouths while getting ready, he does that with his cologne before spluttering and trying to get the taste out because that'd be disgusting

his lips are chapped and bitten i fear..

it starts off as a small peck till he just melts in your softness. but at first, since he has no idea what he's doing, he just kinda sits there. not reciprocating.

the second time he's more confident, so it's just sloppy. clashing tongues, spit all over your chin, so. you have to teach him to be more gentle.

his hands are usually on the back of your head to pull you closer, or they're around your waist to keep you in place.

if you wear lipgloss or anything that can leave a mark, he'll act like he's mad at you for it, but he secretly loves it. he doesn't even bother wiping it off most of the time.

from now on he NEEDS a kiss from you before leaving your house or vice versa. he mainly just wants to taste you for the rest of the day.

this makes him brush his teeth more. and take better care of his skin, cause one time you tried kissing his forehead, and your lips brushed a pimple. you refused anymore after that.

he buys chapstick for you now, usually things that're his favorite flavor. like banana cause he's a freak.

if he's feeling romantic, he'll kiss your moles or freckles if you have any.

he just likes kissing you in general. it doesn't even have to be your lips. your shoulders, your hands, your cheeks, just you.

'' i wanna be your only friend, i only go all the way ''

[reashot]

But I'm Your GF!/Finally Some Arkos.

Pyrrha:

*glug*

*glug*

*exhale*

Barkeep, another!

Junior: I think you had enough.

Pyrrha: *throws glass*

Junior: Motherfu....

Pyrrha: I will tell you when I have enough!!!

Now pour me a drink, you sorry excuse for a bartender!

Junior: Okay sheesh. Don't blame me when you end up dead in a ditch.

*pours a stiff one*

Pyrrha: *glug*

*exhale*

See! That wasn't so hard now was it!

And leave the bottle.

Junior: *rolls eyes*

Hey Blondie you might want to keep your girlfriend from drinking herself to death. Just a small piece of advice.

Jaune: Uhmm... Pyrr. Don't you think you need to stop.

Pyrrha: *downs the entire glass*

And whose fault is that I have to drink so much in the first place?

Jaune: Me. But you only asked me to talk about my day?

Pyrrha: And you always talked about Ruby, Ruby, Ruby! I'm your girlfriend, Jaune!

Why won't you talk about me more!?

Jaune: Well I can't help it. Ruby is my friend and we share a lot of interests together.

Pyrrha: But I'm your partner.

I've been there for you from the start. I helped you with your training.

She didn't do anything!

Jaune: Hey now, Ruby sometimes helps me out too.

Pyrrha: Why are you always defending her!?

Tell me Jaune are you sleeping with her. Is that it?

Because that makes a lot of sense.

Jaune: Me with Ruby? No way!

We're just friend.

Pyrrha: J-just a friend?!!

I saw how you looked at Ruby. What kind of friend look at each other like that?

I also saw you cuddling with her on a sofa in the break room and on a bed.

Jaune: Ruby likes to cuddle, that's her way of showing affection and she sometimes gets very lonely at night.

Pyrrha: What?! She only ever did it with you!

Jaune: What can I say. Ruby just felt safer around me for some reason. That's what best friends usually are.

Pyrrha: Best friend! Best friend! Tell me Jaune does best friend shower together after training?

Jaune: Simple. She's my shower buddy. We're just showering together because we want to do our part to save water.

Junior: By the brothers, kid. What's wrong with you.

Pyrrha: Y-you are u-unbelieavable!!!

*stands up from her chair*

Hey everyone!

*belch*

My boyfriend is cheating on me with his best friend!

Jaune: Please, calm down Pyrrha...

Pyrrha: You don't get to calm me down. You cheater!

You think you can just do whatever you want just because you have a big dick!

Hey everyone did you know that my boyfriend's dick is so goddamn big that it should come with a choking hazard sign!

And he is such a great lover that he can make you cum multiple times with just his finger!

Crowd: *gasp*

Junior: Well that's my cue to stay away. You're on your own kid.

Jaune: Okay Pyrrha. Please come down from there let's talk about this at home. We don't need to make a scene.

Pyrrha: Then how come you never asked me to cuddle or shower with you?! Don't you know that I love you so much?

Jaune: I know that. And I'm sorry for making you feel that way. But rest assured that whatever feeling I have for Ruby is nothing like I have with you.

Pyrrha: *cry*

I'm sorry babe.... I know you and Ruby are just friends. And I agree that Ruby is a nice girl to hang out with.

It's just that every time you talk about her and be all happy about it. I felt a little neglected. I want to hang out with you too you know.

Jaune: Well maybe we can hang out together. All three of us.

Pyrrha: *sniffs* I-I mean if she's cool with it.

*doze off*

Jaune: Then I guess we will ask her together.

Pyrrha: *snore*

Jaune: Oh, I guess you're asleep now.

I'm sorry for everything my girlfriend does Junior. You can put it on my team's tab.

Junior: Urgh. Tell you what kid, it's on the house. Just get her the hell out of here.

Jaune: *heave*

???: Hey handsome. Here's my number if You want to hook up later.

Jaune: Uh... Thanks?

Back at the dorm

Ruby: Jaune, Pyrrha? What happened we were worried sick waiting for you... And why is she smelled like uncle Qrow before noon?

Pyrrha: Ugh...

*belch*

Ruby, keep your hands off... hrugh... My man.

Ruby: Excuse me?

Jaune: My guess is she just has too much to drink.

Ruby: Then we better put her to bed. I mean the rest of the team is already in one after they get tired of waiting.

Jaune: Thanks, Rubes.

*puts Pyrrha to bed*

By the way do you want to have a late night shower with me before we get to sleep? I've been sweating all night.

Ruby: Well... I mean it is good for the environment if we shower together...

So okay.

Pyrrha: * a single tear rolling down her cheek*

Jaune... You liar...

Then the both of them shower together. And nothing is going on between them inside the shower because they're just really good friends.

[peace-hunter]

https://www.tumblr.com/peace-hunter/774219053379239936/baby-op-has-a-favorite-and-is-not-afraid-to-let

OK FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU??! We got baby Orion, look at that bean, so small and cute, but at what cost? The cost of our hearts being shattered….

Now the dramatics are over! The Megatronus doll?! I can hear d-16 seething in jealousy somewhere lmao.

Please tell me I’m not seeing things and Prima pulled out a weapon when he heard the door open?! Ready to defend but not when it was needed most because sentinel is a little bitch.

ZETA BEING ORIONS FAVE?! (It’s so cool you included that because it is part of canon, it’s in the movie novelisation if anyone is curious)

It’s so much more tragic with that piece of info, the way you drew Orion feeling like he’s lost something and having to be snapped out of it 😭 I love your art so much.

It does raise a question though, how old is Orion? Did he age slower or did sentinel do something to was with his ageing?

baby prime orion au

AKJSHDKAHDA THANK YOU I'M GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!!! and that it seemed to hit the way i wanted it to! it is my mission with this au to make it unbearably cute and painful as fuck <33

that doll... i have plans for that doll.... no spoilers but it will come back...

