#unsurprising but shitty nonetheless

[achaotichuman]

...or at least keep going until dawn?

For @emerieweekofficial Day Two: Soul of a warrior.

Summary:

She’d keep going. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she would. She'd cleave this mountain in two with her bare bloodied hands if that’s what it took.

The Blood Rite is nearly finished. With Dawn just on the horizon, and the last stretch of the Breaking out before them, victory is right within sight. But the Illyrian males behind them are faster than Gwyn, who wouldn't be able to make the last of the journey before the three Valkyrie were torn into by dozens who wanted their heads.

They're trapped between a rock and a hard place, someone needs to stay as the last defence, and someone needs to take Gwyn and make the last of the treacherous climb.

Nesta and Emerie say goodbye, and then, Emerie pushes herself beyond her limits, and conquers the Breaking.

A/N:

This fic covers the last part of the Rite from Emerie's POV when she carries Gwyn through the rest of the Rite. I've kept the first half of the fic canon compliant, however, instead of the Stone transporting Emerie and Gwyn to the River House, I had it take them to Emerie's shop to have a more in depth look into both Emerie and Gwyn's character and relationship. As I wanted to explore how they would react to the possibility of losing Nesta, and how they would support each other.

Anyway, hope yall enjoy!!!

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Something deep in Nesta’s chest cracked. Cracked open completely, and what lay within bloomed, full and bright and pure. 

She wrapped her arms around Gwyn. Let her friend sob into her chest. “I’ll face it with you,” Gwyn whispered, over and over again. “Promise me we’ll face it together.”

Nesta couldn’t stop her tears then. The chill wind froze them on her cheeks. “I promise,” she breathed, stroking Gwyn’s matted hair. “I promise.”

Gwyn sobbed, and Nesta let herself sob with her, squeezing her tightly. Letting her stroking hand come to rest on Gwyn’s neck. 

A pinch in the right spot, exactly on that pressure point Cassian has shown her, and it was done. 

Gwyn went down. Unconscious. 

Nesta grunted, carefully lowering Gwyn to the ground as she peered up at Emerie. Her friend’s face was grave but unsurprised. 

Nesta only said, “Can you carry her the rest of the way?” It would be a feat in itself. “Or at least keep going until dawn?”

“I will.”

She would. She saw Nesta, her arms still holding their friend so tightly. Gwyn’s matted ginger hair splayed over Nesta’s bloody flesh. Silver fire burned bright as the North star in her eyes, this was resolution, a last rush of determination. Even as Emerie’s heart shattered over and over with every passing breath, she should have known that they would not make it out of this together. 

But maybe, maybe at the very least, Emerie could protect one of them. 

Her whole life had been spent carving out her own path. Making her way in a world that was dead-set on forcing her down another road. Then one day, a High Fae with a sort of sadness came into her shop, and a new path opened before her. 

She wasn’t able to protect her mother, she had barely been able to protect herself. But now, she would protect Gwyn, and maybe, she might be able to protect Nesta, in the one way she could. 

Emerie kneeled down, laying her sword across the cool snow. Her dagger. A shield. A last attempt at carving this shitty world into a better place for all of them. 

“Keep the canteens,” Nesta said, gesturing to her own strapped to her side, “I’ve got enough.”

It was a lie, a lie brimming with tears that Nesta pushed back. A lump found its way into Emerie’s throat but she willed herself to believe it nonetheless. 

“She’ll never forgive you for this.” Emerie said. She meant it to be light-hearted, but her voice refused. Gwyn wouldn’t forgive her for this, and Emerie didn’t want to either. She wanted to shove both Gwyn and Nesta through the last stretch of the Breaking, to the top of Ramiel, and take on each and every one of the assholes who had spent their lives making hers a living Hell. 

But Nesta would never let her. She’d use everything in that deep, deep well of raw Goddess-given power to stop her. 

And for that, Emerie couldn’t make herself hate Nesta for this even if she tried for a thousand years. 

“I know.” Nesta said, with a voice of finality. Like the ringing call of Death itself. 

The other Illyrians were getting closer, and closer. They were out of time. 

Nesta didn’t speak as she picked Gwyn up and helped heft her into Emerie’s back. Sharp pain shocked through her back, a deep ache settled in her bones, pulsing through her entire being as her wings spread out farther than they ever had since they were clipped. The scars stretched and stretched until she felt the skin tear, blood flowing freely down her already sweat and crimson slick skin. Tears started to well in her eyes, but with every ounce of willpower in her soul, she blinked them away. 

Nesta tied the bloody rope around them, and it began to truly sink into Emerie, that this was it. This was the last time the three of them would ever be together. After tonight, Nesta will be gone. 

Her eyes filled with tears again. 

“Come with us.” She begged, it was futile, this game was over before it started. Emerie didn’t know how, but she could feel it. Nesta was never meant to leave these mountains. 

She shook her head, “Consider it repayment of a debt.”

Emerie stared at her for a moment, for a startling second laughter nearly bubbled from her throat, because what her friend was saying was so absurd, instead more tears slipped down her face, “For what?”

“For being my friends. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Those words were what broke Emerie entirely. 

Nesta was going to leave them tonight. 

And she would leave them thinking she had owed them something. 

“There is no debt, Nesta.” She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying anymore. 

“There is. Let me pay it.” 

Emerie forced back her tears. They were out of time. She thought she might have had the opportunity, the chance, to thank Nesta for everything she had done for her. 

Instead, she couldn’t. The chance had slipped through her fingers, the time was gone, the life they all could have had been stolen, like every other damned thing that so many others had stolen from her. 

She didn’t have the words, she didn’t have the time. So, she just nodded, her final salute to the warrior, the friend, the random High Fae that once showed up in her shop, that she loved with all of her damning heart. And then, she headed through the rest of the Breaking. 

Emerie felt the air spark around her, viciously cold, flames that felt like ice spiked in her soul. Anger for what was done to her mother, hatred for what they had done to herself, rage for what had been done to Gwyn and worst of all pure terror, hatred, disgust and burning, burning rage for what had been done to Nesta, and what would be done to her now. 

She gripped Gwyn’s thighs hugging her waist tightly and forced her burning legs towards the peak of Ramiel. Every single muscle ached, she was on fire, and it fueled her. She had come so far. Gone so far. Defied everyone, broke every rule, and she would not stop now. 

She couldn’t protect Nesta, but damn the Mother, damn the Cauldron, damn the males, she would protect Gwyn. And she would live, godsfuckingdamnit, she would live to protect every daughter born like her. 

The sound of steel, shouting and flesh being carved open echoed from behind her, Emerie did not look back. She felt Gwyn stir against her, fighting rest, even as blood loss pulled her in and out of unconsciousness. The very thought of rest tried to chip at Emerie’s resolve. If she stopped for even a moment, she would collapse, and more than likely, never wake up. 

“Whas happening?” Gwyn slurred, exhausted, still half-gone. 

“We’re almost there.” Emerie whispered, her breath clouding in front of her, she could see it, they were almost there. They were almost there.

“Where… Nesta?” 

“She’s…”

The sound of a male screaming as something drove into his body. Nesta. 

“She’s right behind us.” Emerie lied. 

“She kept her promise.” Gwyn said. 

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

“We are Valkyrie.”

Laughter bloomed from Nesta and Gwyn, Emerie joined them as she lightly stroked the friendship bracelet around her wrist. She could feel nothing but pure, radiant joy. 

They had found each other. Through the thick of the mountains, stayed together in the dark of night, hiding in that tree. Together, they had faced it. And they were gonna win this. It just meant they… they were gonna be separated now, for a little while. 

“Yeah.” Emerie said, “Yeah, she kept her promise, we faced it together.” And this time, her words were not a lie. 

They were so close now. The sharp tang of blood frozen by the harsh winds whipping against her face. Blood dribbled along the pure white with every shaking step. He wings felt as though they would tear at the base. Spots of black edged her vision, bile rose in her throat, Emerie was trembling so badly, she could feel every fibre of her being alight with blinding pain. Open wounds weeping as the ice biting at the raw nerves caused them to burn like fire. 

She’d keep going. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she would. She'd cleave this mountain in two with her bare bloodied hands if that’s what it took. 

For her mother. 

For Gwyn. 

For Nesta. 

For every pair of wings turned flightless both in the past and future. 

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

This mountain would crash against her too, it would wash over her and she would be what came out the otherside. 

This mountain would not break her. 

This. This was what a warrior was, Emerie thought, as every muscle in her body burned and contracted. As her wounds wept blood that spilt across the floor. As her bruised face was whipped by the wild wind. She gritted her teeth, spat out the blood in her mouth, letting the pain wash over and pass through her.

Emerie barely remembered the rest of the way up, the sounds of her feet crushing the snow underneath blurred into the sounds of the battle behind them. But she remembered her heart hammering in her chest, and the brush of the stone underneath her fingertips when she made it. 

The blinding light filled the world, blooming into this space of dark and death. 

For a brief, blinking moment in time, Emerie saw her. A glorious streak of red and glinting silver in the world. Gwyn saw it too, but her echoing scream for Nesta, reaching out into that pocket of space, was swallowed by light and power. They were swept away into the blanket of space and time. Caressed by a never-ending sea of night. 

Then the world crashed back into her, and Emerie passed out. 

Someone was shaking her, yelling her name, the voice that spoke was familiar and it made her feel warm inside. But there was something that cut through that warmth, as Emerie slowly came back to consciousness. Blinking away the haze, she saw someone kneeling in front of her. It slowly occurred to her that she was laying sideways. 

Finally looking up, Emerie recognised the long, ginger hair that stuck to pale, freckled skin. Those teal eyes reddened, cheeks stained with tears that continued to fall without stopping. 

“-merie! Emerie thank the Goddess!” Gwyn cried when she saw her friend open her eyes. 

“Gwyn.” Emerie croaked out. She was alive. They were both alive. They escaped. 

No. Not escaped. 

They won. 

Gwyn tried to say something but it was choked out as a sob broke free from her. Racking her chest, making her shake uncontrollably, her tears were a never-ending flow, the cry that tore from her throat was animalistic, raw and grieving. 

Emerie shot up, briefly caught off guard by the lack of sharp, deep pain from her injuries. 

Emerie wrapped her arms around Gwyn. Pulling her into her chest. Keeping her close. 

“It’s over.” Emerie whispered, “It’s over.”

“She’s gone!” Gwyn cried out. 

The words hit Emerie like a blow to the gut. 

Looking up, Emerie saw just the same four walls of her bedroom. The fireplace nothing but cold ash now. The curtains of her window was drawn. They sat on the hardwood floors, their sight only lit by the light of dawn pouring in from her open bedroom door, and the windows in the corridor. 

It was all the same. All the exact same. Only she wore the leathers of a dead Illyrian male, and blood, most of which was not hers, clung to every pore. No bath would be able to scrub this away entirely. 

In the quiet light of Dawn, the first ever Valkyrie-Carynthian, grieved the friend they loved and lost. 

The Stone seemed to have simply returned them to the place they last were before entering the Blood Rite. Emerie was thankful for it. She couldn’t imagine having to hike all the way back from the boundary around Ramiel to her home. 

After what felt like forever, Gwyn had passed out again in Emerie’s arms. She herself couldn’t sleep if she forced herself too. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Nesta, defending them with all her might for the last time. So, she picked up Gwyn and focused all her energy on making sure her friend was okay. 

Her energy was renewed from the Stone. The burning in her muscles was still there, but without the injuries for the first time in the last day, the burning alone was the easiest task in the world to bear. 

Emerie had hated herself for it, but she shook Gwyn awake after running her a bath. Gwyn had been in a trance of her own. Having looked at Emerie, Gwyn had seen what she was doing. Trying her best to focus on anything else. Understanding had passed over her. This was Emerie’s way of dealing with it, picking up the pieces of what was left, and trying to make something of it. The same as she had done when her mother was killed, and the same as she had done when the piece of shit who claimed to be her father had died. 

It was that same mindset that gave her the strength to get through the Breaking, even as her wings had been ripped and torn under Gwyn's weight. Even as Emerie had listened to the sounds of fighting and gore behind her. Event as she had weathered the terrain and cold that tried to force her to yield. She never stopped moving.

So, Gwyn allowed Emerie to dot on her, it gave them both a sense of calm. A sense of belonging after so much loss. 

After Gwyn bathed and changed, she took her clothes and put them in a basket, along with Emerie’s stolen leathers. Then she cleaned them thoroughly, till they were scrubbed of all that had happened, before putting them back in a basket outside and leaving them there. In just a half-hour, they were gone, and coincidentally, Emerie saw two young boys outside her shop window, sporting worn Illyrian leathers that were just a bit too big for them. 

Gwyn helped in preparing the shop, and once the floor was swept, the fire was lit, the shelves were cleaned, the beds were made and the linen was washed and drying. They both sat at the table, and looked down at the tea Emerie didn’t remember making. 

“What do we do now?” Gwyn was the one to break the silence. 

Emerie didn’t have an answer for her. So, she stayed silent. 

Did they grieve? Did they follow the traditions that were custom when Illyrian males were killed in the rite? Did they follow the traditions for High Fae of the Night Court? They tended to differ in Illyria vs the Hewn City. 

Emerie wasn’t sure if Velaris had its own set of customs. Or would Nesta want them to follow human traditions? She didn’t even know where she would find out what human traditions were. Her first instinct was to ask Nesta, but when she looked over at the seat where Nesta used to occupy, it was empty and cold. 

It was then that Emerie noticed that she had poured a third cup of tea, and its steam wafted into the air, untouched. 

“She might not be dead.” Gwyn whispered, “There’s a chance she was able to hold them off until dawn.”

“But we were transported back here by the stone. Wouldn’t she too? Dawn has long come and gone.”

“Maybe it transports us back to where we feel safest?” Gwyn suggested, “She could be back in the House of Wind with Cassian?”

Emerie just blinked at her, letting the implication of her words sink in. Gwyn continued, “Or maybe it’s only the stone that transports you. Maybe Nesta had to walk back?”

 “You feel safest here?” Emerie asked. 

Gwyn looked at her for a very long time, then she stared down at her tea, “I…”

The morning light shone on Gwyn’s still damp hair, gleaming like fire. The steam curled around her face. Emerie studied every part of her. High cheekbones, a smatter of tan freckles across her nose, travelling down to her collarbone. Teal eyes that glowed with emotion. 

Emerie memorised it all. Every single part of her. Who would know if Gwyn was next to be taken from her? Stolen in the night, or ripped from her arms. Dying for her salvation, or being killed in crossfire. Who would know? They were Valkyrie. They were warriors. They were soldiers. 

And soldiers died. Soldiers fought, and died. Warrior fought, and warriors died.

It had been the same for the Valkyries of the past, and it was the same for them.

So, Emerie looked through the stretch of space between them, capturing the glow of Gwyn's eyes, shining with tears, and kept it tucked away into the deepest parts of her heart.

This is what Nesta had fought for. What she had fought for. What she would continue to fight for. Gwyn, herself, all the others...

“I feel the safest with you.” Gwyn eventually said, lifting her eyes to see Emerie, “I feel safe with you, and her.”

Gwyn’s voice cracked at the mention of Nesta. Something splintered in Emerie’s heart, again and again, and again.

“There is still a chance she’s alive.” Emerie murmured, “There’s a chance she’s… not.”

“What do we do?” Gwyn asked again, “We are… We are Valkyrie-Carynthian now.”

“We are.” Emerie agreed, “Valkyrie-Carynthian.” She murmured the words slowly, trying to wrap her tongue around them. It still hadn’t quite set in. But it also felt so right.

“What would she want us to do?” Gwyn asked, in a voice too small for what she had accomplished the last few hours. What they had won together. 

“Move on.” Emerie answered. 

“How could she possibly want us to just move on-”

“She thought she owed us something.” Emerie muttered, “Her defending us, her fighting for us, in her eyes it was paying her debt.”

When Emerie found it in her too look up at Gwyn, she saw those teal eyes wide with horror, brimming with tears. 

“No-” Gwyn started, her voice breaking with the force of her tears. 

“She said ‘Consider it repayment of a debt. For being my friends, even when I didn’t deserve it.” Emerie remembered every word like they were burned into her mind’s eye. She didn’t think she’d ever forget them. 

She just wished she’d been able to push Nesta to say something else. To say anything else. Emerie stayed at her tea, and hoped with all her might, that Gwyn was right and Nesta fought until Dawn, so that her last words were not that. 

Gwyn did not answer, she just cried. Her lithe shoulders shook, she lowered herself to the table, hands clenched so tightly they were white. She trembled without stopping as she cried and cried. 

Soon Emerie began to shake. Her wings trembling. Her body spasming. Even when she bit down on her tongue so hard blood filled her mouth. Blood with its horrible, horrible tang. Even as she gripped the table until her fingers were burning. She couldn’t stop it. 

“You don’t owe me anything!” She wanted to scream. “I am yours because I want to be! You are mine because I need you!” 

Tears burned in her eyes. They burned her cheeks. Her heart was on fire, her body was on fire, she was burning up in the memory of silver flames. 

‘It’s your fault,’ Emerie thought to herself, ‘You should have pleaded with her to say anything else. You should have forced anything else from her mouth!���

We needed more time. 

We deserved more time. 

For every time we were left alone. For every dream we wished to the stars. Begging for what we had. The three of us. We deserved to have more time. 

"Emerie," Gwyn whispered through shallow breaths, reaching her hands out between them. Holding Emerie even as her own crying was persistent.

"Yes?" Emerie managed out. Trying to hold back the onslaught of emotion she was drowning in.

"It's not your fault." Gwyn said, "You... You fought for us. For me. Alongside us. There was nothing to be done."