AND YES THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THAT!! you're the first person i see that points out Prima's reaction to hearing someone come in! he's a little (a lot) overprotective of OP and he's always on guard even when they're deep in the tower where no one but their siblings and some trusted members of the High Guard are allowed to enter. he's also lowkey training OP to keep quiet when he hears someone come into his room and to be cautious of strangers. he doesn't want his baby brother to be scared of the world but he just... wants to keep him safe at all costs. most of the primes think he's being a little paranoid but he Does Not Care. once OP is older and can take care of himself they can talk about his anxiety but until then he's sticking to his guns.

and fun fact! when Sentinel sent his trackers to take custody of Optimus during his coup, it took them just long enough to search his rooms for him to allow the High Guard to send reinforcements and take him away. so. anxiety for the win babeeey⁓

and yeah zeta being OP's favorite is directly taken from the novel! in my mind Prima is OP's primary caretaker with everyone else taking turns to switch out with him, but Zeta being the matrix holder doesn't get the chance to do it as often as everyone else. so him dropping by is a special occasion! and because he doesn't want to ruin the little time he gets with his baby brother with anything, he lowkey spoils Optimus the most. so it's a mix of novelty and over-indulgence that gives him the edge over everyone else 🤭

AND YEAH THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING FOR! in this au OP is looking for the matrix for the good of everyone, he does believe bringing it back is the best thing for their society but deep down he also hopes it will fix the gaping wound in his spark he's been nursing his entire life. and when he sees Zeta Prime's lifeless body he knows the matrix being missing from it should be the thing he should focus on but... it's really not. and he doesn't understand why.

and orion's age is... something i kinda hoped no one would remember to ask about (/▽＼)

jk but for real he's about 52 cycles old. he's definitely older than the rest of the squad for at least a decade! buuuuut as a prime he also does age slower than them. this one is not on sentinel, it's just a him/prime thing. a small part of dee's frustration with orion in this au is because he's under the impression that they're more or less the same age but orion acts much more immaturely than he should, but this is kinda because orion literally doesn't mature at the same rate than he does.

it's not by much but the difference is there and they can feel it even if they don't understand it.

i have a chart in case anyone cares about it akjsdhkja

not my best work but it'll do for now.

so basically OP's mental development is one year for every 2.5 cycles while everyone else's is one per every 1.5. he and dee met when OP was 36 cycles old and Dee was 24 which was the exact moment where their mental development was almost equal, which made them hit off pretty well! but after that it was just a matter of time before dee started leaving Orion behind.

again, it isn't by much but the difference exists and is just one more straw to break the camel's back.

also the poor high guard that stayed behind to keep an eye on Orion was working overtime trying to keep people from wondering why this particular sparkling was growing up so slowly. they faked a bunch of records for him and officially speaking Orion is 47 cycles old, when he's actually 52, but even that only gave them a very limited amount of time before everyone started noticing that Orion was kinda little for his age.

they also did their damn best to keep Orion from entering the mines at the age he was supposed to because there was no fucking way they were letting the equivalent of 12 year old go in there.

they did so much crime and falsification you guys.

as it is OP was still mentally younger than everyone else when they went in, but officially he was almost 5 years older than he should've been. it was the best they could do.

so... yeah!

thank you for asking because i had been postponing doing this for weeks now xD

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “THE LOVE ART CREATES”

୨ৎ pairing: boyfriend!seunghyun x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! sweet! cute! and everything you need

୨ৎ summary: you’re an artist who has always loved art and how it makes the soul feel. seunghyun? the same way of course but you’re much more on the.. well, shyer side and it gets in the way of things when he’s always asking to see the art you’ve created. number one rule? never be shy around the art genius himself.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello hello!! so excited to take this request since it’s so adorable and sweet! thank you for requesting it and I hope you can enjoy it!! x

— ᧔•᧓ being able to sit in a room for hours upon hours wasn’t for everyone but you? it was most definitely for you. the art that you created whether it was a simple painting or drawing was so special to you and it’s been that way since you were a very small girl. having a gift is something a lot of people wish for and your gift was creating such beautiful art pieces to share with the world but.. in your case it wasn’t that at all. sharing your art wasn’t something you were familiar with. being an extremely shy girl wasn’t always ideal but it always happened that way for you and you didn’t push it.

— ᧔•᧓ seunghyun was the most supportive boyfriend you could ever ask for. he was gentle, sweet, kind, and never pushed you to show him the art you’ve created even if he so badly wanted to see it. he wanted you to be ready but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to steal a few glances here and there at what you’re doing. to him he thinks of it as cute and can’t get over it.

— ᧔•᧓ “can I just see a little bit of it? you don’t have to show me anything you’ve finished but maybe a little something that you’re working on?” he would ask while you stood there biting your lip trying to decide if you wanted to show him something not finished or not. it made you feel bad especially when he was so sweet about it all so when you slowly nodded your head he felt like he was on the moon! (literally!) his eyes grew big and he did everything he could to not embarrass himself from being so overly excited. too excited.

— ᧔•᧓ showing him the first piece you finished a few weeks ago was a bit difficult for you because of the low self esteem you felt while finishing it. was it your best? not at all but seunghyun thought the opposite. his long fingers sliding down the painting in a slow manner allowing himself to enjoy the art you created.

— ᧔•᧓ “this is breathtaking.. why didn’t you show me this sooner? I know you’re shy and all baby but, look at this! it’s beautiful. the colors you’ve chosen go so well together.” seunghyun wouldn’t be able to put the painting down. he woukd continuously praise it and make sure you know that it was such a good piece.

— ᧔•᧓ he would finally put it down to pull you into a tight hug wanting you to feel the warmth and love from him that you adored so much. “please continue showing me your art, hm? you do so well. I can’t believe you won’t try to sell it! I just know that you could become a little star.” his words always helped you through the darkest thoughts and feelings. “you’re my little star how’s that sound? my sweet little star.”

— ᧔•᧓ from then on you continued showing him the pieces you created but the shyness didn’t disappear unfortunately. each time it would take a bit of time to show him but he would wait patiently like the amazing boyfriend that he was. deep down seunghyun loved it when you got so shy to show him the piece. he would reach his hand up to grab the back of your head and pull you into his chest so you could hide from him.

— ᧔•᧓ “you keep acting this way and I’ll have to attack you with so many kisses. I know you’ll like that but I won’t be able to stop myself.” you’d giggle in his chest while he continued looking at the piece praising it and taking pictures of it so he could show anyone that asked about you and what you did for fun/a living.

[bullet-prooflove]

Can I get "desperate love confession" for Tim and Lucky please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like the other guys.

The Good Book - Tim makes you a promise you don't think he can keep.

After Tim’s convoy is blown up, they don’t let you see him.

You’re not on the list, they tell you.

The thing is you know that there is no one on that list. He has no family, his friends were all in the Hummer with him, most of them dead from the IED that blew up the vehicle. There’s just him alone, in a hospital bed with Lord knows what injuries.

You break into the field hospital later that night. You’ve heard he’s going to be airlifted to Germany in the morning. That means his injuries are severe, that they’re require more care than he’ll get out here in a tent situated in the desert. It’s that that frightens you because it means that there’s a very real possibility that you won’t see him again.

He’s unconscious when you slip into the makeshift ward after midnight, attached to a ventilator that’s seen better days. The sheets are drawn up to his waist revealing thick bandages across his chest. Small burns pockmark his shoulders, first degree you think from the cherry red colouring.

You pick up the chart from the end of the bed, studying the information intently.

The worse damage is the shrapnel from the secondary explosion, they’ve managed to remove as much as possible from his chest but there’s a few pieces close to his heart that they don’t have the resources to take out. It’s going to require a major operation with a cardiothoracic surgeon, which is why he’ll be on his way to Germany tomorrow.

It’s bad, you realise as you continue reading. Really fucking bad. If any of that metal inside him shifts, he’s at risk of bleeding into his chest cavity.

“I know we’ve never said it but I love you.” You whisper as you use your fingertips to brush his hair away from his features. “I need you to do your best to get through this surgery, to come back to me.”

You don’t know if he hears it, the sedation he’s under it’s strong. You need him to know that despite the fact you won’t be there, you want to be, that you’re thinking of him even though you’re over 4000 miles apart. You take the black Sharpie out of your pocket and turn his wrist over, drawing a four leaf clover on the underside. You press a kiss to it before you leave, hoping he’ll understand the significance.

It’s thirty six hours later that Tim wakes up in military hospital in Germany. His chest feels like it’s on fire, every breath a labour. He raises his hand to touch the bandages and that’s when he sees it. The black four leaf clover, drawn on his skin.

“Lucky.” He rasps, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes.” The nurse says kindly as she reviews his vitals. “You were very lucky indeed.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Fifteen

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Much misogynistic language. Mentions of religious trauma, off-screen violence, off-screen sexual assault, off-screen drug use, off-screen cannibalism. Heavy-handed symbolism. Aisling has a small racism flare up.

Moodboard by amazing beautiful spectacular @olenvasynyt, the light of my dashboard

As I’ve learned how to write these chapters have tripled in length. 2.5k words and calling it good? Who was I, one year ago??

Eris started awake, so certain that the slap Aisling delivered to him had been real that he felt his jaw for tenderness.

The skin was unbroken – of course, it had been only a dream – but… It had obviously been her dream. In his dreams, she lay underneath him dark eyed and desperate, whispering filthy things into his ear. She didn’t slap and claw and cry, or ride his cock so ferociously that – yes, he’d cum in his sleep like he was a lovestruck teen with his first crush.

The fire in the hearth was so hot it was almost blue. Eris groaned, letting the linen bedding fall back, running one hand down his face. He stared up at the green drapes over the four-postered bed and contemplated just how pathetic that was.

In the Court of Nightmares, Aisling had been clever and flirtatious but very self-contained. Whatever Rhysand and his ilk were doing to her, wherever they had her, it was turning her wild and angry.

And vicious. Eris touched his chest where she had clawed him, heart still racing beneath. His cock was still achingly hard – he’d never let a female fuck him like that, but that slap… her blue eyes had been burning with the force of it and she’d been hot and raw with the feeling in his arms. He wished she’d done that when they quarrelled in the Hewn City, rather than slipping straight through his hands.

He huffed out a laugh. He’d been worried about them breaking her.

Eris rolled over, and was met with the solemn eyes of Ticru, the grey hound drooling quietly onto the other pillow.

“You are not allowed to be on the bed,” Eris informed him, which the hound damn well knew. Ticru only sneezed in his face, then grunted and shuffled until Eris relented and scratched his ear the way he liked.

“What will you do when Aisling is here? That’s to be her space. You’ll be ousted to the floor,” Eris mused, as Ticru’s eyes closed in delight. No, the hound’s expression seemed to say, you will be ousted to the floor.

He’d scheduled his entire day for the most unpleasant of the problems that plagued him, thinking to consolidate the suffering to get it over with: meeting with a few of the estate owners in the morning, his brother in the afternoon – a special kind of headache.

Damien had been in the Forest House more of late, rather than governing his own territory on the border with Winter. Eris used the term ‘governing’ rather loosely, given that Damien was often bored by it and absconded whenever possible. After putting him off for a few weeks Eris could do so no longer, finally agreeing to hunt with him as a cover for a delicate conversation. Damien never had anything good to say during these meetings – it was always, always something Eris didn’t want to deal with. He’d been that way ever since he was a youngling, running to Eris for help with every problem, so certain his eldest brother would fix it.

Eris was still mulling on how to manage all the moving pieces while whipping in all the loyalties he needed when he stepped out of the door that lead to the stable yard. The empty stone courtyard greeted him, oddly deserted for the time of day; no horses were tied up on the metal rings mounted to the walls, no grooms or hunt servants on exercise, no hounds baying from the nearby kennels. The only sound was an irate, unhappy horse kicking its stable door rhythmically, somewhere in the stone stables.

Stepping into the mouth of the stable proper, the breezeway with its rows of wooden boxes stretched out before him. No horses hanging their heads over their doors – only his own grey, Bayard, and Damien’s mount already tacked and tied, waiting.

Bayard, who didn’t like to be stood in tack, eyed him impatiently and looked like he was deciding just the angle he was planning on tossing Eris. Neither were kicking, and still the clanging -

“Damien.”

The kicking stopped, and he heard the scuffle of boots on straw.

“Yes,” came his brother’s drawl, a bit muffled. Eris crouched for a moment, glancing down between the row of partitions, and – there, two pairs of boots in one of the stables. Eris hissed through his teeth.

“Are we hunting today or not? You called me here, brother.” Eris threw enough heat on the last word to scald. He could faintly hear some whispering.

“Five minutes,” Damien called, and it took a great deal of maturity for Eris not to set the straw aflame as he untied Bayard.

It was fifteen minutes by Eris’ count by the time Damien cantered up to him on his bay mare, pushing his brown hair off his face carelessly, jacket missing, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t apologise or excuse himself, merely shrugging as if to say What could I do? Damien breezed past him through the gates, stinking of sex, and Eris followed.

The forest stretched out before him, and as always, Eris felt some tightness leave his chest. The Forest House was oppressive and unrelenting, but the forest itself was the only place he felt himself anymore. The trees bowed and sighed and bent themselves towards him, already whispering, already soft with dappled sunlight.

His forest. His trees. His land. By blood, law, and magic.

“Telling Mother I had a consort was foul play,” Eris said, loosing a deep breath as they rode beyond the wards. Bayard danced underneath him, snatching at the bit.

“And yet you admitted to it so readily,” Damien’s teeth flashed, and his tone was flippant. “You should have come up with a lie of your own, then, instead of using mine. How is the darling boy?”

His name for Lucien, heaped mockingly on Lucien’s head after their mother kept calling him that well into puberty.

“How should I know?” Eris didn’t want any of his brothers knowing Lucien’s business – or that Eris had been in semi-regular contact with him. His brothers were sly, though, and cut from the same cloth he was; Damien was particularly good at knowing what he shouldn’t.

Eris hadn’t seen Lucien since that night in the human lands a few weeks ago. He’d let Lucien and Jurian dig for more details about Aisling and all that transpired, giving a choice few. Mostly to rub Lucien’s nose in the fact that he had a mate whom he had fucked, while Lucien’s ignored his existence and preferred to dig for worms in the mud.