Emerie didn't answer. She couldn't if she tried.

The bell of the shop door rang out as it opened, Emerie just stared at her hands. She did not sob, but her tears flowed and she could not stop them. 

Gwyn managed to force her body to stop its grieving. She looked up at Emerie, after a moment, she put a hand on her knuckles. Pulling them away from the edge of the table, Gwyn pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to Emerie’s fingers. Then, silently, she got up, wiped her tears, put on a blindingly sweet smile, and walked out to the shop floor. 

Emerie sniffled, thanking the Goddesses, thanking The Mother, thanking her own mother’s spirit watching over her, that she had the strength to carry Gwyn through the Breaking. If she had lost Nesta and Gwyn… Emerie didn’t think she would be able to survive. 

Gwyn screaming snapped Emerie entirely from her thoughts. Before she even processed what she had heard, her legs had forced her to her feet and she was running to the shop floor. 

Just as she went to grab the closest blunt object to use as a weapon, Emerie stopped dead in her tracks. 

There she was, gleaming in the morning light. Bright as a new moon, blooming as she looked at Gwyn. 

Gwyn seemed lost in a trance, tentatively she reached out a hand and cupped her blood-stained cheek. Like she couldn’t believe she was here. 

They seemed frozen in that moment. Emerie took in every detail. The silvery light that bounced off the snow outside, framing her from behind. The flicking of the fire that warmed her face from the front. Her bloody hair, braided in a crown around her head. 

This was a moment Emerie would never forget, staring at Nesta once more. She was alive. 

It seemed to click for Gwyn at the same time, as the redhead suddenly broke down crying as she threw her arms around Nesta pulling her into a hug so tight Nesta winced. Her injuries still present. But she ignored her own discomfort as she held Gwyn just as tightly. 

“You came back.” Gwyn sobbed into Nesta’s shoulder. 

“I always will.” Nesta murmured. 

Eventually, Gwyn forced herself to pull away, still staring at Nesta like she couldn’t quite believe she were here. That their hopes had been answered. But she stepped back, and Emerie stepped forward. 

Nesta lifted her eyes to Emerie, and for another snapshot in time, they faced each other like warriors. Fellow soldiers. Knowing something had been sealed between them on that mountain when Nesta had asked Emerie to carry Gwyn to victory. 

“I-” Nesta started. 

“YOU WILL NEVER OWE ME ANYTHING” Emerie screamed with all her might. The mountains might have shook. The ground might have split. The world might have shifted. And then Emerie leapt forward and grabbed Nesta into a hug that couldn’t possibly be close enough. 

“How fucking dare you.” Emerie whispered, “How fucking dare you let those almost be your last words to me.” 

Nesta shook with silent tears, burying her face into Emerie’s shoulder as she broke. 

“Everything I do for you is because I love you.” Emerie continued, “I love you.  And I love you selfishly, Nesta. You are mine. I am yours. There will never be a price.”

“I love you too.” Nesta whispered. 

There was another set of arms, and Emerie simply wrapped Gwyn into the hug, pulling them both close. 

Yes, something had been sealed between them on that mountain. 

A deep understanding. A bond that could never be broken. 

Even if one of them went through the veil to the next life first, they would always meet each other on the other side. 

"I saw you." Nesta whispered into the space between them, "I saw you, when you conquered the Breaking."

"Yeah?" Emerie whispered.

Nesta lifted her eyes, pushing her forehead against Emerie's, as she murmured, "You looked like one of the Generals of Old. Like a Goddess of Battle carved from marble."

Emerie swallowed, "You were a blinding streak of steel and fire." The words rolled easily from her tongue, like she was kneeling before an altar. Presenting a sacrifice to her God.

"You have the soul of a warrior, Emerie." Nesta said, and her voice was filled with such wonder, such awe, Emerie felt heat shot through her face.

She distantly felt Gwyn's hand slip away as Nesta cupped her face with both hands. The Priestess slipped behind Emerie, wrapping her arms around her waist and burying her face into her shoulder. Like she knew what Nesta was trying to do for Emerie.

"You have no idea what you looked like then," Nesta whispered, "But I saw, and what I saw was magnificent."

"Fuck, Nesta-"

"You did something so extraordinary. So... So, Godlike, I-"

"You don't owe me your compliments, Nesta. You owe me nothing. Did you not just hear me-"

"Emerie." Gwyn cut through, "What you did won us the first female Valkyrie-Carynthian title in history. Let it sink in."

"You both know it wasn't just me-"

"No, it wasn't. But..." Nesta bit her lip, like she couldn't form the words she needed to say.

She took a deep breath, a thumb caressing Emerie's cheek. A touch so warm and gentle. Emerie leaned into it, breathing in her seat. Feeling Gwyn's arms tighten around her.

"You're a warrior, Emerie. And when you made that climb," Nesta's eyes were hard like the steel she had wielded, they burned like her fire, "When you made that climb, you shouted that from the tops of the mountains, to the darkest pits of the Bog of Oorid. Now, everyone will know the name Valkyrie-Carynthian. You are powerful beyond language, and now everyone knows it."

Emerie screwed her eyes shut. It was too much. Everything was too much. Just months ago she had been nobody to anyone. Nobody's daughter, nobody's friend, nobody's anyone. And now...

"Goddess, save me. Mother hold me..." Emerie felt a sob choke out of her. She collaspsed and Nesta and Gwyn caught her. Emerie buried her face into Nesta as she cried her prayers, as she held what was hers so tightly.

"Cauldron bless, and carry our souls through the darkest nights and treacherous days." Gwyn hummed as Emerie cried and cried and cried.

They stayed like that for the Gods know how long. Gwyn whispering the prayers and songs that Emerie's mother used to sing to her when she was so, so young. It comforted her, it made everything feel a little smaller again, a little more manageable.

Eventually, when Emerie could stand without falling over again, Nesta and Gwyn took her up to her bedroom. Gwyn made them all another tea and they held each other as they cried and laughed and cried some more.

Eventually, they fell asleep, and when Emerie awoke again, the moon was high in the sky. It's light slipping through the curtains.

She slowly peeled herself away from her friends, as fear had gripped her from the memory of being stolen away from her bed the night before. Gwyn didn't wake, only pinching her brow in unconscious frustration before rolling away from where she had been clinging to Emerie's side.

Nesta, a lighter sleeper, woke easily when even slightly jostled. Her steel eyes blinked open, she yawned and sat up as well. Leaning against the headboard, silently observing Emerie through half-lidded eyes. At some point during the night, Nesta must have slipped away from Gwyn and Emerie, as she was clean and in a new change of clothes. The thick, warm shirt and sleep shorts she wore Emerie recognized as her own.

"I can't go back to sleep," Emerie eventually said, breaking the silence.

Nesta nodded, then glanced back at Gwyn, who mumbled something in her sleep, her mouth open, and a small bit of drool running from the corner of her mouth. Emerie had to bit her lip to stop her laugh.

"Let's leave her be." Nesta whispered, slipping out of the covers and padding towards the door. Emerie watched her, and when Nesta reached the threshold, she turned her head over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow.

"You coming?"

Emerie's feet moved on her own as she followed after the High Fae.

Nesta made them both tea, her hands moving in slow, precise movements. She winced with every wrong turn, but when Emerie tried to help, she told her to sit down. So, sit she did.

Soon, Nesta was pressing a warm mug into her hands, which Emerie gladly took, then Nesta slid into the seat beside her.

"So," Nesta started, "What do you want to talk about first?"

"What happened? After I touched the stone?"

Nesta swallowed, "A lot."

"Tell me." Emerie said.

Nesta took a deep breath, then explained. She told Emerie all of her Belluis' true intentions, and the battle with Briallyn. Then of Feyre and the new Heir's early arrival. And how Nesta had made a deal with the Cauldron to give up her power.

Emerie listened intently to all of it, at some point she had rested her hand on Nesta's, when the High Fae's knuckles had gone white as she went tense, recounting the tale.

"No wonder you were late getting back then." Emerie mumbled, Nesta let out a sharp, barking laugh.

"Yeah. I was a little preoccupied." She smiled.

"That's the understatement of the year." Emerie squeezed Nesta's hand once more. Then another question came to mind.

"Why didn't you stay with Cassian?" She asked, "You could have sent word, we would have gone to you in Velaris. You didn't have to come all this way and leave your mate alone..."

Nesta shook her head, "I... the Bond was taken along with my magic. The Cauldron saw fit to remove everything. I only have a small sliver of magic now, and it is little more besides winnowing."

"Oh... Nesta, I am so sorry-"

Nesta waved her hand, "Don't be. The removal of the Bond itself didn't hurt, it felt the same as my magic being taken, it just... drifted away, as if it was never there to begin with."

"Still. I know you love him."

Nesta furrowed her brow, "I love him. I do, I really do, but... The Bond, it confused platonic and romantic love. Didn't help that I was locked in a house with him for months."

Emerie nodded slowly, "How did Cassian feel?"

Nesta shrugged, "I left as soon as I knew Feyre and the babe were safe. Cassian was occupied with ensuring everyone was unharmed, I don't think he even knew. Again, it was all painless."

Another squeeze of her hand, "What are you gonna do now?"

Nesta shrugged once more, "Same as you."

"I don't know what I'm doing." Emerie revealed.

Nesta smiled, "Exactly."

A short, quiet laugh. Emerie stared at their conjoined hands.

"It killed me, you know." Emerie murmured, "To leave you there. I think it killed me."

There was silence, Emerie couldn't bring herself to look up. She didn't have to, Nesta spoke.

"It killed me too. To know we didn't have any more time. But I couldn't have made the climb. You were the only one strong enough."

Emerie turned slightly more towards Nesta, enough so she could hold Nesta's hands with both of her own.

"I would have rathered I fight with my whole soul and body, with you two behind me, until Dawn, than see you die, Nesta. Than you leave me." Emerie's words were a whispered breath, a secret confession in the quiet of the night.

"I would have rathered I be the sacrifice-"

"I would rather fight to my dying breath than live without you. It does not frighten me to die, it frightens me to be without you. So, don't ever fucking do that me again." Emerie gripped Nesta's hands harder, "Don't ever leave me like that again."

"I won't." Nesta whispered, "I won't."

"You asked me if I could keep going until dawn." Emerie recounted, "Nesta I would have kept going until my flesh fell away from the bone."

"Thank god it didn't come to that then." Nesta murmured, staring down.

"But one day, it may. We are Valkyrie. We are warriors, and I need you to know, that for you, for Gwyn, for us, I will fight and fight and fight."

Nesta swallowed hard, "You're stronger than most, Emerie."

"I'm as a strong as you are, Nesta. I'm as strong as Gwyn. I'm strong with you two. But if I didn't have you, I would... I could not be brave without you two."

"I wouldn't be strong or brave without you two either." Nesta murmured.

Emerie lifted one hand, her fingers grazing Nesta's chin, gently tilting her head up. They were so close, they nearly shared a breath, and Emerie caught the near silent hitching gasp Nesta let out, the way her pulse began to flutter faster in her neck, the way her skin coloured a beautiful, dark red.

Emerie whispered, "Thank you, Nesta. For being you."

Tears pooled in Nesta's silver eyes, "Thank you for being strong enough to carry us through."

That night, hidden in the warm dark of Emerie's shop. Guided by the moonlight and dying embers, Emerie learned that Nesta tasted like jasmines and apple. Her skin was soft underneath her lips, and she bit her lip whenever Emerie dragged her teeth over her pulse.

They went to bed, and the next morning, there was no sign of what had been said or done that night. But there was something restless put to sleep between them. They both felt lighter, like they had been unchained after so, so long.

Emerie knew so much from her time alive, she had felt so much, seen so much, sometimes it was just too much.

But she'd always go forward. Never looking back. She'd march on, and on. Forever she go, until the break of dawn.

[paperbackribs]

A Tarnished Copper Boy (5)

Previous | Next | Ao3 Last chapter, Steve disappeared in Eddie's bed leaving only a bloodstain behind, but not before the boys decided that the best way forward is to avoid changing anything in the timeline.

cw: homophobic language, violence

Chapter 5: Bitter Serpentine Beast

Eddie thinks he may be going a little crazy thinking about the stain that Steve left on his bed two weeks ago. Stumbling into the bathroom that morning, he’d found a small pile of blood-stained bandages stuffed into the bathroom bin too, immediately ratcheting up his alarm to near panic. He’s since forced it to settle into a low-level anxiety that nonetheless persists, a pervasive presence curling and twining at the base of his spine.

He can’t decide whether seeing Present Steve helps to relieve his concern or simply encourages Eddie to concentrate on it, like worrying at a loose tooth.

Even today, watching an unwitting Steve play in the shirts versus skins basketball game below him, proves only to be a distraction by increments.

Eddie’s gaze often helpless to do anything but follow him, eyes dipping to his short green shorts, riding high above rippling thigh muscles, the scattering of hair on Steve’s legs creating an enticing shadow before being hidden away underneath high, white tube socks.

Honestly, the outfit’s almost indecent and Eddie tears his gaze away before he becomes provoked enough to do something stupid like unroll his tongue and howl at the moon.

As he does, he catches the mildly annoyed look that Coach Harbour shoots him, perched as he is mid-way up the bleachers. One clasped hand around a clipboard, gut hanging over his jeans, and whiskers twitching in tired irritation for the least athletic boy in this class, including Asthmatic Brett two rows below Eddie who has his nose buried in a blue binder.

He happily hangs back though while Coach pretends to believe that Eddie has a similar medical excuse; the last time Harbour forced him to participate, he’d ended up with a bloody nose from falling into a wall. No one had been near Eddie, he’d even half-heartedly been running towards the centre of the action, but he’d managed—in an absolutely unsurprising turn of events—to trip on air and ram face-first into brick.

A truly stellar moment in his school career that Eddie only survived the searing embarrassment of because no one had seemed to notice but Coach. In his gym uniform, shoulders bare of black leather and fingers bereft of heavy silver rings, Eddie is invisible within the crowd of students at Hawkins High School.

Now, Coach pityingly allows him to sit on the sidelines, and, out of respect for the privilege, Eddie refrains from heckling whenever someone’s throw bounces off the rim.

The shouts of cajoling players reverberate through the space as Steve catches the ball and, in one smooth turn, deftly sinks it through the net. Shawn Stanton high-fives Steve and Eddie looks away from the sliver of skin that’s shown as his shirt rides up, reminded that whatever injury Future Steve has, it’s in a place that Eddie couldn’t see at the time.

He traces it at night, the remnants of the bloodstain he’d not been able to scrub out. Like it’s an augury of death and destruction, an omen that will allow Eddie to read the future if he only interprets the lines and shades of it correctly. Hoping that Steve has landed safely back into his time; closing his eyes shut against the growing conviction that Steve is somewhere, sometime bleeding out, alone.

A small, shameful part of him wants Steve to fall back onto his living room carpet. He wants to hear that thud and groan and see Steve’s wry smile, maybe comfort him in his arms again.

The guilt of it hangs low in his gut, a sour ball lodged deep and weeping, because, whatever the catastrophe that happens in the future, Steve is obviously deep in its trenches and deserves to rest. Not forever doomed to fall on Eddie’s shitty trailer floor without so much as a cushioned landing.

He's thought about it, mulling over how he could drag pillows and blankets into the living room. Make a soft cloud for Steve to land on, fit for a man falling through the sky. But, with his uncle sleeping in the living room, the idea is impractical, and he has no idea how he’d begin to explain the installation to Wayne.

For now, he hopes that Steve falls safely back into his own time while also secretly wanting to see him again. A small, forbidden puff of wishful air against a dandelion in the dark.

Shawn is shoved by an opposing skin’s team member, falling to the ground and the coach’s whistle blows as they make sure that he’s all right. He shakes his blonde head, saying something to Michael Chrest that makes the other guy laugh before he swings up, dusting his shorts and ignoring the red of his knees. He won’t need first aid today.

Though if he needs it, Eddie now has a set-up at home that would be more than capable of taking care of his injury. Buying it had wiped out the stash he was saving for a new amp, but at the persistent anxious hum, Eddie had caved and bought a full first aid kit in preparation should Steve fall, injured, to him again.

As large as a small travel suitcase, the brilliant green of the cover blares conspicuously from the corner of his room. Inside are six self-contained modules, colour-coded and carefully outlined with its contents of bandages, gloves, swabs, tape, pads, gauze, and gel packs. Eddie’s not even sure of the difference between half of it, but it comes with an inventory list and covers everything from cuts and grazes to burns and initial trauma care.

That trauma care is an option, actual wounds caused by something like gunfire with objects potentially lodged in Steve’s body, has the curl tightening uncomfortably around his spine. He’s borrowed a first aid book from Hawkins Community Library to study up on the key concepts, but Eddie suspects it’s not going to cover something that deadly.

Turning over ideas like bullets and open injuries, blood and bones, has his mind spinning, unable to settle on classwork and even distracting him from Hellfire and band practice. Eddie blames his preoccupation on how closely he watches Steve now, even outside gym class. Because if the preppy king is strutting the hallways then Eddie can breathe again, a buoyant force until his thoughts close the circuit right back to that dark stain on his bedsheets.

The frustration of his powerlessness against his mind’s obsession is only further aggravated by a persistent thin needle of envy, pricking whenever he watches Steve lounge a possessive arm around Nancy’s shoulders. But at least the latter is warranted and not unusual: straight boys get to hang onto straight girls, and Eddie can easily swallow that sting down like the everyday poison that it is.

Startled out of his thoughts by a loud shout, Eddie’s focus falls on Billy Hargrove aggressively dribbling through a cluster of defenders, bronze skin glowing in the autumnal light and the lines of his body revealing a deliberately sculpted body. It shows a dedication to working out that makes Eddie want to break out into hives.