Lucien had agreed to see what he could when he went to Velaris, because Lucien was largely a better male than the six other Vanserras combined. In exchange, Eris would continue to rebuff Rhysand from Spring. It was an easy agreement to make; he was invested in Spring’s stability regardless. The largest landowners that were his staunchest supporters in Autumn were largely all along the southern border with Spring, and had been his allies until Tamlin’s latest failure. They wavered now, their wealth and power hinged on the soil fertility and the potent, latent magic that suffused the seasonal courts. Tamlin’s performance supplied a great deal of that magic, and without it, the magic of the land would begin to falter. He had perhaps a year before the bad harvests well and truly bit them, and his allies would leave him to support Beron who still wanted to expand into Spring.

Eris had wanted to create a proper alliance between the seasonal courts for a while, even before Amarantha; he knew it was a necessary step to balance the dominance the solar courts enjoyed. Damien knew this very well, though; and he knew how much Beron and his circle of ancient, traditionalist advisors opposed it, believing in the old ways of isolation and no inter-court alliances.

“Has he kissed and made up with the beast? Someone needs to put him on a leash. The southern lot are growing frantic.”

“Been in Spring, have you?”

“You know me,” Damien shrugged insolently. “I get around. So does the gossip. I hear an awful lot about you, brother.”

Eris felt his face harden when Damien leaned over and grabbed his wrist, winnowing them – horses and all – to a small glade, bordered with bone-bright birch trees. Eris felt the pressure of strong wards, and then the truth of the glade was revealed to him.

A small wooden hunting cottage, nestled between the birch trees and complete with a small well outside and a lazy curlicue of smoke from the chimney. It was a lesser fae’s cottage, built to a slightly smaller scale than would be comfortable for a High Fae; it was pokey and quaint. Somewhere up north, nearer Damien’s estates, judging by the sudden cut of mountains against the horizon.

Eris had spent more than a few nights hiding in variations of these cottages, left abandoned when the brownies and korrigans that occupied them fled Beron and Amarantha. They made good refuges, particularly for High Fae younglings that didn’t want to be found by furious fathers.

“I need to show you something,” Damien muttered, hopping lightly off his horse. “I don’t….”

His jaw firmed as he decided against whatever he was about to say, then abruptly turned on his heel for the cottage.

Eris studied it critically as he waited, Damien stooping to get through the front door. These cottages and shacks had a natural sort of protection, some of the lesser fae’s distinct magic, which Damien had enhanced and built on. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing around the tree trunks and Bayard chewing his bit quietly.

Abruptly, the wooden door shot back open. And of all the things he expected Damien to emerge from the cottage with, a baby wasn’t one of them.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” Eris barked.

“Don’t swear in front of my daughter,” Damien admonished, but he couldn’t quite smother the frightened look in his eye. Eris was suddenly reminded of the way he’d run to Eris when he was little, a broken vase or torn tunic in his hands. Eris, fix it, please, he’d beg, brown eyes making the same pathetic little expression they were right now.

Damien shifted the baby nervously. Not a baby, Eris realised now as he swung off Bayard, a little older than that. A female. All auburn curls and pale little fat limbs. Damien thrust her at him nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“How did this happen?” Eris demanded as Damien all but threw her into his arms. The toddler blinked her eyes open muzzily, and Mother help him, her eyes were the exact shade of Beron’s brown. She yawned, then nestled her head back against Eris’ chest, rubbing her face against the green wool.

“Well, I don’t know which hole you like to stick it in–“ Damien hissed as his shirt sleeve caught fire, flicking it out quickly.

Eris waited him out, still staring at the toddler, wishing he could clatter Damien across the face if it wouldn’t rouse her. She carried so much of Beron in her features that it was actually a little frightening – had Beron ever truly been a child like this, or had he sprung out fully formed and already vicious? It was unpleasant to think on.

“Her mother is of Winter,” Damien supplied, inspecting the charred hem of his shirt with a frown. “Despite her looks.”

Eris saw the problem at once – this was an Autumn child, through and through – but still asked, “She couldn’t keep her?”

Damien hemmed and hawed for a moment, drawing closer to stare at the toddler as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Well,” he finally said. “She’s already married. So that was a bit of an obstacle, really.”

Eris did punch him then, one quick closed fist to his left eye.

“It is so like you to fuck up my politics for the sake of some cunt,” he seethed, as Damien reared back with a welt over his cheek, teeth bared. “Fuck’s sake, Damien, Winter? Kallias is already tricky enough since Beron –” was a massive prick to everyone and everything and currently engaged in a minor trade war over the price of timber, not that he could voice that aloud anywhere in Prythian – “insulted Viviane, now you’re getting bastards on his nobles too?”

“It’s not my fault,” Damien groused, the toddler starting to kick her legs and squall at the raised voices. “When she told me she was pregnant, she said she was still fucking her husband so we both sort of just hoped –“

“What a brilliant strategy, you absolute prat.”

“- that the youngling would be the father’s, but…” Damien gestured lamely at her, her face starting to scrunch up, sensitive to the anger of the males around her. “And then her husband nearly threw her out. But he agreed to stay married so long as the child wasn’t in his household, so I put her here with Brunna.” Brunna, his brownie servant, who’d looked after Damien since he could crawl – and now, apparently, Damien’s ill-advised by blows. It was as if Damien had forgotten all about the fact that he’d helped hold Lucien down while Lyam tortured his lover. If there had been a bastard baby involved as well…. Eris shuddered.

“Why can’t she remain here? In secrecy?” Why tell me and drag me into this mess at all? Eris nearly shouted, and it was then that the toddler let loose her first wail and the dead leaves beneath his feet caught fire in a little burst of sparks.

“Because of that,” Damien said brightly, looking pleased at the display of magic.

Eris’ body remembered what to do with a child, the same he’d done with each of his brothers. He fell into the slight rocking and patting that soothed them, stroking her hair as she snuffled, deciding whether he’d like to strangle his brother with his bare hands or run him through with a sword.

To father a child while Beron still lived was an act of carelessness so monumental it bordered on criminal. To have no contingency plans was even more criminal, and very unlike his brother; Damien had obviously panicked, if the way he kept studying the youngling like he could turn her icy blonde and blue-eyed was any indication.

“Her mother called her Niniane.”

Brunna wouldn’t be able to look after her safely if she was already summoning fire. That was Vanserra magic and needed to be trained by those who shared the same. She looked up at him, Beron’s brown eyes wide and trusting despite the lingering tears and miserable sniffles. She stared, and very carefully reached out to touch his face – a child who’d never known not to touch the males around her, who trusted whoever held her to comfort her.

Damn him, they were all so fucking stupid. Every one of his idiot brothers, and him too.

“Not anymore,” Eris decided, as her pudgy little hand touched his cheek. “She can’t have a Winter Court name. Call her something else.”

Damien’s face grew less taut at this. “Nynyve?”

The Autumn Court variation. Eris considered it then nodded shortly, making Damien’s shoulders drop slightly. She touched Eris’ face, then her eyes and hands wandered to his earrings.

“He needs to die,” Damien said, still staring at his daughter. “Whatever you need. I’m behind you. Whatever I….”