Whatever attraction Eddie may have entertained for his toned, muscular body is undercut by the unsettling anger that roils underneath Billy’s skin. Whenever Billy is near him, the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck rises at the palpable aura of danger that dances in the air around him. Eddie knows what cruelty looks like and Billy’s eyes betray a chilling intensity that he wants nothing to do with.

Not that Billy has ever noticed Eddie, especially not when Steve is anywhere in the vicinity. Billy walks through Hawkins High like he’s hot shit; like he doesn’t notice that he becomes a well of gravity whenever he passes a group of giggling girls. But should Steve appear in his periphery then those snake eyes tighten and focus, his body often following to coil around Steve in an unsettling performance that Eddie figures he’s supposed to think is enmity.

It happens again as Steve careens down the court with the ball, his face alight with the joy of competition and shirt stained by the sweat of his exertion. Eddie can almost see Billy’s eyes light up at the chance and he speeds forward, coming to box Steve from behind with his arms outstretched in a parody of an embrace.

Ostensibly the tactic is to secure the ball back for the skin’s team, but as the seconds pass the manoeuvre turns into a goddamn conversation with Billy practically rubbing up Steve’s backside in front of God and everyone. It’s all in the name of good honest heterosexual rivalry, right? Eddie thinks bitterly. Because no one is shooting Billy dirty looks or calling him a fag.

He bites down on the injustice of it, the bile of unfairness rising to a red in his cheeks and likely in his eyes too as it develops into a sour anger.

If he went around shoving sophomores into lockers and generally being an insufferable asshole, then maybe he could touch Steve too. Talk to him without being labelled a covetous freak. Eddie glowers at Billy’s wild grin because the quiet envy that had felt small and warranted when watching Steve with Nancy is unfolding into a bitter, serpentine beast. A savage creature with gnawing teeth that eats sharply away at Eddie’s vulnerable gut.

The jagged gash allows poison to spill into the soft meat and open blood of his body, fuelling the convictions that Eddie knows in the deep of his heart: he’s a lonely, feral boy who will only ever be allowed to live at the fringe of the normies. Only afforded a begrudging dignity as long as he knows his place, and that is far from the glowing centre of good parents, good home, good looks. Good means golden and Eddie has always been a tarnished copper.

He roughly scrubs a hand down his face, trying to get his anger under control, the rising heat of it threatening to spill like a tsunami. Old feelings and tired thoughts like these are only a pointless exercise in hurting himself. Wayne has taught him better.

A hard thud resounds through the air, the excited shouting of the boys stilling, and Eddie looks up from his covered eyes to see that Steve has fallen to the floor. Billy leans over him with one strong hand outstretched in camaraderie. Steve accepts the gesture, taking it in good faith.

Billy’s demeanour immediately converts into unapologetic condescension. He heatedly whispers words into Steve’s ear and pushes him violently back to land on the polished floor, a calculated look of disdain crosses his face before he strides away. Smirking, Billy cockily joins a group of laughing boys on the other side of the court.

Eddie hates him.

Fiercely and full of ripe heat. He hates how he acts towards Steve, curling in around him like he’s trying to block out the sun. Is full of rage at how he’s allowed to treat Steve, no one shooting him suspicious glances for long touches and faces so close they’re sharing the same breath.

Feels ready to explode from the wrath thundering through his body that Billy gets to safely exist no matter the vile anger that he carries, while Eddie will always have to hide, hide, hide. Conceal the foul and loathsome parts of himself lest he be tossed to the floor too, abandoned by the wayside again.

At the reminder, Eddie drags his furious gaze away from Billy to check on Steve. He’s just hauled himself onto his feet and is spearing his bronze hair away from his face when he glances up. Looking across the gym he accidentally catches the fierce glare still present on Eddie’s face. Recoiling automatically, Steve glances behind him but, at seeing that there is no one else there, his shoulders drop, and he turns his head away.

Eddie immediately blanks his expression, but the damage is done and Steve refuses to look back up at him as he moves towards Eddie's direction, the path to the locker rooms to his left. He tries to keep his gaze straight, pretending that he’d never even looked at Steve, but a dreadful urge has Eddie’s lips parting as Steve begins to walk past.

In that awful mix of missing Future Steve, hating himself for wanting him back even injured and displaced in time, and ignited by his fury at pricks like Billy who, under the guise of masculine rivalry, get to talk to and touch Steve, Eddie’s stupid mouth strikes.

He wants his attention, is all. Just for a moment, he wants to hear Steve speak in a clear, uninjured voice, and to talk with Eddie like he’s not an invisible nobody to him at this junction of time. He clears his throat and says the only stupid fucking thing that occurs to him as he looks out into the brightly lit gym, “Good game, Harrington.”

Steve pauses, looking up at him incredulously while he works his jaw. Finally, he says in a low, hard voice, “Fuck off, Munson,” before striding away, out of sight once more.

Eddie drops his forehead into his palm, hiding in the dark of it as all the gnawing jealousy and confusion drops away into a cold cavern of self-loathing. Yeah, he’d deserved that.

[section break]

Nearly a month after Eddie’s failed attempt to speak to Steve, he finds himself shuffling through the mess in his locker, shaking off one strangely sticky piece of paper onto the school floor. He is trying, with very little success, to find his pre-calc homework.

Gareth Emerson, their newest member of Hellfire this year, lounges beside him, back propped against the silver metal walls and gesturing with excited hands.

The younger boy has taken to cutting the arms off his flannel shirts, and Eddie has a sneaking suspicion that he’s imitating his own denim vest covered in pins of solidarity with movements, bands, and generally rude phrases that make him giggle. That a Quiet Riot band pin has appeared on Gareth’s red flannel today converts that suspicion to conviction.

“I just think that it would be really cool if I went against the grain, you know. Like, Thokk is a grumpy bastard — he’s honourable, but he wants to make a name for himself too. A half-orc is just as fearsome and intimidating as a full-orc, so screw his tribe.”

Eddie absently hums at the sophomore, whose curly brown hair around his baby face bounces in animation. He has it, he knows he’s done it. While the mathematics of it all does very little to inspire Eddie, he’d learned by the end of last year to pretend that algebraic functions are the first step to rune casting: establish the right number or variable and divine whether it’s chicken nuggets or sloppy joes for lunch, remember the determinant and enhance intuition on whether Mr Mundy is going to be a cunt about forgetting his worksheet today.

He knows he did Mundy’s assignment so clearly the spell was well cast because his intuition is telling him that he’s going to get a big fat zero for not handing it up.

“So, I want to make him accidentally charming, liked despite himself and he becomes a real ladies’ orc. All the girls want him, and all the boys want to be him.”

Eddie finally catches on and turns to Gareth scowling, “No. And, I have a free, but aren’t you supposed to be in class.” He glances around, the hallway has begun to empty, the faint sound of laughter and chatting teens fading away, taking with them the clash of perfumes and cheap cologne, leaving only the distant hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

The cold illumination bores down on the last remnants of Halloween, exposing the faint trace of last week’s holiday now reduced to peeling jack-o’-lantern decals and weathered paper bats clinging tenaciously to the walls.

Gareth ignores Eddie’s pointed observation and continues to try to convince his DM of a frankly absurd swing in his character. “You always say that role-play—the background and motivations—are what makes a good character.”

“I also say that you rolled an absolute abysmal seven for Thokk’s charisma stats and that’s before the two-point penalty. I’ve only seen worse when Jeff rolled four snake eyes on intelligence.” Eddie grins at the memory, it had been fun setting up the bumbling elf cleric for obvious scams and transparent lies. Jeff had looked like he was going to blow a gasket for a month straight.

“So do it to confuse the rest of the club,” Gareth suggests.

Eddie eyes him, reluctantly intrigued. “What do you mean.”

“Everyone knows Thokk’s stats, but if he suddenly starts charming his way through situations then they’ll be scrambling to figure out what’s going on. Maybe it’ll even distract from a few of your traps.”

A little chaotic confusion is tempting. Eddie thinks it over. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Perhaps a certain amulet is found with a persuasion bonus, or a grateful wizard saved by Thokk wants to help the bad-tempered fighter. Let me think about it. But it may not be that big of a boost,” he warns.

Gareth brightens, grin stretching, “That’s all I ask. Thanks, Eddie. I—” Gareth glances over Eddie’s shoulder and suddenly shrinks against the wall, stepping further into his shadow.

Eddie looks over and sees Tommy Hagan striding down the hallway, head down but rectangular face set in the perpetual scowl he’s had ever since he and Steve experienced their latest upset.

Eddie raises a brow at Gareth, “Has he been hassling you?”

Gareth shakes his head even as he keeps his gaze trained on Eddie like Tommy won’t notice them if he doesn’t make eye contact. “No, he’s just been a massive asshole in general lately. He tripped Mark from ninth grade and pushed him face-first into a trash can yesterday. The guy wasn’t even doing anything, but Billy sure thought it was funny.”

Gareth frowns thoughtfully, “Who ever thought I’d miss the apparently calming influence of King Steve?”

Eddie hums, “I haven’t seen him today.”

Gareth’s face screws up in a grimace of sympathy, “Yeah, well, that slow roll break-up with Nancy Wheeler is fucking awkward to watch, maybe the guy is skipping. I would.”

Now that, Eddie had noticed. Ever since Halloween there had been longing glances (from Steve) and averted ones (from Nancy). It was painful to watch for multiple reasons. But also, Eddie wants Steve to be happy and he looks like he is with Nancy. He deserves to be content before he fights his war.

But that gaping hole that had started to be chewed at by sharp teeth, fuelled by envy and injustice, has let loose the sick feeling that he’s a tiny bit glad that they’re breaking up. Because if he’s not with Nancy then Eddie could ask him— no.

Eddie shuts that shit down quickly and ruthlessly. Even if Steve is like that which he clearly isn’t based on simple statistics and obvious dating history, he still wouldn’t want the tarnished copper of Eddie with his distinct lack of good parents, good home, good looks.

He ignores the sound of Steve’s voice calmly outlining all his good points while lying in Eddie’s bed as if he’d already catalogued a list and was just waiting to unfold it before Eddie like a most unexpected but delightful gift.

Eddie with his knobby knees and skinny build, mouth too large for his long face and usually full of foot; he’s the quintessential boy from the wrong side of the tracks and Steve meant that he’s smart and kind despite his drawbacks.

He’s distracted by thinking about Steve and Nancy, but he still sees the exact moment that Tommy clocks Eddie as he’s about to pass. His stocky wrestler’s body squares up and pivots to sneer at Eddie and Gareth, who’s mostly hidden behind him. “Well, if it isn’t the freak. Hitting on the freshmen? That’s gross dude, predatory behaviour right there.”

Gareth’s gulp is audible and Eddie turns, nudging him with an elbow, “Aren’t you late for class?” To his credit, Gareth pauses with a question in his expression before Eddie reassuringly nods, and he books it. Curls flying behind him as he rushes away from the seniors.

Closing his locker and carefully making sure his bag is zipped and firmly slung over his shoulder, Eddie flatly says, “Why don’t you get lost, Tommy.”

Tommy laughs at Gareth’s back, a grating sound more akin to a hyena than a human boy, “I thought it was a girl. You really are grooming your own little harem in that freak club of yours.”

Tendrils of poisonous resentment uncoil to manifest into that familiar beast, stirring it awake to release the tail between its fangs, becoming watchful and poised to strike. Eddie clenches his teeth so hard that he’s briefly afraid he’s going to crack a molar that he can’t afford to have taken care of. It won’t be Tommy who gets into trouble with Principal Higgins if Eddie punches him right in that smarmy, smirking mouth.

Instead, Eddie speaks with a measured precision, “Fuck off, Tommy. Go sniff after Carol if she’s still giving you the time of day.”

Tommy’s expression flickers at that and Eddie wonders if even his girlfriend has lost patience with his petulant pouting, his eyes narrow and he hisses out, “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? I see you sniffing after Steve, watching him all the time. You want him, don’t you? Wish he’d let your little fag mouth on him.” Tommy crudely grabs at his bulge, “You want dick, Eddie, have at it.”

Eddie’s fury has risen with each word and burns hotter for the terrible twist of half-truths within the cruel and deliberate misinterpretation of his actions. He forgets Higgins in a haze of rising red and the patience he had been holding onto wears thin until it snaps like a taut wire.

He lunges forward, catching Tommy off guard, his fingers close around the fabric of his polo shirt, pulling him forcefully towards Eddie’s seething gaze. In that moment, the hallway seems to shrink, the rest of the school fading away as Eddie’s focus narrows onto one of the sources of his frustration.

“You’re one to talk, Tommy boy,” Eddie hears an echo of Eddie boy that causes bile to rise in his throat before he uses it to fuel his words into a dangerous whisper, each syllable dripping with pent-up rage, “How long have you been trailing after Steve, wanting it huh? Begging for it. I see you, lapping up every little crumb of attention. Just waiting for your chance, Tommy? Maybe he’ll get drunk enough at one of your ragers and deign to glance at your tiny pecker.”

Tommy’s face contorts in a mixture of rage and humiliation, and he pushes Eddie with all the force of a grappler on Hawkins's wrestling team. “Fuck you,” he spits, his anger rippling out to clash against Eddie’s. His hands clench into fists and he swings at Eddie with a wild, unchecked ferocity.

But Eddie has had plenty of practice dodging and twisting away, even before Wayne took him in and Tommy’s knuckles meet the unforgiving metal of the locker behind them, a loud clang echoing through the school. Pain flashes through his face, briefly rocking him out of his fury. Tommy shakes off the throbbing in his hand, eyes narrowing as he fixes a menacing gaze on Eddie.

“Try me, sweetheart,” Eddie deliberately sneers, if he’s condemned to be a faggot then let him fucking play with it then. “Come at me or mine again and I’ll delight, I’ll fucking prance, on top of the cafeteria tables while I repeat this little spat of ours.” Tommy pales and Eddie continues to twist the knife, “What would your new friend Billy think? What would King Steve think?”

Eddie may have felt some guilt or sympathy for the unbridled fear in Tommy’s eyes if he wasn’t such a complete and utter prick that has it coming. The defiance in Tommy’s stance drains away at the gravity of Eddie’s words and he steps back, shoulders dropping and face twisting in a mix of anxiety and resignation. Eddie stonily watches him for a moment, dizzy triumph filling him before turning, leaving Tommy to grapple with his own sins.

The urge to unleash more violence lingers though, a fire crackling through his veins ready to consume him. Eddie shakes the prickling out of his itching fingers as he blindly strides away, thoughts of turning back and striking out at Tommy racing through his mind. The temptation lingers to sink his fist into the soft meat of Tommy’s middle or shove his shoulder until a well-known pain pops it out.

Yet, even as the vile images swirl in his mind, a familiar voice echoes, cutting through the red haze. Uncle Wayne talking down a younger Eddie, filled with aimless anger, with no specific target to focus on except to start petty fights on the playground.

Wayne had drawn him aside, gentle and loving in a way that Eddie couldn’t trust yet, “You can go down the same path as your father, and that’s your choice. But I know you’re better than that. I know you’re kinder than that, Eddie.”

The reminder acts as a lifeline, pulling back from that taut edge. It helps to cool the white-hot rage that had threatened to engulf him. Eddie slows his gait, his breath coming in slow and deliberate counts.

Ten seconds, inhale.

Ten seconds, exhale.

He stops in the middle of the empty hallway, shoulders slumping and mouth sour. Sometimes, victory feels like defeat, he thinks bitterly.

In times of uncertainty, he asks what his uncle would do: Eddie changes direction to head towards the boys’ bathroom. He’ll run cold water over his wrists like Wayne had taught him and take a few more precious seconds to get his temper under control.

He isn’t his father and he’ll break his fingers before he ends up on that dark path.

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[literallyjusthereforlucemond]

okay so part 3 i think?? (Im angry as hell cus i got mental blocked and didn't write shit for days)

Lucerys stumbles to his dorm sweaty, tired, and absolutely done with the world. He opts to just lay down till next week but his pending business calculus homework needed to be finished lest his shitty old professor yaps at him again. He reaches for his bag and rummages through his stuff blindly. He spends a solid minute just fumbling before he suddenly stills, he forgot the fucking homework, on the fucking bench, with fucking Aemond. Wasting no time, he hurriedly slipped on his shoes and ran for it. Luckily the university campus was just literally across the dorms so it just took him three minutes of running. He arrives at the exact same bench, kneels, then frantically searches every crevice of the damn bench. Some students were still around despite it being 9 pm already, they looked at him like he's fucking crazy, no doubt with his disheveled appearance. He couldn't give a shit, his business calculus paper is gone and he's livid as fuck. He trudges back to the dorms even sweatier and tired as all shit.

A solid thirty minutes was spent just laying face down on his shitty couch, Lucerys is tired as shit. He thinks of ways to contact his uncle, the devil on his shoulder even opts to just let his paper be missing, be done with all the complex shit. The angel on his shoulder however, insists he finds the damn paper, Lucerys just lays there for ten more minutes before deciding to grab his phone and visit the University Instagram page. He doesn't even have to scroll, the person he's looking for is literally the second latest post, he sees Aemond's infuriating little handsome smirk, the abundance of top student awards and credits crowd his eyes. Just beneath all that was Aemond's instagram tagged, his feed mostly consisted of Helaena, Alicent, and 3 little kids who he remembers as his sweet aunts children. Barely anything of Aegon or even himself for the matter, Aemond's pinned post however, is himself, shirtless, water glistening of his body as he steps out of an insanely huge pool. Lucerys is pleasantly flabbergasted, his shit uncle is undeniably attractive and his eyes can't stop staring. His hands are itching to click the follow button.