He trailed off, and such was the grip that Beron held on them that they still couldn’t give voice to it. But Eris understood. He nodded once more, watching as Nynyve grabbed a handful of his hair – a close match to her own, more crimson than her auburn but still undeniable – and shoved it into her mouth.

He’d forgotten this propensity to gum everything. He winced, Damien chuckling as he carefully extracted the soggy lock. She was a year, if he had to guess. No words yet but she was big and curious, nearly ready to walk. Fire at a year old was precocious; her mother must have been a strong magic wielder.

“Your magic came in early, too,” Eris mused, thrusting his niece into his bewildered brother’s arms. Damien took her willingly, letting her grab on to the gold chain around his neck.

“I’ve always been exceptionally talented.”

Eris ignored that. “Before she’s two,” he said lowly, unwilling to part with too much. Damien had exposed himself to Eris, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust his own brother with the plan he was shaping. It was quick – almost too quick, he doubted it would be enough time to foster more support from the loyalists and the isolationists, but he had his own vulnerabilities to protect. Aisling couldn’t cope much longer, and his nerves were stretched to a wire tautness from every pressure heaped upon him. “Brunna will need to cope until then.”

-

The hour had come upon her to go to Velaris. Azriel had insisted on waiting until nightfall, despite the politest request she could muster, so Aisling had huffed around the moonstone palace for hours after the High Lord left, only growing more nervous.

She didn’t have a suitable cloak, really – it was one constant temperature in the City, so clothes were more for decoration than functionality. Nuala had tried to press one of Azriel’s on her and Aisling launched it through the window, refusing to wear Illyrian clothing on principle.

Nuala eyed her cropped, gauzy shirt and skirt with clear criticism in her eyes, skimming over her bared waist.

“As you wish, lady,” she finally said, grey arms crossed over her chest in clear opposition. “If you wish to freeze, it’s your choice.”

Azriel looked like he’d like to be anywhere put participating in that conversation, staring resolutely out the window until Nuala huffed and sighed. Finally, he cautiously extended a hand to Aisling as if she’d bite it off, such were her nerves.

Aisling didn’t hesitate to take it.

They stepped through the shadows together, and Aisling could feel more distance than she ever thought possible slip by. It was frightening, especially now that she was aware of what was happening – she could feel the pull of shadows elsewhere, wanting to spit them out, like running down a corridor with many doors. The shadows were all connected in one great web, pulsing and alive and very unhappy that she was caught in it.

She gasped for breath when they emerged, releasing her white-knuckle grip on Azriel’s arm. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. The first thing she noticed was that Nuala had been right, annoyingly, she was freezing cold.

The second thing she noticed was the rain. It was a fine, gentle mist; she could faintly see it falling but she felt it landing, settling in her hair, on her bare skin. Aisling shivered in exquisite pleasure, feeling like a raw nerve. The drops clung to her eyelashes and she was delighted, having to wipe them again and again – her hair was wet, her clothes were wet, what a gorgeous feeling –

Azriel was watching her with what she thought was amusement, or maybe derision. Aisling glanced up at him, and then beyond –

They were on a hill, and there were trees (trees!) behind them that she was desperate to touch but ahead of them, visible behind the Illyrian, was a city. Her city climbed up, all spires and towers with bridges that arched between them, but this city spread out over its foothills (hills!) like a rumpled blanket. A river (not as impressive, they had one of those in the City) wound through it, a lazy dark strand of yarn, curving a meandering path through little stone streets. Mountains (smaller than hers, Aisling estimated) ringed the opposite side, a protective shield, clustering the little city against…

The sea. Aisling gaped, delighted all over again, and she must have made a noise because Azriel shook his head. Well, fuck Azriel; she wanted to look at the sea and be happy. He got to look at it every day. He could be jaded if he wanted to, but he couldn’t tarnish the amazement she felt. It was astounding, stretching out to the horizon, further than she could see in every direction. So much water! And the smell of it all was rich and fresh and new. Aisling wanted to swallow it whole so she could keep it with her forever and always.

Two cities. A precious, delightful thing to have seen. She committed the scene to memory, so she could show Niamh in her dreams.

“Are you ready?” Azriel asked, his cold, smooth voice betraying no impatience. “I’ll fly you to the library where you’ll be staying, if you’re amenable. So you might see.”

That pacified her. Aisling nodded, though she wasn’t keen to go indoors again for as long as she lived. She delicately held Azriel’s shoulders as he lifted her. It felt a bit like she was betraying Eris, to be held by another male, but then again – Eris was over 500 years old and had probably had a long line of females in his arms before her.

The train of thought fell away as Azriel took flight. Aisling swallowed a scream as they left the ground, feeling the muscles in his shoulders flex as the wings clapped like a drum and they were off. It was dizzying, and she made a strangled noise as he banked and the world tilted sideways.

“You don’t need to dig your nails into my neck quite so hard.”

Aisling didn’t believe that for a second, and gouged harder as the world tilted sideways the other way, but the city unfolded before them like a painting she could touch and she forgot to be frightened. The houses were pale stone, not grey like her city but white and sandstone, all marching up and down their hills. She could see different fae as Azriel flew, and see the smoke the spiralled from chimneys, and see all the lights that spilled out over the streets like buttery puddles, and that there were cafes and bridges that cut across the river. Her head swivelled like a top, trying to see it all at once, somehow.

It was pretty.

Azriel angled for the steep hill that edged its way into the city, some building crawling up its side and perching on its peak like a sandstone hat. As they came closer Aisling saw the great marble doors cut into the side of it.

Of course. Underneath another mountain. She gouged her nails in once more for good measure as they landed – how did he not break his ankles? The ground approached very quickly – and he discretely held her arm as she caught her balance, somehow out of breath even though she was carried the whole way. The massive doors, at least trice her height, cracked open as they approached.

“This is the library,” Azriel explained lowly, as they came into a cavernous space. Open, tiered balconies crawled all along the side, layers of an enormous carved cake; shelves of books disappeared up and down. He said the word ‘library’ like it was something holy, when the only thing that separated it from the library in the Hewn City seemed to be its size. He let her look, twisting her head around to take it all in.

A great pit beneath, a carved stone ceiling up above; it was not so different from the City.

“Rhys established it for priestesses to come and learn, but it’s also a sanctuary. Any female who has suffered is allowed to come here, to recover, to heal in safety. You’ll stay here as well.”

He said this with more reverence, and that was when Aisling noticed the blue-clad priestesses flittering like moths, trailing between the shelves and on their way to somewhere. Probably to dinner or to an evening service, it was getting late. A few glanced at them, their faces concealed beneath their blue hoods.

“They’re allowed to read?” Aisling asked, and Azriel looked at her sideways.

“Of course,” he said, voice cold. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re female,” Aisling said. It was rather astounding to her – females weren’t really allowed in the library in the City. They could go if they were escorted by males, but all the males Aisling knew extorted her for the privilege. She didn’t mind paying bribes, but the favours she had to perform were far more costly.

She didn’t really like remembering the things she had had to do, anyways. She could only go forward.

They approached a desk that sat facing the entrance door, the obvious guardian of the library behind it: a female, her face veiled in pale robes, her hands smashed in all directions like crushed bugs.

Not an average priestess, a High Priestess – the blue stones that crowned her hood and marked her as such caught in the golden lights. Aisling curtseyed on instinct. She remembered her own lessons at the hands of the High Priestess in the City temple well enough, even after more than forty years. She averted her eyes to the floor, away from the Priestess’ face, away from her hands, away from Azriel. Was everyone in this place so damaged?

“This is Clotho, who oversees the library,” Azriel was introducing them. “Clotho, this is Aisling, whom Rhys spoke with you about. Aisling, I leave you with her. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the hollow mountain where they kept all their broken females. Aisling waited for the priestess to say something, staring resolutely down. The hushed quiet was broken by scratching, making Aisling glance up quickly.

A quill scratched its way quickly along a piece of parchment, which then floated to her – sent by the priestess’ magic.

Aisling took it warily. Do you wish to rest? was all that was written on it.

She toyed with the end of a damp lock of hair anxiously, twirling it around her finger in lieu of a ring. What was the right answer? She felt suddenly overwhelmed, chest tightening and breath shallowing. She was a prisoner here, her situation had not changed. Perhaps they only wished to bind her closer in, until they extorted Eris sufficiently. They could not kill her without starting a war, or at least repercussions. Even if Eris were unable to act, the High Lord of Autumn was prickly and would never allow the profane insult to pass –

Aisling was broken from her spiralling thoughts by another piece of paper.

We do not perform the same rites here as our sisters in the Hewn City. You will be safe here. The lights will guide you to your room, if you take the passage behind me.

The dismissal was abrupt, but she’d rather that than have the priestess look too long at her. Aisling was unsettled by her presence; not by her crippled hands, but by the fact that priestesses pierced the veil between this world and the Mother and that was something to be feared. Few enough mothers were kind or held love for their children, and the City priestesses rarely let you forget it.

Surely enough, the golden faelights lit warm stone passages to indicate for her where to go. She felt as if she were a ghost once more, being led up and around this new mountain, trailing forgotten down an empty hallway. These hallways lacked the ornate, gilded carvings that decorated near every surface of the City; Aisling found it almost austere. A door opened, and she stepped into a room that was all but a prison cell.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was so small – this was surely an insult to her. Did they all live like this? She could walk across the room in four strides one way and three the other. A chest of drawers on one wall next to a door, a single bed pushed against the wall opposite, and a curtain drawn over a window beside it. No rug, no art; this was a room meant for a servant of the Mother and the High Lord.

Aisling crossed the room and flung open the curtain furiously, only to see Velaris clinging to the hillsides below her. Warm, well-lit buildings and cosy streets hugged the hills, criss-crossing back and forth across them, a crowded city square at the bottom. She could see the edge of the river as it wound its way through the city, and she could smell the distant sea, strong even despite the sounds and scents of the city below her.

To buy a window with a view like this in the City – even if it were possible to cut their way through their mountain’s strong magic – would have cost her most of her wealth. The elite of the City would have killed for it, and perhaps only the ten foremost of the forty most noble families would have been able to afford it.

And they were just given one, in these shitty little rooms. At no cost or charge, just to create a safe haven for them. This was a place of refuge for females, Azriel had said; obviously females that had experienced great violence, judging by the High Priestess’ hands and muteness.

Aisling had seen beheadings. She’d seen limbs cut off and tongues cut out before. She’d seen eyes removed with hot tongs, she’d seen males disembowelled in duels, she’d seen a banshee hung by her ankles over the throne room to see how long until she died (six weeks, but the last week the banshee had stopped screaming, so some insisted it had only been five). She’d seen goblins and trolls fight to the death for the amusement of the gentry. She’d seen someone been made to eat a plate of ground glass. She’d seen females be forcibly bedded, heard the jokes about the blood that came from between their legs. She’d seen lesser fae split open and their organs eaten so their magic might be absorbed. She’d been fed and smoked and drank every sort of drug, sometimes by force and sometimes so she forgot the things she did. She’d had a cock jammed so far down her throat she coughed up blood. She’d seen Azriel’s shadows swallow someone whole. She’d been sold like a piece of furniture to Eris. All that, and Aisling had never even heard of this library.

What had these females experienced that was worse? Or was it that the suffering endured by females in the City weighed only half that of those born outside? Aisling knew the answer already, could see it in the High Lord’s eyes when he had come to ask for the Darkbringers in the last war against the King of Hybern. If all the females of the City fled to this sanctuary, then who would breed the army the High Lord needed?

He didn’t want them tainting his city, besides. He and the High Lady sat on their thrones and sneered down at them, made all the gentry watch while they growled and petted at each other. The High Lord looked as if he wanted to grind them all beneath his heel every moment he forced them to endure his presence.

Aisling felt a terrible cold sort of clarity, crisp as broken glass; she knew she could safely wager the entirety of her estate that there would not be one single Illyrian female in this sanctuary either. Azriel had said that – he said they clipped their females so they couldn’t leave their mountains, so they had no choice but to submit to the males around them and breed more little warriors.

Aisling felt dizzy. She pressed her forehead into the stone windowsill, so like her own home and yet a different lifetime away, and closed her eyes until she could breathe once more. Her blood was sour, roaring in her ears until all else was black.

She felt it then. A little tug on her ribs – not her ribs, a tug on the magic, a quick burn like a candle lit up in her heart. Eris, somewhere out there; perhaps looking at the same moon and wondering why she was so angry that she went lightheaded.

Aisling cried then, until she fell into the black pit of a dreamless sleep.

Her first day in the library passed in something of a daze. She had been roused by the chiming of a great bell, and numbly followed the blue-hooded priestesses to a dining hall. She was given a wide berth, marked as much apart by her clothing and bared head as by the way they all kept glancing at her – well, she assumed they were glancing at her. She couldn’t see their faces, but she’d been watched all her life and knew when she was a spectacle.

She attended a service because that seemed to be what everyone did, sitting in the pretty temple-cave at the back. It was all very lovely and charming with its smooth red stone walls, the songs about the goodness of the Mother and the light of the world. A priestess spoke at length about the Cauldron, and how beauty and love and forgiveness were Her gifts and should be treasured in their hearts. It was a far cry from the priestesses in the City, who preached obedience and submission and the divine fulfilment of creation.

Aisling’s eyes prickled with heat despite herself, and she blinked quickly until the feeling passed. She had nothing in common with any of these females, she reminded herself as they all bowed their heads. She couldn’t bring herself to pray for love and forgiveness – she didn’t need either of those, for herself nor to give others – but she did pray for trust and patience. Allow me to survive this, she prayed. You gave me this bond. I trust it is the right path.

A priestess caught her elbow as the service ended, beckoning her to follow by saying, “Clotho would like to see you.”

The high priestess wasn’t behind her desk this time, rather in a cosy office stacked with books and scrolls. Piled high, on every available surface; the stone shelves carved into the walls were all but groaning under the weight. Aisling wanted badly to peruse but fixed her gaze respectfully on the surface of her wooden desk instead. As before, she didn’t reveal her face; instead, the enchanted quill wrote a note instead.

I trust the accommodation was acceptable.

“Of course, High Priestess,” Aisling lied, not mentioning that she cried herself to sleep like a child and suspected the stone floor would be more comfortable than that horrendous mattress. “I like the window very much. You’re very lucky to have such a view. My friends will be sick with envy when I tell them.”