The demon on his shoulder was just enticing, 'don't swallow your pride idiot', Lucerys ponders on it again. He's not actually even sure if Aemond has his paper, the asshole probably didn't even see it, or worse he saw it and how plain it was, had a laugh and just threw it away, 'that would be such an Aemond move' he thinks. His body nonetheless disregards his thoughts and clicks on the follow button. He sits on his shitty couch with baited breath, his uncle is definitely online and probably already saw the notification. He almost drops his phone in surprise when a notification indicated that Aemond followed him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond's lounging around the University cafeteria, he finished studying hours ago and is now just lazing around. His eye just flits over several instagram posts, he doesn't open it often on account of not exactly being keen on social media, imagine his delight when Lucerys' name pops up on his phone. He chuckles a little then clicks on the little icon to view his nephews feed. A healthy amount of Lucerys' posts consisted of his family and a small orange cat, it's simple and unsurprising. He follows back without any intention of messaging. His boredom persists and he wants his nephew to seek him out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucerys continued to stay rooted to his couch impatiently waiting for Aemond to hit him up, he knows he shoudn't. He followed first afterall and it's obvious on why. Few more minutes passed before he gets infuriated, his asshole uncle is definitely doing this on purpose. Making him message first and humiliate himself further, surely that brings great pleasure to his shitty uncle. He goes to send a message.

-;Aemond

Ten minutes passed before he gets a response.

- Lucerys.

-; I assume you know why i messaged you?

- I don't actually,care to tell me why nephew?

This infuriating fuck. Lucerys huffs while typing out a response.

-; Well uncle, I've messaged you to ask if you've seen my paper.

- Paper? Im not so sure if I've seen it nephew. Was it an assignment?

-; Yes uncle it's my fucking assignment, please give it back.

Aemond is having fun, Lucerys is sure of it. The assholes responses are increasingly getting more and more infuriating. He doesn't even realize that he's groaning everytime Aemond types something.

- Oh yes, I have it at the moment. Though im not sure if you need it back, the paper did seem blank afterall.

Lucerys is considering murder, his entire encounter with Aemond has been nothing but annoying. Three jabs already, but Lucerys wills himself to stay civil. I mean as civil as possible considering his already previous cursing.

-; I was already in progress of asnwring it uncle so give it back.

- * Answering, and are you that disrespectful nephew? Where's my please?

Annoying and a grammar nazi, "how fun could this conversation get?" Lucerys thinks to himself.

-; Can I please get my paper back uncle?

Lucerys expects another annoying ass reply but instead he's made to wait twenty harrowing minutes before he's given a reply.

- Tomorrow, cafeteria, 8 am sharp.

Lucerys groans even harder now, what kind of monster gets up at 8 am? His classes don't even start that early. He drags himself to bed already dreading his decisions. That fucking professor better appreciate his effort.

YAY PART 3!! I don't even know if anyone waited for this BEJWBAIWJ. Regardless here it is and yes I'll definitely do a part 4. Im spiritually attached to this au. And it's canon as fuck that Aemond is a grammar nazi, he's a prick like that.

[thisaintascenereviews]

My Thoughts And Takeaways From 2024 The Grammys

The 66th Annual Grammys were last night, and I wasn’t originally going to write anything about it, but I decided to put some thoughts, because it was a relatively interesting night. Even before the ceremony itself, there were a lot of awards announced, and a few that stuck out were Paramore winning for Best Rock Album and Best Alternative Music Performance, Metallica won for Best Metal Performance, and Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit won for Best Americana Album and Best American Roots Song, and Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves winning Best Country Duo / Group Performance for their hit single “I Remember Everything.” It was a bummer that these weren’t shown, but to be fair, the awards would have been hours long if they did. I was happy with a lot of these, especially Jason Isbell winning a couple, and Paramore getting a couple, as well as Zach Bryan getting one, but I have more thoughts on Zach Bryan later. Nonetheless, I was disappointed that Metallica won the metal category, because that’s exfremely predictable, and I would have liked to see Spiritbox win, but that’s not so bad. At least Disturbed’s shitty song didn’t win. Killer Mike swept the rap categories this year, winning all three, including Rap Record Of The Year, Album Of The Year, and the Song Of The Year, although he was arrested before the ceremony even began.

I really wasn’t disappointed with a lot of the pop categories, as a lot of the nominees were pretty good, such as Miley Cyrus winning her first two for “Flowers” in a couple of categories, and she did a great performance of the song, but both Billie Eilish and Taylor Swift won a few (as unsurprising as that was). Swift also announced a new album, so that was exciting, but she also made history by being the first and only artist to win Album Of The Year four times. SZA and Victoria Monet did well in the R&B categories, and Monet won in the Best New Artist category. That was good for her, but a lot of people were hoping Noah Kahan would win, especially for how big he’s blown up over the last year.

The disappointments didn’t stop there, although I was mainly disappointed in the country category, where Chris Stapleton walked away with a couple, including Song Of The Year and Record Of The Year, beating out Tyler Childers for both, unfortunately, but that’s still a win for Kentucky, as both men are from the state. The Best Country Album is where I felt as though some of the other artists got robbed, specifically Lainey Wilson winning when Zach Bryan should have got it. Aside from that, I wasn’t totally disappointed with anything else. That was the worst disappointment of the night, but for the most part, I was fine with a lot of the winners. Boygenius won a lot of awards, too, even if I don’t particularly care for them, but it was cool to see.

The performances were the real highlights of the night, though, and I was mixed on them, but only one was pretty bad. As I said earlier, Miley Cyrus did a great job, but Billie Eilish performed “What Was I Made For,” and that was a gorgeous performance, but we had a bunch more, such as Fantasia performing “Proud Mary” as a Tina Turner tribute, Tracy Chapman and Luke Combs performing “Fast Car,” SZA performing “Kill Bill,” and a medley of performances to honor musicians and important figures in music that passed away last year, including Stevie Wonder, Annie Lennox, Jon Batiste, and like I said, Fantasia. For the first time, Afrobeat was performed on the show, thanks to Burna Boy performing “Sittin’ On Top Of The World” with 21 Savage and Brandy, but that was such a short performance. It was better than Travis Scott’s bewildering performance, but the best one of the night was Joni Mitchell performing for the first time on the show, as well as winning one for the first time with a best folk album win.

Billy Joel performed his new song for the first time anywhere last night, and it was an okay song, but the most interesting part of the night was when Jay-Z came up to accept some achievement award, and he decided to make it a rant about the Grammys and how they cheated Beyoncé, apparently. She has the most wins of anybody, but hasn’t won Album Of The Year, and he shaded a lot of people by saying that some people don’t deserve to be in their categories, whatever that meant. He just turned it into a rant about his wife, but he started it by talking about how rap wasn’t taken seriously by the Grammys at first, then it devolved how his wife wasn’t nominated this year. A lot of the Grammys is based on what’s popular, unfortunately, and Beyoncé did release an album last year, it just wasn’t popular enough. I also don’t think she’s released anything that great, either, at least in terms of albums, but there is a slight point that could have been made, although he made it a rant about how his wife didn’t get one. It doesn’t mean anything, and Miley said later when she won her second Grammy for “Flowers” that it doesn’t mean anything, and you aren’t any less important if you don’t have one.

I haven’t watched the Grammys in a long time, but I wanted to watch it last night, because the nominees were all pretty good, and it ended up being an enjoyable time. The Grammys still don’t mean anything overall, but it seems like better music is started to be nominated again and be recognized. Nothing made me as mad as when Macklemore won best rap album instead of Kendrick Lamar in 2014, but it was a good time. The performances were good, and the nominees themselves were good, at least for the most part. I was happy I watched it, even if there was a commercial break every five minutes, but because it was live, they had to do that to get ready for the next performance. It was worth checking out, and I’m overall not disappointed this year, so hopefully next year’s even better.

[xoxo-teddybear]

Bakugou Turns Into A Dog - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Fluff, crack, lowkey pervy Katsuki, cursing, (writing not spell checked!)

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Request: Bakugou’s been hit with a quirk that has given him the body of a dog. He’s still has his own human thoughts and voice but now..he’s a dog. Just how will he abuse his new power with f!Y/N

It was supposed to be a normal day! Well, as normal as it could get for UA. But of course, trouble just had to strike, and of course the ones at the center of it all was the infamous Bakusquad. More specifically, the man the group was named after.

“I-...I can’t believe that actually just h-happened!” A cheerful blonde cried out as tears fell from his face and laughter rang out from his voice.

“C’mon man, don’t be laughing at what just happened. This is serious,” Kirishima said with concern as he looked down in his arms.

“Are you serious? This has got to be the best thing that’s ever happen since we met Bakugou!” Kaminari replied with while once again dying of laughter.

“IF YOU DONT SHUT THE HELL UP RIGHT NOW SPARK PLUG, I’LL BLOW YOUR ASS TO BITS!” Bakugou barked out.

“Oh yeah? With what quirk lil pupper?” Denki slickly replied while booping his nose. Bakugou’s been making fun of Denki for the longest, this was the perfect revenge. His dear friend has been turned into a dog! Not just any dog, and not the dog you would expect. He wasn’t a german shepherd or rottweiler. Katsuki Bakugou sits in Kirishima’s arms as a fluffy, blonde, angry pomeranian.

Luckily, kinda, the only thing that changed about Bakugou was his body. He could still speak and understand the human language and he could still think like one too, but now it’s all that in a fluffy, round, adorable body. Now, he was all bark and no bite......sorta.

“OW!” Kaminari yelped as Bakugou latched onto his finger and growled. Passerbys watched as the young group of teens watched their friend throw his hand around in pain with a tiny floof dangling on it. Kirishima went in to grab Bakugou and calm Kaminari down.

“Damn, you little rugrat,” The electric blonde started, “just wait till Y/N sees you, she’s gonna die.” Kaminari teased. Once those words left his mouth, Bakugou’s puppy eyes went wide.

‘Oh hell no!’

Kirishima saw how his friend was shaking in his arms and grew concerned so he asked, “hey man, are you alright there Bakubro?”

Bakugou was extremely nervous. He couldn’t let his longtime crush see him like this! Like a weak, soft, puffball! If you saw Bakugou like this, the second he’d turn back to his normal self, he’d dive out the nearest window anytime you were around.

The entire Bakusquad knew of Katsuki’s little (HUGE) crush, and the fact that one of them was now able to use that information against him mortified the lil guy now.

“Aww c’mon Denki, that’s not very nice,” Mina said as she pet Bakugou’s little head before he snapped at her hand. Thankfully, she dodged it.

“Yeah well Kacchan hasn’t been very nice either! Damn mutt nearly bit my finger off!” This received a growl from Bakugou, which was unsurprising pretty normal.

“At least the cops told us the quirk will ware off in two weeks.” Sero stated. Kirishima joined in.

“Yeah. Sheesh, I still can’t believe what happened. That random criminal really jumped outta nowhere.” The red head said.

“Tch, I still can’t believe someone could be stuck with a shitty ass quirk like that. Turning people into pets. Ridiculous.” The blonde dog said.

“Imagine what it’s like being on the receiving end of that quirk. Must be just as ridiculous.” Mina teased.

Bakugou jumped down from Kirishima’s arms before speaking. “Yeah! No shit Pinkie!” He said while standing on his hind legs and motioning towards his new body with his front paws as if he were human.

——————————————————————————

As the group made it to the front doors of the dormitory, Bakugou stopped them before entering.

“Listen up dumbasses! Nobody better say SHIT to Y/N. Just say I’m some random dog found on the street and you guys opted to take care of me till you found me a home. If she asks what happened to me, tell her I was forced onto a trip with my parents. Got that?!” Bakugou strictly spoke.

“Got it!” The group said in unison, but a certain blonde had a different plan in mind. As they entered through the doors, Kirishima hid Bakugou into the side of his jacket but it only made comical sense that you were the first person to greet them.

“Oh! Hey guys!” You said with your award winning smile as you walked towards the group. Before anyone could say anything else, Kaminari spoke up.

“Hey Y/N! You wanna guess what Kirishima has in his jacket?” Denki exclaimed.

“Oh, no I’m sure Y/N has better things to do!”

“Maybe she shouldn’t,”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,”

The 3 friends were throwing out excuse after excuse to keep you from seeing the little devil.

“Woah woah! Hey! You guys! Chill. If you don’t want me to see then I won’t force you. It’s fine.” You kindly said.

‘Whew’ the squad all thought

‘She is so awesome!’ Bakugou thought while in the jacket

“Oh c’mon guys, show her the puppy!” Kaminari said. Now that grabbed your attention.

“Wait? Puppy?! That’s what you guys are hiding. Awww no fair!! Can I please see it! Please please pleaseeee!!!” You begged. After your constant pleading and the squad’s constant denial, Bakugou thought he could just give in this one time. He knew that his friends would cover for him and say he’s just some random dog and you would drop it so he began to stick his snout out of the jacket. Kirishima took it as a sign to show him to you.

“Oh my goddd!!! It’s so cute!!! Boy or girl?” You kindly asked while petting Bakugou’s head, something the dog was enjoying a little too much.

“It’s a boy,” Kirishima said. “We found him on the street so even though we’re kinda busy we wanted to take care of him and heal him up till we can find him a new home.” Mina added on.

“Guyssss c’mon!! Tell her the best part! Tell her exactly who that dog is.” Kaminari begged. The Bakusquad including the dog looked towards Kaminari with a warning look, but Kaminari didn’t care. The ultimate revenge starts now.

“Y/N! That’s Bakugou!” Kaminari exclaimed. As everyone started denying it, you looked towards the dog and saw that it did resemble Bakugou a lot, but then again Bakugou did look like an angry pomeranian time and time again.

Before you chose to listen to one or the other, you weighed your options. Kirishima the chivalrous and honest, the manliest man, or Kaminari the jester himself? It’s was obvious who you were gonna listen to.

“Oh stop that Kaminari. Bakugou may look like a fiesty fluff ball from time to time but he’s not really a dog.” You said while petting the pupper’s chin. Everyone sighed in relief at your words.

“But that’s really-“ Kaminari was cut of with Sero wrapping his tape around his mouth.

“Hey if you guys need a healer, I could use my quirk to help out with that. It may not be a full on healing quirk but it should help the little guy. Plus, I don’t mind spending the next...?” Kirishima helped you out.

“Two weeks,” he said.

“Right, I don’t mind spending the next two weeks with the little cutie.” You said. The dog’s eyes went wide at that as a plan came into mind but the Bakusquad once again started denying, saying it was fine but you insisted since Mina just previously said they were all busy. Throughout the chaos a VERY human like sound came from the creature in Kirishima’s arms.

“Woof.” Bakugou said with such a casual demeanor. He said ‘woof’ in such a human like voice, it was absolutely absurd. As everyone looked down at the dog, the only thing that could be heard was Sero awkwardly giving out a cough to break the silence.

“Ok...well umm that may be a sign that he’s ok with me taking him!” You said with an excited smile. Kirishima looked at the dog and as Bakugou looked back up at him, his best friend knew that he should give you the dog.

“Ok Y/N, he’s all yours. But you’re right about one thing. Since he does look like Bakugou, we named him Blasty, so that’s what you should refer to him as,” he said while placing the dog in your arms. The pomeranian was excited as what appeared to be a small smile showed up in his face and he squirmed around in Y/N’s arms, cuddling up against her pillowy breast.

“Awesome! For the next two weeks, it’s me and you Blasty!” You said while carrying Bakugou in the air facing you and looking at him. He was too cute so you pulled him in for a hug and kiss on his little head. Everyone could see Bakugou had a smug look on his face.

“Alright guys! I better get to healing him!” You said as you ran off with the pupper still holding a smug look, this time directed at Kaminari.

“Looks like your plan backfired dude,” Sero said.

“And it looks like Bakugou is gonna be enjoying these next 2 weeks a little too much,” Mina said and the group shared a laugh. Well, except for Kaminari who was kinda irritated that his revenge failed, but happy for his friend nonetheless.

——————————————————————————

Once you got back to your room you placed Blasty on your bed and started to check him for places where he needed healing.

“Huh, looks like you’re not really injured Blasty. Oh well, that’s fine! Just means I can spend more time with you without having to worry!” You said while rubbing his head. Bakugou leaned into your hand with a small and then rolled onto his back for belly rubs. He was hoping you would pet him some more but you didn’t.

“I’m sorry Blasty, but you need a bath before you hang around anymore. Let’s go!” You picked him up and he was wide eyed and bushy tailed. A bath. Whatever. As long as he got your attention. You placed him in the tub but realized you would be getting your clothes dirty, so you changed into some pajamas you wore the night before that were sitting in your hamper in your bathroom. Basically, you changed right infront of Bakugou. He was staring at you as if you were a meal. As you undressed infront of him he saw you in your panties and bra, matching of course, and damn your body was the exact definition of perfect. He licked his lips as he stared until you put on a cami top and black booty shorts.

“Damn..” he whispered.

When you came back to Bakugou you went down to his level and began to scrub him. You reveled in your touch and soaked in the hot water. When you took him out to dry him off you looked at the time and noticed it was pretty late.

“Alright, I guess we should head to bed. I’ll put on a move and we can sleep. Here, let me go set up some pillows for you to sleep on.” You said as you grabbed your spare pillows and placed them on the floor for Blasty.

As you got into bed you felt a little movement on your mattress. Apparently Bakugou hadn’t appreciated being on the floor. He wanted to sleep next to his future girl. So when you turned over and looked at him, he gave you puppy eyes.

“Oh...why the hell do you have to be so damn cute,” you said as you picked him up and placed him on your bed. Bakugou cuddled up in your chest and took in your delicious scent. You both drifted off to sleep while Bakugou was just having happy thought.