The priestess faced her for a long moment, her face obscured. Aisling shifted under the scrutiny, twisting her signet ring around her little finger; she felt suddenly nervous that the priestess was a daemati herself and was poring through her thoughts.

You may call me Clotho. Aisling would rather cut out her own tongue, actually. The priestess must have seen it in her face, because the quill started moving once more.

We are welcoming here, and do not enforce rank. Some may be curious and friendly to you as we do not often receive new faces. Others have had poor encounters with the Darkbringers and may not be so open.

Fuck’s sake. Had she been summoned here for this, to be dressed down for the behaviour of the legion? The clue was in the name – they brought darkness where they went, as they tended to do; it was the High Lord who had requested they fight. Aisling supposed it wouldn’t be enough that they’d bled for this city; now their sins – and she could guess what they were – were being assigned to her as well. The anger that hadn’t really left her simmered up, hot as Eris’ fire.

“You can tell them I’m being suitably punished for the crimes of soldiers,” Aisling said, ripping the note neatly in half. “I’m sure they’ll be much heartened to hear that.” And she hoped all their windows were shuttered, regardless of whatever they’d endured.

You misunderstand me. I ask that you give them the benefit of the doubt, not to chastise you for things you had no part in. The High Lord told me of your circumstances. I wish for you to feel comfortable and safe here.

Aisling read that note twice, careful to keep her face blank, mindful of the priestess watching her. This was a lie that she didn’t believe for a moment. She crumpled it in her hand.

“May I read the books?”

Of course. You may read whatever you like. I only ask that you do not remove them from the library.

“Remove? As in, outside?”

Yes.

“I may go outside?”

The priestess tapped the word with one swollen knuckle. That was an exhilarating thought, and Aisling was sorely tempted. But first –

She smiled in her best simper, looking up from under her lashes. “Do you keep records of this city here?”

-

Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed of a mountain (again, the same? A different one?) that split in two with a mighty crack. Then the mountain was in her hands, and she was trying to fit it together but it wouldn’t mend - the sharp edges grated and splintered and refused to fit, shattering into fragments and shards - then the pieces were of a glass mirror and her hands were bleeding from the sharp edges and she could see her own face fractured into a dozen tiny pieces impossible to put back together. Her hands were slick and clumsy with blood and she couldn’t hold all the pieces, they were getting numb and thick and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and it was getting so dark -

She woke with a start, Mor’s hand lightly on her shoulder.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Neither see nor feel nor know.”

Mor blinked, her brow furrowing. Her blonde hair was tossing in the wind, silvery-gold against the clouded sky.

“I thought to wake you, the sun is going in,” Mor said slowly. “It will be cold soon.”

Yes. That’s right. She was in the garden, and seemed to have fallen asleep on the bench. Elain sat up quickly and smiled carefully, coming back to her own body now: the sun was going in, grey clouds scudding across the sky in great folds. The trees were budding and the early spring flowers had come up; she’d planted this little bench with that exact intention, nestled amongst tulips and daffodils. 

There was a chill, actually. She shivered, suddenly registering how the cold wood of the bench seeped through her dress.

“Thank you, Mor,” she chirped, cringing internally. “The sun was so lovely while it lasted. I’m so pleased spring is on the way.”

Mor was still looking askance at her but seemed much reassured by this.

“Of course,” she smiled. “It will rain later tonight, though. Will that be good for your garden?”

They babbled inanely back and forth for a moment longer like two stupid songbirds, Elain crossing her fingers the whole time that Mor wrote off her momentary madness as just being startled awake.

Elain followed her in through the back door - the one that led into the private family lounge - and stopped shortly, nearly walking into Mor’s back. The blue rug and pale wood floor were covered in glass shards, all sparkling in the daylight;

She was holding the pieces of a broken mirror in her hands Elain forced the vision crowding at the edge of her mind away, smiling so widely her face felt numb. This was just simple, no magic involved - the great silvered mirror that hung opposite the door had fallen off the wall and shattered. That was all. Her magic didn’t need to press in quite so close or insist with such a loud voice.

Rhys was gathering the shards with some magic, sweeping them all into a pile, as Feyre carefully restrained a gleeful Nyx from trying to grab one of the shimmering pieces. Mor picked her way over them, light-footed as a doe, and was gone down the hall with a wave.

Elain, trying to hide the way her vision kept going spotty, crouched down to distract Nyx who squealed loudly in her face at all the excitement.

“Hello, Nyxie,” she said as he stamped his feet. “Did that give you a fright?”

“We didn’t even hear it,” her sister said with a frown as Nyx twisted away from her and flung himself at Elain. “We just came in from the office and it had shattered.”

“I never liked that mirror anyways,” Rhys said, kissing Feyre’s temple fondly. “It was only a priceless antique. We don’t have a painting of just the three of us yet, darling. What do you think? Far better in my view.”

Elain wanted to gag at the thought of yet another painting – was one in every room of the house not enough? - but focused very intently on the view of the garden out the back door to keep that thought from getting fully formed and floating to the top of her mind. Rhys hadn’t noticed, too busy giving Feyre a rather enthusiastic kiss, so Elain quickly scooped up Nyx and stepped out of the room.

Still trying hard not to think of her vision, she narrated to Nyx as she bounced him along in a little gallop, focusing on the words lest either of them eavesdrop on her mind.

“While your Mama and Papa clean that up, we’re going to go make some tea because I’m rather chilly. I think I’m going to have chamomile and honey, perhaps with a slice of lemon-”

“And she’s going to pour Auntie Mor a cup,” Mor chimed in as Elain rounded the corner into the kitchen, laughing at her blush. “I’ll entertain the little bat if you make the tea?”

Elain, still a bit embarrassed, nodded and handed Nyx over.

“I’m back off to Vallahan in a little while,” Mor said, bouncing Nyx as he chattered to them in babytalk. “I can’t stand to be here while we host our delightful guest.” Her sarcasm was so heavy the word practically fell on the floor.

Elain made her best sympathetic face. “Is she so bad?”

“She will be,” Mor said darkly. “I don’t trust them. They’re so….” She trailed off with an angry sigh, brown eyes gone dim and distant. “Well, it’s a new moon at least, so she won’t be showing her face tonight before I leave.”

At Elain’s puzzled look, Mor laughed.

“They do things according to the phases of the moon,” Mor waved her hand dismissively as she drank from her tea. “They’re so backwards. They believe certain phases of the moon are more auspicious for certain things. Weddings always under a full moon, betrayals under a waxing crescent moon. That sort of thing.”

“A first quarter moon always means more murders,” Rhys commented as he swept in, hair mussed. He gave Mor a shit-eating grin as she playfully rolled her eyes at him. Elain’s smile grew taut at the thought.

Mor noted her reaction. “I’m telling you, they’re evil there. And even worse, they’re creative about it. Where your imagination for torment ends, theirs is only just getting started.”

“It will be a shame to lose her line, though,” Rhys mused, more to Mor now. His eyes grew dark as he thought about it, accepting the cup of tea Elain poured him with a nod.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Mor said coldly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “She should stay in that mountain. This is going to go badly for us unless we do something.”

“Her line?” Elain asked pointedly, realising they were already forgetting she was in the room.