‘This is gonna be the best 2 weeks of my life!’

——————————————————————————

Ohhh what a week. You thought taking care of Blasty would be fun and exciting and adorable but it was that and more. It was also kinda frustrating. The damn dog would “bark” and growl at everyone, especially guys who tried to talk to you, and would only eat human food. He refused dog treats and never wanted to approach other dogs. Hell, this dog didn’t even go outside to use the bathroom. He went into the actual bathroom! Oh and don’t even get Y/N started on the “barking.” That dog had the most clear and humane “woof” any dog’s ever had! Another thing! This dog’s behavior is a little outta line. When Y/N would shower, it would try to follow her in and just sit there. When she would change, it would lay on her bed smiling and staring at her. When she would sleep it would ONLY cuddle into her breast or booty and one time when she woke up in the middle of the night, Blasty was up too. Again. STARING. What is up with this dog?

——————————————————————————

“Ugh!” Y/N said as she face planted the table. Her lunch completely disregarded and the Bakusquad (minus Bakugou because apparently he had to go on a trip with his parents...or so you thought) watching as the blonde mutt poked around her head on the table.

“Having fun there Y/N?” Mina asked to which Y/N replied with a stare and a twitching eye.

“Blasty is INSANE!” You roared out. The Bakusquad and Blasty (aka Bakugou) watched on. “Don’t get me wrong, I love having the little guy around but he has some weird habits for a dog. He won’t eat like a dog, use the bathroom like a dog, interact with other dogs, and don’t get me started on the barks! I’ve never heard a dog say WOOF like a human,” you took a breather before continuing, “another thing, Blasty is a lowkey perv sometimes. Well if he were human at least, but he has perv tendencies. Like the staring whenever I’m a little underdressed or in the tub or SLEEPING.”

With that rant, Bakugou felt his ears fell and he backed up into a corner on the table. He was starting to feel insecure. Had his crush really thought of him as a pervy little thing? When you saw Blasty’s reaction, you noticed he might’ve understood what you said.

‘Can he....no there’s no way.’ You thought about the dog. Was there a possibility he could understand everything you just said?

“Oh Blasty, don’t be so dramatic. I’m just saying, for a dog, you’re a little weirdo, but it’s okay because for the time being, you’re my little weirdo. I still got love for you!” You said while holding him up in the air. Once again, the dog had a reaction to your words.

The squad was starting to notice the gears in your head turn and Kirishima quickly took him away for a little “walk.”

“Oh hey Y/N, why don’t you finish your food and I’ll take Baku- BLASTY! For a walk. Yeah, maybe he needs some outdoor exercise.

“Oh no Kiri it’s fine I-“

“THANKS!” The red head said as he dashed out the cafeteria with the little floof. Oh well, might as well enjoy your last few minutes of peace.

——————————————————————————

“What the HELL SHITTY HAIR!? She was all up on me back there! You didn’t have to drag me away!” Bakugou spoke as Kirishima held him from his armpits.

“Sorry man, but you were the one who said you didn’t want your cover blown and she was starting to figure it out. And c’mon Bakugou, she knows you better than someone who would go on a trip with his parents. Not only that but your looks are so obvious. What dog had red eyes and spikey blonde hair?!?” The red head explained. The blonde dog only crossed his arms in a very human like manner and turned to the side.

“We’ll be fine, the quirk will ware off in another week so get over it. Besides, there’s no way she’ll know! We have everyone that was there covering it up for me. It’s fine!” Bakugou replied.

His best friend sighed before saying “alright man, if that’s what you want,” and placed him down to head back to the cafeteria.

“Thank you! Jeez, now let’s get back to the cafeteria. I wanna have lunch with my Y/N.” Bakugou walked on all fours with his head held proudly.

“You may be a tiny dog, but that huge crush on her that you got going on is still going strong,” the red head said.

“You’re damn right, Shitty hair!”

As the boys walked, they didn’t know that from around the corner, Y/N heard everything.

‘Bakugou?! Quirk??? CRUSH?!!?’ Oh this was too good. With this new information, Y/N walked off with a smirk and a plan.

——————————————————————————

The next few days passed and like always, you work up with Blasty, oh you mean Bakugou, on your chest. You slightly smiled knowing this past 2 weeks, your crush had been coddling over you. You got even more excited knowing your feelings were mutual. You woke up and got ready for the day.

Now, the same thing happened as always. You got up and went to the bathroom to shower and Blasty would follow. He would watch you undress and step in the shower and step out and change. You would pick him up, hold him tight, kiss his forehead, and then be out the room. This time, your routine felt a little different knowing it was actually Bakugou staring at you this whole time.

Oh. He had seen you naked multiple times. You didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or flattered. Oh well, he kept on staring is he must’ve been enjoying the show, except this time, you actually gave him one. You slowly stripped outta your clothes and made slight and soft R-rated noises as the warm water hit your skin. You bent over as you put on your underwear and slowly got dressed. You couldn’t believe yourself. Serving these looks to a dog.

Bakugous cheeks would be so red under that fur, the way you moved this morning was everything. He didn’t even notice the drool slipping from his mouth. As you stood there in nothing but your panties and bra, you turned towards Bakugou. And idea came to your head.

“Hey Blasty! You wanna help me pick out a look today? We sure are lucky the school staff has an all day meeting! Free day for us!” You picked Bakugou up and held him against your nearly bare breast. Bakugou just had to rub himself in between your mounds a little, and you noticed this, and released a slight whine.

“Mm..hey Blasty, stop that.” You placed him down and dressed into a mini skirt and tube top. You matched with a pair of everyday causal heels and went out with Bakugou following along. He would walk directly under your side and look up. He enjoyed the view of your lace panties and the jiggle of your ass everytime you took a step. Man, was this a perfect Friday or what?

Well it would’ve been if it hadn’t been for a certain Icy-Hot. What Bakugou didn’t know, was that you texted Todoroki the previous night to help you with this little plan of yours.

“Hey L/N.” Todoroki greeted you with kid kind eyes and gentle smile.

“Todoroki, stop that. I told you that you’re one of the people who can call me Y/N.” You said.

“Well alright, then I insist you call me Shoto in return.” He said.

“Only seems fair!” You said with a giggle to which Todoroki stared at.

“You have such a beautiful smile.” He complimented. You blushed at his words, especially since Todoroki really wasn’t one for..umm..emotions.

“Thanks,” you bashfully said while stepping a little closer. As Bakugou watched this whole interaction go down from below, he couldn’t help but release a small growl. No way in hell is Half and Half taking his girl!

“Actually, there was a reason why I called you over.” Todoroki said before speaking again. This caught your attention and Bakugou’s. “I was wondering if your wanted to go in a date with me. Tonight. It could be really casual and we could even do a small movie night here in the common rooms. Just you and me. What do you say?” He asked. Bakugou was fuming.

“A date huh? Mm, I’m sorry Shoto, but I’ve actually kinda been waiting for Bakugou to get back.” You said which made Bakugou flip his head towards you.

“Bakugou?” Todoroki asked.

“Yeah. I’ve had a small crush on him for awhile, and I was hoping my first date would be with him.” You explained. The cartwheels Bakugou’s heart was doing in his tiny body was ridiculous.

‘She likes me back She likes me back She likes me back!!!!’ The dog thought to himself. His tail began wagging and his smile grew bigger than ever.

“Well I heard he’ll be gone until Saturday,” Todoroki started, “so how about just for tonight, I keep you company with a movie, maybe some chocolate, maybe some flowers, and see where the night goes?” He asked. Bakugou snarled at the two toned boy with his fangs until he heard your voice.

“Sure!” You said.

“Really?” Todoroki asked.

‘Really?!’ Bakugou thought.

“Really!” You said, “Bakugou will be gone for another week so I see no harm in hanging as friends!” You smiled once more.

“Great! This’ll be amazing Y/- OUCH” Bakugou had interrupted Todoroki by latching onto his leg and holding on with his life as Todoroki did everything he could to shake the blonde mutt off. You reached for “Blasty” before apologizing to Todoroki.

“I’m sorry, Shoto. He gets like this sometimes.” You explained.

“Ah..no worries. Uh, I’ll see you later tonight?” Todoroki asked you.

“Yeah, definitely. See you then!” You said as you walked off with a grumpy pomeranian in your arms.

‘On every level. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?’ Bakugou thought to himself as you carried him away.

—

You walked into your room to with Bakugou to freshen up a little for your date with Todoroki. A little sprits of perfume here, a dash of blush there, and a little tweak with your hair. Your outfit was cute enough for a friendly little date. As you turned to Bakugou, you saw his sad puppy face.

“Oh, don’t worry Blasty! I’ll be back in a few hours! I’ll see you soon, ok?” You said as you kissed his forehead and made your way to the common room. Just before the door shut, Bakugou slipped out with you. If he couldn’t be on this date with you, then he’d just have to ruin it for Todoroki.

As you finally came in contact with the handsome boy, he greeted you and spoke of your plans

“We’ll be watching a movie, but we gotta get some great snacks first.” He said.

“How about just some popcorn and candy, they’re already right here in the dorms. Come over here and help me prep!” You said pulling on his hand and dragging him to the kitchen. Bakugou didn’t take too kindly to this and quickly went to tear Todoroki’s jeans and bite his ankle.

“Ouch!” Todoroki screamed in pain.

“Are you alright?” You looked around and saw his lower leg had been damaged.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just a scratch.” He said reassuring your troubles.

“Well alright, if you say so.” You said and resumed your snack prep. But that was only the start of this horrible night. Throughout the date, Bakugou tortured the poor boy and did everything he could to ruin the little get together. He ate the popcorn and candy while your backs were turned, he chewed on the wires to the TV, stopping you guys from watching, and even peed on Todoroki’s leg while you guys just sat and talk. Although Todoroki saw this coming with Y/N’s plan, he had enough of torment from Bakugou. He decided to move into the final plan, right here right now.

“Y/N, you’re an amazing girl and any guy would be really really lucky to have you,” Bakugou watched this little speech from afar, growling at the two, “and I know you’re waiting for Bakugou, but since he’s not back yet, I kinda just wanna end this night with something special.” He said as he began to lean in, you had no intent on stopping him. Seeing this, Bakugou began to run towards the couple with every intent on stopping this kiss.

“HEYYY!!! Those lips are reserved for me!” Bakugou screamed and you both turned towards the little dog. Bakugou jumped into the air to leap onto Todoroki and at the strike of midnight, His body turned into a human again (fully clothed, don’t worry) and fell on Todoroki, making them both fall back.

“You stay away from my girl, icy-hot!” Bakugou said while on top of Todoroki, clinging to his shirt.

“She’s all yours, you angry pomeranian,” Todoroki said as he escaped and ran to his room. Bakugou only looked back at you with a fierce smirk. He walked up to you, grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss that you happily returned. He pulled away after a minute and began walking with you hand in hand.

“You’re mine now.” Bakugou said

“Whatever you say....Blasty.” You snickered.

Bakugou turned his head in shock. “You knew?” He asked.

“Of course I knew. I knew Blasty was you, I knew it was you whenever you stared at my naked body, I knew it was you whenever you cuddled into my chest, I knew it was you when I overheard you speaking like a human to Kirishima. It also helped that I just watched you transform back to your normal self. But me knowing it was you was the whole reason why I came up with this plan with Todoroki. It’s about time you made a move on me, Blasty.” You said with a teasing voice.

Embarrassed and frustrated at the fact he’d been caught, Bakugou let out an outburst.

“YOU FUCKING TEASE!” he screamed with his hands holding little explosions.

“Yeah, but now, I’m your tease. And it’s ok, because I know you like me. It’s easy to tell with that kiss and whole possessiveness. But that’s fine, because I really like you too Blasty.” You said with a smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck and Bakugou returned it with a smirk and a hug.

“Damn straight, Princess.” He said as he held onto you tight. “You’re mine.”

A/N: y’all this is not spellchecked bc after the week I’ve had, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry if this isn’t to your liking but I had to finish this so I sloppily wrote it down. I hope you enjoyed it at least! See you next time Bear Cubs💗🧸

[morninggloryworm]

Tanimura! :)

First Impression:

I've always been weak for snarky detectives so needless to say the moment I met Tanimura in y4 he immediately stole my heart. And of course immediately after you meet him the first thing you learn about him is his gambling addiction which made me unsure about whether I liked him or not. The snarkiness won me over in the end, though.

Impression Now:

Tanimura is a bastard in all senses of the word but I love him so much. His morals and sense of justice that he keeps close to his chest under an air of selfishness bratty behavior, only showing his true colors to those in Little Asia and the few that earn his trust. Though personal experience as an immigrant, seeing him interact with and protect those in Little Asia, abusing his power as a cop to keep them safe, I hold a lot of respect for that funky little parasite, even if he is a bastard.

Favorite Moment:

Him just straight up not showing up for the fight against Amon in y5 because he just did not want to be part of that and Shinada having to be thrown into the mix in his stead.

That or the fight where he teams up with Akiyama against Kiryu. That fight is one of the most fun fights in y4 I think.

Idea for a story:

I want Tanimura and Shinada to meet. I don't know the context or what would happen or why they would even come across one another but I think it would be interesting nonetheless. That or Tanimura interacting with Yagami and the Judgement crew. Also kind of want him to interact with Zhao (y7) and see how that goes.

Unpopular opinion:

I actually really liked Tanimura and his whole arc. The continuous stream of plot twists, the search for truth, following his father's footsteps. I loved all of it. He also has one of the most fun fighting styles in the games, even if he does have shitty health compared to everyone else.

Favorite Relationship:

Unsurprising but Akiyama/Tanimura is my favorite. I read one (1) AkiTani fic as a joke and immediatley fell headfirst for that dynamic of two snarky characters, one sassy and the other bastard, throwing quips at each other.

Nonship I have to say Tanimura and Zhao, since he basically took over the role as the father figure and how their dynamic plays out. It's really sweet.

Favorite headcanon:

Tanimura can be tricked into most shenanigans if there is a bet involved (thanks to his gambling addiction). If he refuses to be part of something there is a 90% chance he'll change his mind if someone makes a bet about it.

Send me a character

[kachinnate]

,,,,okay i know i just said i wasn’t going to talk about the deh movie but actually yeah imma talk about it for just a sec bc y’all actually make me legitimately distressed sajkfndsmjkgds

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQ_A0H1otc i dont have the braincells to do a shot by shot analysis right now but here’s what we’re lookin at

under a readmore because ghhhhhhh

firstly, let me lead with this: yes, from what we know, there’s a lot of things wrong with this movie. 

the worst, in my humble opinion, being the bts treatment of the (very few) actors of color, and the lack altogether of any production team members of color. that’s something that should be acknowledged, talked about, and fucking dug into especially at the current fucking period of time we’re living in. it’s unsurprising, but disgusting nonetheless, and it set this movie up for failure from the very beginning. i’m a white person so by no means so i feel inclined or like i have any authority in saying what one should feel wrt all of that, however i will say if there’s to be a boycott in not watching this movie, that should 100% be the reason why. it’s fully poc’s choice whether or not to forgive the production team or give this movie a chance for the irredeemable shit it did in regards to handling the movie’s production. the movie imo definitely doesn’t deserve their forgiveness, but again, that is not for me to say. 

there’s some little things too that i can’t fully think of off the top of my head - like, the whole making larry connor’s stepdad thing fucking irks me, for example, but, like...... listen.

if you know me like at all, you know my favorite word is nuance.

so, i’m going to say it outright: the way you people are approaching this three minute trailer shows literally.... none?? no nuance ??? is it no-nuance november over here or ???? like i’m begging you i’m BEGGING YOU to put aside your pre-determined prejudices against this movie and like stop pretending to be a renowned film critic for ten seconds because it’s really not as outright fucking abysmal as you are saying!! and also it’s possible to have opinions that aren’t completely fucking polarized to one side because guess what, the deh movie? a piece of media! what is the shit y’all are constantly preaching about having the ability to consume media critically ? because you’re trying to cancel a fucking trailer based on the contents of the trailer alone !!!!! hello !!!!!!!!

media is bound to be problematic. if y’all were as quick to judge any movie as you did this one, guess what you wouldn’t be watching any movies like ever <3 

anyway lets get into the parts that are probably going to get me cancelled lmao 

ben platt - listen. LISTEN. listen i know he’s too old to be reprising evan we ALL know he’s too old to be reprising evan i’ve heard this same argument since the announcement was made we get it we all know. haha he’s a grandpa yes bestie ur so right ur so funny wow. i do agree that we should’ve maybe had a not-ben-platt evan moment but here’s some things to keep in mind: the arguments of “oooh ABF is right there !!!!!!” 1. who’s to say he was available? 2. the environment of a movie is so, SO much different than that of a musical -- as much as you wanna pretend you know everything from just a trailer, there’s no way of knowing what scenes were added that might’ve made the movie like.. idk possibly more intense story-wise not even COUNTING the fact that just inherently a movie set is different than a musical one? like yes ben platt might be just being used as a device but that’s probably not the sole and only reason. Also, if i see One (1) more comment about his FUCKING HAIR 😃 first of all it’s not that deep like... if you’re so distracted by an actor having their hair different that’s on you, but going as far as to call it bad or distracting or being like Vehemently a way about it? y’all i know it’s most likely not your intention but that is literally just ben platt’s natural fuckin ETHNICALLY JEWISH hair sajknfgkjds!!!! i’m not the first to make this point, but like dsjnfkjdsg!??! y’all are being so mean about it and for WHAT? again, maybe not intentional, but it reads as like high key Very antisemetic and you should.... maybe not 😳 be that way

connor. the thing about a trailer is that they don’t show you all the scenes because they want you to come see the movie. right? can we agree on that? all the connor scenes in the trailer had SEVERAL hard cuts, omitting a lot of the scene -- like the computer lab scene! we see the beginning of it, there’s a VERY obvious hard cut, and then he’s running out! in my opinion my first watch through of this trailer i had a very like “:// hmm all these actors feel a lil like dry”, but man oh man the comments ive seen about connor. holy shit guys. this boy gets 7 minutes of stage time in the actual musical, and the whole thing is we DON’T KNOW VERY MUCH ABOUT HIM. not to burst your bubble, and i by no means hate connor, i love me some good connor lives fics and stuff, but everything we write with connor being alive? that is !! speculation on our part !!!! those are headcanons and us using the little context we have!! connor doesn’t have any significant development IN THE SOURCE MATERIAL that is being adapted into a movie !!! you 1. can’t fully judge a character with already limited screentime in a 3 minute trailer, 2. can’t really call what connor has canonically in the musical as in depth character development !! what is his arc then !!!! he pushes evan, goes to the computer lab, has an outcast loner kid moment, gets upset, takes the letter, DIES. sorry stans, that’s just how it is !! and, AND, everything in between, all the idiosyncracies, that depends on the actor playing connor! speaking of, you know who the actor is playing connor in the movie? that’s right, colton ryan! so, i don’t know, maybe... have some trust in the process, in an actor who ALREADY has played connor on broadway???? and also trust that you will get more connor content then u are seeing from a 3 minute trailer!! dhgnijsdg and some of the comments on like his appearance specifically? like are you really made that he doesn’t have long hair?? they kept his nails and his rings but nahhh the hair was apparently a MUST HAVE (even though like.. not all connor actors on broadway always had/have long hair but w/e).. REGARDLESS. tldr on THAT , the movie would have to do a pretty shitty job if they want to take something from someone who doesn’t have much to begin with and i think y’all are being extremely harsh on this point 

jared. honestly i’m a bit worried too about the like... name change, because it does have the potential to be taking out some representation, but... they did change the name to fit the actor’s ethnicity? it’s a really [hmm] topic because, again, from a trailer and from what we have been told we don’t KNOW a lot of the context, but i think it’s important to remember that uh.. jewish people aren’t just? always white ?? there’s a possibility they changed the last name to fit with the [ethnicity] while keeping him jewish?? ofc there’s the possibility that they Didn’t and ... again hm that’s its own thing altogether but just reiterates the point that you can’t knock a whole movie just based on the trailer. you can’t talk about things you know nothing about. 

alana. same thing as before, you can’t.... completely bash a character based on a 3 minute trailer. there was discussion about how she seemed ‘shy’ when talking to evan, which like.. maybe she is but also that scene was them talking in a library like if u actually take notice of what’s happening in the scene jdskngsd though i do share the general consensus with many others that she won’t get a lot of screen-time but that’s neither here nor there 😔 moving on

scenes and the setting. one of the things i was most like.. tentative about in regards to a switch from a musical to a movie was how they were like... going to do certain scenes? naturally, a lot has to be different when we’re going from a minimal stage set to an entire movie with like.. settings. there are going to be new scenes because a movie lends to have like, physical places that aren’t just [evan’s bedroom] and [murphy kitchen] and [implied school]. so new scenes, new conversations, slightly different pacing.. this is all to be expected right like are y’all geneuinely surprised here or ........

there’s a lot we aren’t seeing yet because this is a TRAILER. again i already mentioned this re: connor but like... again, y’all are making some Claims that just... fucking outlandish. there are so many moments in the trailer that are very obvious Hard Cuts. you don’t have all the information yet. you are angry at a tiny fragment of something that is confusing you because you don’t have all the context. is there a chance that some of this shit is just genuinely Bad? yeah but you really cannot 100000% say it with your chest and gauge it without seeing the movie and understanding what that scene is in context. lowkey uhhh saw some jokes about the zoe scene in the car and :’))) ? jesus? christ????

concluding thoughts because my brain hurts but like. you don’t have to like the movie. you don’t have to WATCH the movie. like all media if you choose to consume the movie you should do so with some CRITICAL THOUGHT. but, just like the novel (and i do not want to have any discussions about that i don’t care if you think it’s good Or bad that’s not what this is about) you guys are going in this WANTING to believe it’s bad and completely polarizing your thoughts on what this is going to be. yeah, maybe there shouldn’t be a movie. i genuinely think we could’ve gone without. but it’s just a piece of media, it’s not a progression like all your (musical is good, novel is bad, MOVIE IS WORSE OH NO) posts are suggesting. they are all just. different pieces of media stemming from a source. at the end of the day it’s just a fucking movie. if you already hate it so much, guess what? you don’t have to watch it! you don’t have to put so much needless fucking hate into a 3 MINUTE TRAILER. you can stop being performative and dissing it for its poor treatment of POC while then going on to make fun of ben platt’s hair and just targeting a different group like! please !!!

i’m not trying to be a fuckin’ advocate for this movie because there’s so much opportunity for it to suck, i do Not have high hopes for it, and i’m not even really sure i want to watch it (i bought the novel when it came out and have yet to read it, and i’m sure the movie will like.. elicit very similar vibes from me lsdngjkdsg like im just not uhhh feeling it) but y’know what? watching the trailer did not bring forth the fucking onslaught of hatred in me that apparently has fuckin posessed all of y’all and like djnsgjksdg plagued my dashboard for this whole evening. don’t come into my inbox trying to like.. argue with me about this (preemptively im turning off anon because i like i Can’t lmao) this is just like... a rant i needed to get out of me real quick. 

SO. tldr for now: have critical thought about shit you consume, there’s no ethical consumption under [the film industry], you can’t judge a movie entirely on its trailer, and y’all need to calm the fuck down 

[lori-hime]

I haven't written much about what I've been up to lately, so here's some word salad updates~ 🥗

NijiGaku Anime

So I started watching the new LL. I hadn't been keeping up with SIFAS' story, but I did read some of it when it first came out. I gotta say, I'm really enjoying all of the changes they decided to make for the anime version of the story, to both the characters and story. It's starting to feel like something coherent. The story in the game was ok, but the main thing that interested me was the interactions with Muse and Aqours, overshadowing the actual "plot" and even Nijigasaki themselves. But the anime really made me interested and excited about the story and characters again. I would be a little annoyed about the personality and dynamic changes, but honestly, I'm used to it by now. LL always ends up doing this sort of thing, and the personalities only seem to become solidified after the anime airs.

A little disappointed in Kasumi's change in some vague ways I don't really feel like describing, but honestly it balances out because Ayumu is fantastic now (previously one of my least cared for of the group.) Yu's personality is surprisingly super gay fun and I'm really excited for her and Ayumu's dynamic in particular. They're so cute. Seriously feel like I'm gonna ship them hard.

I also really like Rina's initial personality in this. Not only is she bad at expressing emotions through her face, but she also seems bad at expressing them through words too. I feel like this is gonna be much more interesting than her already being cutesy and genki like in the promo stuff and SIFAS.

When Karin was first shown, I had mixed feelings. At first I was like oh god I'm gay and she's beautiful. But the whole sexuality flaunting thing kind of put me off for several reasons I don't really wanna get into explaining. I really didn't know how to feel. I started liking her a little more during SIFAS, when she competed against Muse in DDR and lost... started feeling like I was getting a glimpse of her real personality without the whole sexy idol persona. Although not much has happened in the anime with her yet, she's giving me Nozomi vibes and I love it. I actually think if I had gone into this without previous knowledge of the characters, I'd be betting she'd become my fave for sure.

My list has gone from Kasumi > Rina > Kanata / Emma > Karin > Ai > Setsuna > Ayumu > Shizuku to Yuu > Ayumu > Kasumi / Karin > Rina > Kanata / Emma > Ai > Setsuna > Shizuku

Still biased a bit towards characters that have shown up more in the first two eps, so it'll undoubtedly change. But It's really interesting how much the characters I already felt I had good placements for changed so much.

Edit for episode 3, because I didn't post this fast enough. Student council speedrun was fantastic. Yu continues to be incredibly gay. I wonder how this episode will affect the ships people will gravitate towards. LL has always been a fairly monoship fandom, heavily gravitating towards specific pairs. Of course that's largely the fault of canon itself, often pushing and developing single ships. Well, I suppose we saw a big change with Aqours, though, especially with season two. But even then, the ships tended to stay at least between girls of the same year (aside from my rarepair, shout-out to YohaRiko.) Now, I wonder. From the very beginning, before Yu even had a name, it felt like they were really pushing the shippy stuff @ the viewer. I wonder if that’s still gonna be the angle. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it yet. I really want to see more YuAyu rather than YuSetsu, but I can't really be mad at more gay content unless they try to make it a DEEP story and then fail to resolve it but haha they'd NEVER do that, I'm sure!!

As for the others... I'm guessing they're gonna push RinAi, KarinEmma, YuuKasu, and maybe YuuShizu? My original guesses were that AiKarin would be a thing, evoking NozoEli v3. But I guess that'd be too predictable a third time. KarinEmma sounds like it could be cute and sweet, RinAi feels like it has adorable potential, and YuKasu vs. YuAyu sounds like it could have some good comedic rival-y potential, given they don't make Kasumi super serious about it and make it really angsty. Not that a cute idol show would ever do such a thing haha!!!!!

Higurashi Gou

Also started Higurashi. I doubt many people know this, but I used to be a major Higurashi fan before I got into Touhou. It was my main "fandom" I guess, even though there wasn't really that much of a fandom to interact with comparatively. Anyway, despite that, I didn't think I'd get into this remake super hard... but I'm really loving it so far. The art style is really pretty and eye candy, and it turns out it's a direct continuation of the story rather than a remake. Very excited to see where it's going, and also to see a lot of my baby Rena again.

An interesting difference to me as I'm rewatching are my feelings for Keiichi. While I don't hate him, over the years I've really grown tired of the generic male leads (especially in harem anime) like him. Of course, he's definitely not AS generic as they come, or maybe perhaps that's just my bias from when I used to really like him. The me back then found him unique enough to stand beside the girls. Nowadays, I definitely can't say the same. At least he doesn't grate on my nerves as much as most other harem anime protags do, however. I feel like despite lacking the quirks that make the girls so likeable and unique, he still has something going for him... perhaps the fact he's framed as inherently different from everyone else, because he comes from the city, and the way he acts a bit more realistically to the scary things that are happening. Although those things are obviously explained away later, at least for now I still accept him for what he is, old bias or not.

Genshin Impact

Been playing Genshin Impact religiously and loved every second of it. Though I've caught up with the main story content, so sadly it's slowed down. I'd never heard of this game before it came out, so I was absolutely wowed that such a game was f2p. I've heard a lot of people criticizing it because they added gacha in at the last minute, and I definitely understand being annoyed through the pov of someone who was anticipating it. But part of me is still really thankful that the game is free at all. I suppose that full but paid 60 dollar game would still be a better experience, but because of my non-existent budget situation, I may not have ended up playing it at all.

Aside from the arguably shitty monetization practices, however, the game is fantastic. It really is as similar to BoTW as people have mentioned, and I really appreciate that. BoTW, from a gameplay standpoint, is absolutely my favorite game. It's exactly what I want from any given game. So I really appreciated this. The story and characters of Genshin are also really interesting. I really like Qiqi, Venti, Fischl, and Xingqiu, among others. I spent a while rerolling for Qiqi or Venti 5*s, and eventually got an account with Qiqi. Venti on the other hand I've been trying to roll for but sadly haven't gotten. I have 1 roll left before the banner ends, so hopefully.. My friends whaled him for me. I swear I tried to stop them! I owe them my soul...

HoloLive, Pikamee & Vtubing

I briefly started getting into HoloLive a little while ago. After the Aloe stuff, I started worrying a bit about how the company handles these situations as well as the girls' freedoms and how much of their donation money they actually get.. (I made a post about it a while back.) After a while my worries died down a bit, but then came back full force with the Coco and Haachama situation. After that and one too many uncomfortable sexual jokes, I decided to just distance myself from HL. It's a shame, because I really enjoyed their personalities, but it was making me feel uncomfortable more often than not.

I told myself it’s fine, I’ve got Pikamee if I ever feel like watching vtubers again. And then like a week later... Well, it’s not really something I wanna talk about here, but she made some posts on twitter that made me too uncomfortable to continue watching her either.

On a much lighter note... A friend of mine showed us how to use prprlive and facerig to use the Touhou CB Live2D models, and Asa and I played around with Mokou, Kaguya, and Lyrica’s. It was quite fun, and I do look forward to using the Kaguya one for private streams on one of my servers. I’ve actually always wanted to try out vtubing stuff myself, but not really publicly. Of course, the costs for getting a model drawn and made specifically for me are too much for something I’m not really committing to, so this is perfect. I’m excited~

Touhou Cannonball & Kagura Thoughts

It’s been a long time since I talked about Touhou CB on my blog, and I’m pretty sure I left things on a pretty bad note. Mainly dissatisfied with Mokou’s portrayal for pretty shallow reasons on my part, despite they game having just started and having a lot of room to grow. And grow it did. While I quit pretty early in because of that, Asa decided to take over my account. She realized that it was pretty easy to upgrade any given character you had to a 5* without having to rely much on the gacha. She ended up playing a lot with the goal of upgrading everyone we had. I came back to it around July and actually had a lot of fun with it. The cast had gotten much bigger and we really enjoyed playing on multiplayer. It wasn't the best game ever from a gameplay standpoint, but it definitely had it's charm. The announcement of its death, although unsurprising, came at the worst time. Asa and I actually cried a little when we saw the announcement, ngl. The game had such good, wholesome, Touhouy vibes to it. Nonetheless, we made the most out of the last month or so after the announcement. We played a LOT of multiplayer and had a lot of really cute and good interactions with other players. Near the end, we realized that Lyrica was the only character from the normal banner we were missing, so we grinded like crazy (mostly Asa) to try to get her... we ended up getting a number of 5*s but none Lyrica... she eluded us to the very end. It was quite sad, but how hard we worked for it still felt satisfying somehow. We were able to max out our multiplayer level and complete a ton of goals we wouldn’t have otherwise.

So after this bittersweet experience with Touhou gacha, and all the scummy things I've been hearing about Lost Word, I've been thinking like... I'm done with Touhou gacha, at least for now. Don't wanna hear anything else about it for a good while. And then the 25th anniversary hits and they announce Kagura. Ugh. Please, give me a break. Needless to say, I'm gonna have to give it a try. Touhou is my life, I love rhythm games, I love Touhou music, and I love character collecting games. And I've been waiting for something to replace SIF gameplay in my heart for a long time. I'd banked my hopes on SIFAS but it's really barely a rhythm game so.... at least now that I've gone through CB's death and seen how cruddy LW is, I'll have lower standards and not get my hopes up too high.

If you got this far, thanks for reading my rambles and have a good day~

[ladynox]

Milestones (2/?)

Relationships: Malexa

Summary:  The stress of buying a home causes trouble in paradise.

Notes: A thousand hugs to my wonderful beta @beautifulcheat. You are the best!

Please read below or on AO3

Sighing, Maria shut her car door and locked it. Michael and Alex’s cars were in the driveway. So they were home.  She wondered if anything had been hashed out between them while she was doing inventory at the Pony. Somehow, she doubted it, and decided it was best to find Alex before confronting Michael. It was likely that Michael was in the house, which more than likely meant Alex was not. She walked around to the back of house.

When Maria walked onto the patio, Alex was sitting there with his beer and a laptop, barefoot, wearing an old Panic! t-shirt, his favorite grey joggers, and a sour expression. “He acts like a slave,” Alex grumbled by way of hello.

Through the glass of the sliding doors, Maria could see Michael carrying a load of laundry to the washing machine. Adamant though Michael was about giving his child everything, the financial process involved in buying a home stressed him the hell out. This level of stress would have sent the old Michael straight to the Pony looking for trouble. Now, Michael funneled his guilt and shame into extra shifts at the junkyard and doing more than his allotted chores around the house.

Rolling her eyes, Maria sat down in the patio chair next to Alex and wished she were holding a beer instead of a smoothie. “I think the word you’re looking for is neurotic housewife,” Maria replied. Their house was sparkling clean and Maria was fucking exhausted with it. “He feels bad because he can’t be a cosigner.”

Alex hummed and drank his beer, still glowering through the sliding door even though Michael had disappeared into the laundry room.

“Did you talk to him about this morning?” Maria asked.

“No.” Alex took a very long and frustrated pull from his beer bottle. Maria missed alcohol already. Being pregnant was stressful enough without buying a home, an anxious boyfriend, and his grumpy boyfriend on top of that.

That morning, Michael hadn’t accompanied them to the banks they’d chosen to apply for preapproval. After having a long and exhausting discussion about their collective finances, it was decided that Michael’s history would hurt their prospects. And even though Michael had understood that, had agreed to the logic of their plan, Alex’s spreadsheets still had been a hard blow from reality. He’d been sulky for a week before the appointments, leading to rather unpleasant confrontation that morning: “No, I’m not going,” Michael said in between sips of coffee. That in itself had been a surprise to Maria and Alex, who had been expecting him to come with them. Just because Michael wasn’t going to be on the title didn’t mean he shouldn’t be there throughout the whole process. “Don’t want them to smell poverty wafting off me and ruin your chances.” “What the hell, Guerin?” Alex demanded, angry but also unsurprised and… resigned. Maria understood, had felt the same way. This was a fight long overdue, but she was hurt nonetheless.

“That’s really un-fucking-fair!” Maria added, annoyed with herself for not mentioning it earlier (one didn’t need psychic abilities to know how stressed Michael has been) but also annoyed with Michael for bottling it up until he exploded. He’d been so good about not doing that, lately.