Mor blinked, brought out of wherever she had gone. “It’s a big deal for marriages to cross between courts. High Lords are very protective of the magic of their courts and don’t like to let it leave, usually. That’s why we were all so worried about the others finding out about Feyre. This female doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. So once she leaves, all of her magic – just like that, it’s lost to us and now in Eris’ pocket.”

Elain hadn’t heard any of this before. She was starting to realise just how little she knew, and how much she’d blinkered herself by never even daring to ask questions, assuming everyone would just ignore her anyways. Her palms got hot and itchy around her teacup, which she sipped carefully, considering what Mor had said. Rhys hefted Nyx with a groan, sauntering out of the kitchen again, giving Mor a casual goodbye. Elain had to ask now if she wanted to know, before the conversation turned and she lost the moment and looked suspicious if she raised it again.

“What does she do that’s so special?” Elain made pains to ask it as breezily as she could, soaking up what little scraps of knowledge they were casually tossing out as if they didn’t matter - as if she wasn’t hanging on every word.

“Oh, she can put people in an enchanted sleep,” Mor said, inspecting her manicure. “She creates dreams, too.”

Every single hair on Elain’s body suddenly stood on end, and she was careful to slowly, casually, gently put her teacup in the sink and wash it out. Like she would any other day, she washed her hands, dried them thoroughly, checked her nails.

“I, uhm…. I need to go shopping at the markets today. Rather urgently.”

A/N: Nynyve is a variation of the name Viviane, both of which are names for the Lady of the Lake. Bayard is a mythical French horse, who could carry multiple brothers at once. I wanted to give Aisling a bit of a different relationship with religion than we've seen. All three Archeron sisters aren't believers, and none of the POV characters really mention it - but it plays a role in the books, so I wanted to experiment with a character who really DID believe. Like most patriarchal societies, though, I think the Hewn City would use religion as a way to oppress women rather than uplift them like we see in ACOSF. I'm experimenting with how I write Elain's visions, since I'm not really happy with them. She quotes "England in 1819" by Percy Shelley (I think some fourth wall breaking use of poetry is fun, since the visions are meant to be very meta).

[unluckywisher]

If this is totally outside your realm of comfort to write then that's cool but I figured there's no harm in shooting my shot. Your small chested reader with Caleb piece was delightful, and I was wondering 👉👈Might you consider writing a little something about a trans reader who's dealing with chest dysphoria?

While this isn't my field of expertise, I would love for my fics to comfort all kinds of people so I shall try my best!!! <3 🫡 Constructive criticism is appreciated since this is my first time writing this kind of stuff!! :D

Caleb was the first person you told about your transition, both because you consider him your closest friend, and because you knew he would support you. And he does!

At first he didn't know much about what he should do or how he should act, but being the resourceful man he is, he immediately looked into it so he could be as supportive as possible and anticipate any needs you might have.

Of course one of the first things he learnt about was how you could feel uncomfortable and insecure of your own body. Not on his watch.

Prepare to receive lots of binders in different styles because he just has to make sure you're comfortable and you look how you want to look. All the while saying and reassuring that you don't need these to be a man, you already are, but he figured you would appreciate them.

He would show you his favorite clothing stores and encourage any and all styles you might want to try, trying to be objective with you so you'd know he means it if he says that you look how a guy would look, without being condescending.

If you keep tugging at your shirt or wearing baggy clothes because you're not comfortable with your body yet, he will just. Take your hand and make you feel how big his chest is. He'll joke about how he might need to wear a binder too by your standards.

He'll invite you to go exercising with him and encourage you to wear tighter sports clothes, biggest hype man there ever was.

"You keep complainin' about your chest but I only see it getting flatter and mine getting bigger. I think I'm absorbing your energy and getting more powerful." And such memery aplenty.

Insists that the human body isn't even that representative of anyone. He uses Viper as an example. Then he uses his arm as an example. Then he worries a lot that you'll take it as an idea and go to Professor Lucius to get your body modified.

No even a question but he would pay for any surgery you'd want to have, if you want to have it, and get actually good doctors.

[sysig]

Feeling and looking good 🌈 (Patreon)

[rox-of-iu]

me + mayhem going on a stupid silly hike for my stupid silly mental health

touched grass and i am normal again (lying)

[vgamer164]

Trying out papercraft!

[rosicheeks]

gotta ask the follow up question...

What tattoo do you want to get the most?

Nooooo I want so many though 😤😤

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

edit : i'm sorry but this post is messy i don't like how this is the ramble that got the most attention shhffs please check out the addendum in the reblogs if you want a more clearer analysis

-

FIRST OF ALL the thing about the paint huffing - Other than that it's funny - is that we were getting ragatha at her most honest . she's more reflective and reveals her mind more which is a Lot considering that she has shown herself to be a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . this is Literally The Last thing she wants

and honestly it would be fun to see the fallout of this in episode 5 when she would inevitably sober up and be Mortified about that fact considering she said This to gangle here

like . interesting ragatha . is that why you Do Not Stop Jax when he goes to bully gangle . other than not wanting him to hate you you also prefer it if gangle is in her tragedy state . is that it . Is That It -

also you guys don't know how much i fucking screamed at these scenes okay . there's nothing i love more than nice characters that show their less than desirable traits . my favorite thing about ragatha is not that she's a sweetheart but that she's Dishonest . even to the point that gangle mentions it in her talk with pomni

like my ongoing theory right now for the ' evil ragatha ' comment gooseworx made for episode 5 is that ragatha's going to say or do the Most Morally Ambiguous thing possible that will send the entire fandom on fire . like we're talking Arguments on whether she's in the right or wrong Even though this is a show that invites nuance instead of black and white views , and it'll be so fucking marvelous to witness

NOW . i really don't think she's faking being nice ! i believe with all my heart that ragatha's inherently Good and i will throw hands at anyone who thinks otherwise . it's just that she's just Repressing What She Thinks About The Others because , again , Avoiding Conflict ! which is shown by how annoyed she got with pomni talking to gummigoo ( gayass ) , what she said to gangle , and what she said to zooble

yes i screamed about the toybox interaction i knew that ragatha was going to not like zooble's grouchiness But I Digress .

all of this is interesting because . again , ragatha's a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . i think her reasons for being nice and helpful are both selfless and selfish . selfless - she doesn't want anyone to go through the stress and pain of feeling alone , and selfish - she doesn't want anyone to hate her . they're like a smoothie , she's not one or the other . it's just that the latter reason ... has a lot more influences on her thought processes than she'd like to admit .

and that's showcased if you look at episode 2 with her conversation with kinger . she was worried about pomni going through something traumatizing , yes , but she added that she thinks pomni doesn't like her that much . which . it's a small piece of dialogue but it really shows how much ragatha's Gripping That Fucking Fawn Response . yes , her concern is everyone's wellbeing , but she also Would Not Like It If Anyone Hates Her , to the point that it'll stick to her . and she'll try So Hard to compensate for it .

like . she is really a nice person but she's dishonest because she doesn't want to be hated which is very much a selfish reason . she's falling into that pitfall of ' a friend to all is a friend to none ' . argh . why is she so complicated god i'm going to put her in that deepfryer again