Michael ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That was shitty,” he admitted and looked up at them, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” “Yes you did.” Alex couldn’t let it go and Maria couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah you’re right,” Michael sighed. “I love and appreciate you both. This is about is my bullshit. I’m sorry for taking it out on you.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Maria said, glancing at her watch. She didn’t want to be late for their appointment with the bank. She didn’t even want to be right on time. She wanted to be early.

She did kiss Michael’s temple when she got up let him know she accepted his apology. Alex had done the same before they left.

And now here they were sitting in the patio, stewing, while Michael stress cleaned the house.  Again.

Maria turned Alex’s laptop towards her so she could look at it. As expected, the spreadsheets for the Ranch Acquisition Project, as Alex called buying the house, were open. Once the decision had been made to buy the Smith ranch, Alex had gone full Type A. From researching credit unions and banks, to property taxes, to anything else one should know before buying a ranch, Alex Manes was on top of it.

“Are we going to tell him the loan officer thought we were married?” Maria asked. Alex laughed, which was what she was after. “I’m afraid he’d stick his head in the oven.”

“Alex.” Even as she swatted his arm, Maria laughed. “Well I made an appointment to view the Smith property for this weekend, so that’ll cheer him up. The realtor also wants to show us a couple more ranches for sale, and I agreed. Why not?” “Did you—” “Yes, I’ve already asked her for the addresses.” Maria rolled her eyes. Alex was so predictable. “She said she’d email them to me. I’ll forward it to you the minute I get it so you can start researching.” “Thanks,” Alex said, throwing his good leg across Maria’s thighs, and Maria took the opportunity to rub his calf, since he always carried a lot of tension there. “Roast will be ready in an hour do you want anything until then?” Michael asked, poking his head out to look at them. “For you to grab a beer and sit with us,” Alex said immediately. “Come on babe,” Maria said when Michael looked like he was about protest. “That thing will cook itself and I know you’ve done everything on the chore list.” Maria arched an eyebrow at him and Michael flushed.   “Okay. Let me grab a beer.” He disappeared into the house and some of the tension leaves Alex’ shoulders. Maria wanted to remind Alex to relax, that sometimes it’s best to let Michael be, tire himself out. Wanted to remind him that Michael was always his own worst enemy. But she wasn’t responsible for their relationship. Michael sat down and fiddled with the label on the beer. Maria sipped her smoothie and Alex his beer. Finally, Michael sighed, “I’m so sorry again for this morning.” Maria met Alex’s eyes before they looked at Michael who was looking them both anxiously. Neither of them said anything and Maria is glad she and her best friend are on the same page. “I know it’s no excuse for being an asshole,” Michael was forced to continue. “Especially when you guys are being so amazing—” “Michael, you know I don’t like this burden talk,” Maria interrupted. This conversation was like a well-worn path.

Michael exhaled, annoyed with himself. “I hate that my name’s not going to be on the title,” Michael admitted, finally. “I know it doesn’t mean shit. I know that it’s just like how we’re married even if it’s not legal, I still hate it. I hate it because it reminds me of all the stupid ass decisions I made because I was a fucked up, angry kid. I’m angry at myself and I lashed out and I’m sorry.” That was a lot of feelings at once, Maria had to admit. So neither of them said anything until Michael gulped down his beer. It gave them all a little time to process.

“Just a poor mental health day,” Michael added afterward, echoing Alex. Only unlike Alex, Michael refuses a therapist, citing his extraterrestrial secrets as reason to not go.  

While Maria was still figuring out how best to express her thoughts, Alex took Michael’s hand and kissed his knuckles, then rested his cheek against them, looking at Michael, who smiled beatifically in response. It was silly, especially because hasn’t always done them well, but sometimes Maria couldn’t help but be a little jealous at how good they are at nonverbal communications. Well without the use of psychic abilities. “Hey, I’m sorry too,” Maria said. Michael was about to protest but Maria didn’t let him, barreling through. “I should have—” “We should have,” Alex succeeded in interrupting her and piggybacking off what she was about to say. The lazy bastard.

“We should have talked about it more than we did,” Maria was finally allowed to finish. “Nah—No really. It’s fine. This plan makes sense.” Michael reached out for her with his free hand. She grabbed it. Squeezed it. “Let’s not swap blame around ok?” “Ok,” Maria agreed. “But I’m still going to check in on you more often. Alex too.” Maria was not doing all the emotional labor, damnit. “Me too,” Alex agreed. “But, Michael, please, just say how you feel sooner. All this cooking and cleaning—” “I’m not going to stop,” Michael flat out said and glared at them because they were about to protest. “Yes part of it is this transactional issue but keeping busy also helps keep my mind off of it.” Maria reminded herself that the fact that he can admit that now is a huge victory for him, and a result of all the hard work he had done on himself before and after they started dating.  “Can’t just sit around playing the guitar all day.”

Michael slouched back in his chair, fiddled with the empty beer bottle. “But yeah, I know I should have said something earlier. Thing is… we’ve been so happy and I didn’t want to ruin the mood with my bullshit.”

“Baby, buying property is stressful as hell,” Maria said. “And I can’t even drink this time around. So – I for one would be totally down for a bitch fest anytime.”

Ah, there was that smile she liked so much. Michael sat up and leaned forward, kissing her, gratitude coming off him in waves.

--

“Sorry I’m late,” Michael said as Maria, freshly showered and energized after an hour at the gym, slipped into the passenger side of his truck. “I couldn’t find my sweater.”

Michael was giving her a reproachful look. So Maria looked at what he was wearing—a maroon knitted sweater with a couple of brass colored buttons at the collar. She loved the color on him and how soft it made him look. She also knew exactly where he must have found it.  

“It was cold a couple days ago!” Maria explained, defensively. “Right.” Michael started the engine. “I also found the cardigan Alex got me for Christmas and a pair of jeans in your closet, Maria. Those aren’t even my jeans!” “Excuse you!” Maria huffed. “They’re Alex’s.” “I know they’re Alex’s, you gremlin!” Michael shot back. No heat. This was a well-worn argument. Now he was going to mention her abundance of clothes. “You have a ton of clothes!” And compare himself to a prospector. “But I’m still excavating men’s clothing in that pit of yours!” Oh this time he decided to make fun of how she keeps her room.

“You have plenty of clothes now. You’re not going to miss one sweater.”

“And a cardigan.” “And a cardigan.” “And likely that pack of t-shirts’ I’ve been trying to find.” “No, that’s not me. You haven’t worn them yet. I don’t want them until you’ve worn them.” It wasn’t just about style, though she did enjoy mixing and matching women and men’s clothes. It was about Michael’s scent—petrichor and motor oil—when he was out working late or sleeping with Alex that night. It was about the comfort of the heavy weight of his cardigan around her shoulders when work is extra frustrating.

“Can’t say I don’t appreciate the honesty,” Michael said dryly. Though she could tell he was trying not to flush. He still had a really hard time accepting any kind of compliments.

Michael turned onto the road that lead to the hospital. “How was the workout, babe?” “Good,” Maria replied. “Lisa and I are still working on a modified training program for the pregnancy. But for now, I still feel comfortable doing what I normally do.” Maria had started doing more resistance training in addition to yoga and cardio about a year and half ago because she’d read that it was good for osteoporosis, and she’d gotten addicted, gotten a trainer, and now she used weights she wouldn’t have dreamed of touching before.

“Oh good because Alex is going to chuck his dresser and it’s heavy so—” Maria laughed. “You can move stuff with your brain you lazy shit.”

“Yeah but benefits of dating She-Hulk is that I don’t have too.” Maria rolled her eyes, swatting his arm with her hand. He laughed and parked.

“I see you’ve been watching cartoons with Alex again.” Alex, being the huge nerd he is, had recently downloaded all the old 90s Marvel cartoons he and Greg use to watch as kids together.  

“Yeah they’re kind of stupid to be honest,” Michael said and shrugged. “But he really likes them. And I’ve gotten to hear a lot of stories from when he was a kid. Like how he and Greg use to spend hours at the library going through their catalogue of X-Men comics and quizzing each other’s esoteric comic book knowledge.”

“Such a nerd,” Maria laughed.

“I knew what I was getting into when I married him.”

Once they were out of the truck, Michael took her hand and together they walked into the hospital. They were there to see Kyle for her first doctor’s appointment since confirming the pregnancy. Thankfully Maria was more human than alien, so the doctors never noticed anything strange when Mimi was pregnant. But this time around, the father was full alien. The change in percentage was enough to make everyone angsty and Kyle was recruited as OBGYN despite reminding everyone that he was a vascular surgeon. “I’m sorry for putting this on you, Kyle,” Maria said during brunch with Team Human. Maria had just broken the news about the pregnancy. “I know we ask so much from you as it is but if this kid comes out with glowing organs or something—”

“Hey. Hey,” Kyle said, squeezing her hand. “I got your back. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry Kyle. I’ll help.” Liz clapped her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not an obstetrician either, Liz.” Kyle huffed, exasperated. “You’re not even a medical doctor! You’re a mad scientist.” He added when he caught the speculative gleam in Liz’s eyes as she looked at Maria’s flat belly. Liz, at least, had the good sense to look a little ashamed when Maria arched an eyebrow at her. Just a little ashamed though. This was Liz they were talking about here.

As Kyle and Liz continued to bicker, Maria was suddenly glad for her friends. Sure, unlike her mom, she had Michael and Alex. She wasn’t alone. But Michael and Alex were her life partners and those weren’t the same as friends.

--

The ultrasound gel was cold on her belly. She shivered a little, causing Michael to lean closer to her, taking her hand and twining their fingers together. He was radiating nervousness and fear as much he usually radiated heat. Maria tilted her head away from what Kyle was doing to look at Michael, his plush bottom lip caught in between his teeth, honey brown eyes focused intently on the screen as Kyle points out her bladder, the amniotic fluid and then her uterus.

“Okay there’s the baby,” Kyle said, pointing to a greyish blob surrounded by darkness. “This is the beginnings of an arm. Here’s the head.” Maria found it hard to imagine that that was going to be a person, her child. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see little nodes that would one day be limbs. She couldn’t even really see much of a head. It was just all one amorphous lump, like a tiny soft grey turd, she thought unkindly, and wondered if there was something wrong with her. Did Mimi DeLuca look at fetus Maria and compare her to a turd?

No matter how hard she looked she couldn’t see what Kyle was pointing out. It looked like a little grey turd, she thought unkindly, and wondered if there was something wrong with her. Did Mimi DeLuca look at fetus Maria and compare her to a turd?

Maria forced herself to focus on what Kyle was saying. Healthy. She was relieved to hear that the baby’s development was good for this stage (whatever that means for a mostly alien baby). Maria could feel Michael really breathe for the first time since they walked into the room. He’d been fine until they stepped inside the hospital. After that he had started bouncing his leg in the waiting room and broadcasting worry to any psychic within a twenty-mile radius.

Maria hadn’t addressed it. Instead she let him hold her close even if it made texting difficult with all the jiggling.  Maria understood the sudden shift in him. Reality had hit Michael in the waiting room, even though the pregnancy still felt unreal to Maria. It still felt more like a happy dream or a fantasy. No matter the blood test confirming it or the very real stress and drama of buying the ranch, it still felt like she was lying in the back of Michael’s Chevy wistfully sharing What ifs about their future. What if we moved in together? What if we had children? Maybe foster? What if it was ours?

“Judging by the size, it’s about 8 weeks old…”  Kyle paused to calculate. “So that puts the due date close to September.”

“September.” Michael smiled and kissed Maria’s temple. “Is that even enough time…” Michael flushed, aware instantly that was a dumb thing to say. It was cute as hell though. “I mean…” “Eviction notice is already up, babe,” Maria chuckled, squeezing his hand. Michael pressed a kiss into her hair, chuckling. His whole aura had changed. Warm and happy, excited, and so hopeful. Maria pulled his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles.

“We’re almost done,” Kyle said and checked her ovaries on the ultrasound. He took some screenshots of those and then some screenshots of the fetus. “Last thing. Just need to measure the heartbeat.” Kyle clicked something on the ultrasound machine and the room was filled with her baby’s heartbeat. For a moment, Maria forgot to breathe, transfixed by the mechanically distorted thwump thwump of the tiny life growing inside her.

This is really happening, Maria thought, looking at that little grey blob on the screen. It was still as grey and shapeless as before, but beneath her child was a graphic of their little heartbeat. Moving so fast. But it was the sound that overwhelmed her. Made her heart feel like it was swelling in her chest. Her eyes began to mist. “180 bpm,” she heard Kyle say over the rhythm of her baby’s life. Kyle smiled at the both of them. “That’s within normal limits.”

Maria’s laugh was watery and shaky. She looked at Michael who looked close to tears himself. His eyes shiny and full of love as he looked down at her. She sat up, reached for him and he came to her easily. They kissed – and she was sure it tasted like tears because she was crying now. Not sobbing. But the tears were flowing because she was so overwhelmed with wonder and love and so much happiness. Those feelings had to come out somehow.   This was really happening. Really, really happening. All those things she thought she’d never have—a life, a love of that life, a family…that little bit of life and love growing inside her—it was real.

Maria was going to be a mom. Michael sat down next to her, gathered her up in his arms and held her tight. She heard Kyle say something as the door opened and closed behind him. She didn’t know what he said. All she could focus on was the smell of rain and warmth of Michael’s embrace, and the softness of his lips on her tear damp cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Maria confided. “Never in my wildest dreams…” Michael kissed her again. Slowly. Sweetly. His forehead resting on hers after. “I know.” There was wonder in his voice too. But also joy, amazement, and that same disbelief that she felt.  “I know.” His eyes were bright with emotion and there was nothing sharp about his smile. Maria was sure she’d never seen him quite so hopeful.

Lord, Michael was so beautiful. “I love you so much,” Michael murmured against her mouth after another kiss. “And I love this baby. And I love that I get to start a family with you and Alex. And never in my wildest dreams…” Michael started to laugh because Maria was pulling him into another kiss, a little deeper this time. Maria opened herself up psychically to him, because she needed Michael to feel in this moment how much she loved him. How happy she was. That it wasn’t just Michael who couldn’t believe his luck. Everything she was feeling. Everything she was too overwhelmed to say out loud, she laid bare for him.

Michael pulled her impossibly closer, pressed his face into her neck like he wanted to graft himself to Maria, who felt so warm in his arms, still wrapped up in the flow of his emotions. She knew that Michael had never minded the few times she’s done this before.  He was more comfortable with it than even she was and more eager to try it with her. She had noticed that it was easier for him to communicate his feelings nonverbally.

But also, she suspected, it made it easier for him to accept her feelings and be less defensive about them when he was presented with the raw essence of them. Which is probably why she insisted on verbal communication. She found raw feelings to be kind of overwhelming. Even now, happy as she was, wrapped up in both their love and happiness it was edging on a lot. So she eased back a little. “I’m going to make you so happy.” “You already have, dummy.” “I was talking to the baby.”

“Idiot.”

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 9: Rhysand 

A cop from a precinct across the city.

Feyre’s piece of shit ex (not that I internet stalked her, that was all Mor who then reported back to me).

An apparent lackey to Amarantha.

The second thought to run through my head was that, under no circumstances, can he know that Feyre is here.

Based upon the mutterings coming from the comms, no one else had been captured and they wanted to know what the hell is going on.

Fucking shit.

“Put your fucking guns down,” he commanded again. Mor and Cas looked to me. I gave them a nod. Amren hadn’t even drawn hers yet. She was superior at hand to hand and had little reason to even carry a gun at times.

“I’ve heard about you, Lord of the Night,” Tamlin drawled, chuckling as though he was sharing a private joke between friends. “My captain rants on and on and on about how hard it is to pin you down for an arrest and it took me… what? Ten seconds to capture you? Unofficially of course, but much too easy nonetheless.”

The comms went quiet when Az gave a sharp order to shut the fuck up. The adrenaline already rushing through my system kicked up another notch as I tried to figure out how to get us out of this mess.

“I’m somehow unsurprised that you’re a dirty cop, Lieutenant O’Toole,” I said, monitoring his men. Behind us, the sounds of the forklift continued, covering the conversation.

Tamlin shrugged, unconcerned that I knew who he was and who he was working for. “She made a compelling argument, and who am I to say no to extra padding in my bank account.”

I narrowed my eyes at the last statement. Here was a man who fought with little honor, and those were the most dangerous of all.

“Take their guns, tie their hands,” Tamlin commanded, half turning away to type a message on his phone.

What happened from there is mostly a blur.

Shadows become flesh, moving too fast for Tamlin to register. One moment he was upright and sneering, the next he was on the ground, knocked out and face slack. Two of his men went down almost at the same time as him, other shadows knocking them out. One managed to evade and let out a shout before falling to his knees. The men in the clearing turned towards the sound, training their guns towards us.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and pinned me to a nearby container seconds before gunshots rang out. I started to struggle but stopped when I recognized Feyre was the one holding me there. Her arm was across my chest, her temple centimeters from my lips. If she turned her head, we would have been in a very distracting position. Thankfully, her eyes were trained towards the direction of the clearing and where the sounds of scuffling were coming from.

Voices chattered on the comms, general chaos and disarray broke out. More shots flew by, too thick for any chance of advancement.

“Fall back,” I ordered. “Fall back now.” Affirmations came in, voices roll calling to confirm that they made it away.

“Go Rhys, I’ll cover you,” Az’s said.

I looked down where Feyre had relaxed her arm. She nodded and begun to creep towards where Cas was. Once she was safely past him, I followed, keeping one eye behind me.

A shadow flickered around the corner from where the clearing was. I made a sharp right turn behind the protection of a container, but not before the man got off a shot that grazed my left arm.

I guess I should have mentioned before that I was the one that nearly took a bullet.

Pain burst from the wound, blessedly dulled by the heat of the situation. A problem for later.

An ear-splitting bang echoed through the corridor.

“Clear, Rhys,” Az’s voice came through again, this time icy and tight. He was blaming himself for my injury.

“Thanks, Az,” was all I could give him right now. After checking the path, I continued to follow the others. A block later, the shouts died down and disappeared. Hopefully, they would be distracted by Tamlin and his downed men long enough for us to get away.

We piled into the cars, not caring who drove who or what, and drove off, everyone accounted for. I ended up in the back of Cas’s SUV with Feyre beside me and Amren squished against the door. Amren looked like she was ready to murder half of the city while Feyre looked relatively unperturbed. Maybe she was used to high tension scenarios, her being a detective and all.

The ride was tense and quiet until we pulled into the underground parking garage at our compound. Bodies spilled out of the gathered cars, chatter quickly filling the space as everyone tried to determine what the hell just happened.

“Quiet,” Amren said low voice. That was all that was needed to shut everyone up. “Everyone go inside, get cleaned up, and then get some food. We’ll debrief soon.”

The garage emptied out, the silence pressing in on us. Amren closed her eyes and let out a long stream of air from her nose. It would have been comical if not for the silver fire that had burned in her eyes. When she opened her eyes, she turned towards me. “Who the fuck was that?”

Feyre was the one to speak up, “Lieutenant Tamlin O’Toole from Velaris Precinct 8,” then after a pause, “My ex.”

“Well, shit,” was all Amren had to say. Her words unintentionally broke the tension, us all chuckling at a rare time that Amren didn’t have something to say.

She turned to Feyre, apprising her. “Nice moves, by the way. Glad to see they teach you something useful in the force.”

Feyre shrugged. Hair had started to escape from her cap, giving her a messy halo in the underground lighting. “In the force, it’s either win or die, especially for the women.”

“We’re sparring sometime,” Cas said, a new glint in his eye as he sized her up. A new opponent to figure out. Feyre let out a short laugh, “Let me heal first, no reason to give you an unnecessary advantage.”

Despite the pain in my arm and the shitty reality that Amarantha now knew of our actions against her, a small smile cracked my lips. That fight was something that I would bring popcorn to. And betting money (all on the lady of course).

“So to summarize up the night,” Mor said to bring us back to the situation at hand, “We don’t know what was in that shipment, a dirty cop is working for Amarantha and knows our faces, which in turn means Amarantha knows our faces and Rhys is bleeding from somewhere. Am I leaving out anything?”

Feyre whipped her head towards me, “You’re bleeding?”

“A bullet grazed him during the retreat,” Az growled, reminded that he was the one was that was covering me.

“Only a graze, and nothing you could have anticipated, Az,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder with my uninjured arm. He still looked unhappy, but that was Az half the time, no matter what I did to reassure him that his spy work was unparalleled.

“Where is your first aid stuff?” Feyre asked, her eyes cold. I inclined my head for her to follow me. There was not much else to discuss, other than how the entire night had gone to shit. I would have stayed but the pain in my arm was starting to spread and I was eager to have a moment alone with Feyre. She might be pushing me away at every turn, but it only made the tension between us grow. A tension that I hoped would snap again soon.

Shaking the dirty thoughts from my mind, we reached the closet that acted as an infirmary for us. A sink and small counter took up most of the space, with cabinets above and below filled with supplies. I leaned against the far wall, letting Feyre sort through the cabinets and slam their doors, admiring the dark look on her face that made her cheekbones stand out. Anger did wonders for her freckles.

“Strip,” came the simple command, followed by her blushing hard at the implication. “So I can see the wound.”

I smirked and untucked the shirt from my waistband. “As the lady commands.” I had changed out of the white shirt and jeans into the black cargo shorts and fitted long sleeve I kept in my car for times like this.

Blood had started to dry at the edges of the ripped sleeve, adhering to the wound. I grunted at how it pulled at my skin, but it wasn’t unmanageable. When my view was no longer blocked by fabric, I saw that Feyre had stepped towards me with her hands outstretched as though she would help me out of the shirt. Now I regretted not playing up the pain so that she would have helped me.

Quit it you man-whore, I cursed myself. For all I knew, I was on thin ice with Feyre and I didn’t want to risk breaking it. No matter that we had spent all day today laughing and drinking Mor’s alcohol.

Feyre’s gaze had turned analytical, studying where the bullet grazed my skin. A two-inch-long gash cut through my mid-bicep, thankfully only a half centimeter deep. An inconvenience for the next few weeks.

“My stitches won’t be the prettiest, but they’ll hold.” I nodded for her to begin. She cleaned the wound with peroxide, her movements quick and sure. She had managed to find a small syringe prefilled with a numbing agent.

“Go ahead and start stitching, I’ve been through this before,” I said gently at her hesitation. She pressed her lips together and nodded, steadying her hands on my arm and started to sew.

I winced at the first few but soon the drug kicked in and it was only a tugging sensation. A row of only slightly crooked stitches later, she was pressing a clean gauze to the wound and wrapping fabric tightly around it.

“Thank you,” I breathed, “For saving me. Saving us.”

Her eyes flickered to mine, softer now, edging closer to the warmth I saw there earlier.

“You’re welcome,” she returned, tucking the end of the wrap into the bandage.

“And thank you for stitching me up,” I tested the mobility of my arm. The stitches pulled slightly but overall it wasn’t too much of a hindrance.

“I owed you one.”

I held her gaze, hoping that the heat there was from the reminder of that night wasn’t just the reflection of mine. She didn’t back down from me, letting the memories flow between us.

Her eyes flickered down to my lips, her own parting before returning to meet my gaze again.

Call it the crash after an adrenaline high.

Call it a foolish risk.

Call it whatever the fuck you want because I was too focused on how she felt beneath my hands.

I surged forward, not giving either of us time to think about what was happening. Her lips were hungry on mine, my tongue sweeping against the seam of her mouth asking for permission. She yielded, opening beneath me, hot breath rushing between us.

Feyre sunk her teeth into my bottom lip, drawing a groan out of me. This woman… this woman who had heard my story and decided to help us despite breaking the law. This woman who could down a full-grown man, her ex nonetheless, in two moves so fast that he couldn’t see it coming. This woman who I so desperately wanted day and night, in and out of my bed. Who was strong and confident and sexy.

I plunged my hands into her hair, ignoring how the beanie she had on fell to the floor and tipped her head back to allow me access to her neck. I pressed my lips onto the tender skin there, nipping my way down, taking whatever she would give me before she came to her senses and pushed me away.

Her hands tightened on my shoulders, nails digging into the muscle before sliding up my neck to twist her fingers around the hair at the nape of my neck. Yanking my head up, I feared this was the end but instead she captured my lips again.

I moved one hand from her hair to her waist, pulling her tighter to me, deepening the kiss.

“Feyre? I’ll give you a ride home,” Cas’s voice echoed down the hallway.

We broke apart, gasping as if though we had just sprinted away from a hoard of Amarantha’s men. I opened my eyes to see that hers was still closed, her face unreadable. Her eyes slowly opened and met mine. Lust had settled in there, nearly making me yell at Cas to fuck off for the rest of eternity.

The words were on my lips when she slipped from my hands, slowly, as though she was reluctant to do so. Or maybe that was my imagination.

“Thanks Cas! I’m almost done patching up Rhys,” she yelled back, still not completely out of my grasp. My hands itched to pull her back, but I stopped myself as she took a step away, carefully not meeting my eyes. Because I couldn’t stand not seeing what emotion was there, I allowed a hand to reach out and grasp her chin, turning her face back towards me.

Lust. Regret. Mischief. Frustration. A dizzying mixture that made my knees weak. Or maybe that was the blood loss.

“See you later?” I hesitantly asked, unsure if I wanted to hear her answer.

A pause, and then a small smile bloomed on her face, “See you later.” She walked out of the room, answering a hollering Cas and starting up a banter with him about who would win between them in a sparring match.

I stayed slumped against the wall, the chill of concrete slowly dissipating the heat that Feyre had stirred in me.

Fuck, this woman.

Next Chapter

[allthemarvelousrage]

And the Moon to Watch Over You (A Rubicon Short Story)

So. Some of you are aware that @solivar​ and I have been brewing our own urban fantasy universe, Rubicon. I wrote a short story for Bae, set in that universe. Here it is. 

Be warned: queer relationships, blatant disaster gays, filthy with feelings, werewolves and angels and fairies, oh my.

CW: brief mention of suicidal ideation, smut, cursing, definitely not safe for public.

And the Moon to Watch Over You

Most of the time, Rafael Roman loved his work. He had come through fire and blood and pain and death to make something of himself, and that something he had made happened to come with the privilege of being in a position to help others get through their own traumas. He cherished every smile, every shakily tearful laugh, every heartfelt catharsis he witnessed. He treasured the pain his clients chose to share with him, was always humbled by the trust they showed him when they confessed their burdens.

This was not one of those days.

He scrubbed his face as he sat in his car, staring bleakly at the doors of the Emergency department through the rain-streaked windshield and wishing like hell it had been a different outcome. His eyes burned. He swallowed hard to get past the lump in his throat. Ground his heels hard against his eyes as he rubbed them. Gods above and below, he thought, letting his head thump softly back against the headrest. This day needs to end.

The driver side door abruptly opened, and it was a measure of his exhaustion that he barely reacted, only turned wearily to eye the interloper. Somehow, he was unsurprised to see that it was Hope, the mass of loose green curls framing her face perfectly immune to the rain and wind lashing at the ends of her stylish woolen trench coat.

She stared in at him for a moment, her vibrant green eyes piercing and gentle, so much so that he had to look away as the lump rose in his throat again. Then her hand touched his forehead, cool and soft, and he released a shaky breath and fought not to lean gratefully into that simple point of contact. “You’ve looked better, Rafael,” she said, not unkindly. “Moodily staring out the window in the hospital parking lot is not a good aesthetic for you.”

Despite himself, he huffed a laugh. A tired, short and almost humorless laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Let me guess. Felix called you to be my support pixie after he pried me out of the waiting room.”

“Before, actually,” she said with a smile, and her head tilted. “How bad is it?”

Just like that, the bile rolled back up in his throat and he swallowed convulsively again. “Bad enough,” he said, low and raw, and gave into the urge to scrub his face again. “Maybe if I hadn’t sent Ron home, he wouldn’t have—”

Hope’s finger slid across his lips, shushing him before he could complete that thought. “You’re not omnipotent, Rafael,” she said sternly. “And you know as well as I do that, even as powerful as we are, we can’t help absolutely everyone.”

“Doesn’t make it less shitty when we fail,” he muttered, and sighed. “Did you just come for the pep talk, or is there an ulterior motive lurking in your springy green curls?”

She gave him an exasperated look, tempered with a fond smile. “I came,” she replied, and nudged him firmly by the shoulder, “to drive you home. You’re in no shape, so budge over.”

Rafe eyed her, debated arguing, but eventually gave up the notion that he’d actually win an argument with her in his current condition. He turned to critically examine the space between the driver’s seat and the passenger, attempted to discern if he had the flexibility to slide over without getting out of the car, and decided not to chance it. The last thing he needed was the gearshift ending up somewhere sensitive.

“You don’t have to, you know,” he said, entire body protesting as he forced it upright into the rain, and turned up his collar as he hurried around the front bumper and slid into the shotgun seat with a minimum of rain trickling down the back of his neck.

“I am well aware of that, Rafael,” Hope replied primly, as she tucked herself into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to her comfort. “You could no doubt call almost anyone in this town and they’d be quite willing to give you a ride anywhere you wanted to go, but right now, you need family.” A delicate pause. “I assume Julius and Joel are…”

“First day of the full moon,” Rafe said tiredly, and closed his eyes as Hope finished adjusting mirrors and the seat position to her liking. His faint sigh disappeared in the sound of the engine turning over. “They’ll be gone for a few more nights.”

“Wolves,” she said, only semi-scathingly, and reversed out of the parking space. “The moon is a treacherous thing, you know. You can’t trust it.”

“I’m a sun god,” he replied with a grin, but didn’t open his eyes, because the lassitude was spreading, and he stifled a yawn. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Hope’s fingers drifted briefly along his temple, brushing through his hair. “Sleep, Rafe,” she murmured, and he felt the pull of her magic tugging at his consciousness, trying to nudge it under. He could fight it, but didn’t bother. It would take Hope at least twenty minutes to reach his place with the speed at which she drove, and he figured it would take him at least that long to recharge enough energy to drag himself into a brief shower before he collapsed in bed.

He let the hum of the road, and the hypnotic rhythm of Hope’s magic, and his own exhaustion pull him to slumber, and hoped he wouldn’t dream.

---

He jolted awake as the door to his right opened to let the rain and wind in, and he blinked owlishly at the rain-soaked gables of his own house. The immediacy of it was unsettling, as if it had been a long blink between the hospital parking lot and his driveway, and he took a moment to settle his breathing at the apparent suddenness.

Hope reached in over him to press the release latch of his seat belt buckle, the scent of her hair abruptly filling his nose with spring and verdance and budding flowers. “Come on, feathers,” she murmured, and stroked a hand through his hair. “Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”

“I’m not a child,” he complained, though he didn’t try to stop her from helping him out of the car, slipping the keys into his jacket pocket as she tucked an arm around his waist. “I’m actually very old.”

“So are the hills,” Hope replied sweetly, and manhandled him up the path leading to his front door. “And they fall right the fuck apart without some help to keep them in one piece.”

“I hate you,” he said sincerely, as she opened the door for them both. “So very much.”

“I know,” she said, and stripped his coat off him, hanging it on its customary hook. “You need help with your shoes, or are you good from here?”

He bit back his kneejerk instinctual response — that he was just fine by himself, thank you very much — and actually let himself consider the question, factoring in the stairs, the shower, his empty stomach, and sighed. “I could use a cup of tea and a sandwich,” he admitted, grudgingly, and tried not to roll his eyes when Hope bent to untie his shoes.

“I know where the kitchen is,” she said, when she straightened again, and actually attempted to loosen his tie for him before he batted at her hands, knocking them away. “You go get a shower, get changed, and I’ll feed you when you’re done.”

“Yes mom,” he grumbled, and shuffled towards the stairs, working his tie out of its knot and unbuttoning his dress shirt, like a big boy. He debated whether or not to let his clothing fall wherever he happened to be when shedding it, but decided against that, at least until he was in the private suite he shared with Jules. The last time he’d left laundry in public, he’d been lucky to find the scent-drunk wolf rolling around in it before Jules had.

To say his mate was possessive and territorial at times was hilariously understating it. He’d mellowed out some in recent years, but Rafe still did his best to reduce opportunities for the feral wolf king of old to raise his hackles anew.

He stuffed his shed clothes into the basket just outside the en suite bathroom, and scrubbed his hands tiredly through his hair as he padded naked towards the decadently multi-head shower enclosure. He turned the water as hot as it could go, waited the perfunctory minute for the spray to warm up, and stepped in, groaning loudly in sheer delight as those decadent heads angled perfectly to hit his back in all its sorest spots obligingly began pounding the knots out of his shoulders and spine.

He leaned against the tiled wall of the enclosure, eyes closed and mind blessedly blank of all thoughts but enjoyment of his day finally washing down the drain under his feet. Only when he felt his skin start to prune did he reach for the shower gel and his favorite shampoo, and finish the process of feeling like a person again.

With his hair still damp but smelling delightfully like cucumber and pear, he dragged one of Jules’ worn long-sleeve shirts out of a drawer and hauled sweatpants over his hips. Absently, he pulled the hem of the shirt to his nose, inhaling the soft, faded scent of his mate embedded in the cotton, and made his way back downstairs before the energy the shower had refilled wore off.

Hope should have looked utterly ridiculous, slathering peanut butter on bread, in her mint blue Vince Camuto off-shoulder dress and strappy teal Jimmy Choos, especially with Rafe’s own Caution: Cook will be hot frilly apron tied neatly around her neck and waist, but one of the more irritating things Rafe had discovered about the fae during his long partnership with her was that a fairy could make anything work for them. Instead of looking like a crayon factory fire, she looked somehow elegant and cultured.

Rafe slid grudgingly onto a stool across the floating island where Hope was doing something ungodly with dill pickles and peanut butter, and he eyed the abomination taking shape on the plate he sincerely hoped was not his. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s good, is what it is,” Hope replied serenely, over the distinctive sound as she screwed the lid back onto the pickle jar, licked peanut butter off her thumb, and nudged the plate towards him. “It’s crunchy, which you like, and smooth, which you try to be,” she added, turning to fetch a cup and a teabag, and adding hot water from the recently-boiled kettle. “Everything a glowing body needs. Eat up.”

He prodded it gingerly, resolutely suppressing his mouth’s urge to water profusely at the oddly enticing scents rose to tickle his nose. “There are easier ways to get my half of our practice without poisoning me.”

She set the cup down in front of him and sighed dramatically, hands going behind her back to untie the apron. “Sometimes I miss the old days,” she lamented. “If this were my kingdom, I could have you beheaded for impertinence.”

“If this were my kingdom,” Rafe replied sweetly, girding his loins and picking one of the neat quarters off the plate. “Oh wait, it is my kingdom. Lucky for you we stopped beheading people ages ago.”

Hope smiled, reached across the island and ruffled his hair. “Eat your fucking sandwich, feathers.”

He leaned into her hand, eyes drifting closed, and felt only a minor pang of loss when she pulled her hand gently back and sat across from him with her own cup of tea. “Thanks, Hope,” he said, and gingerly nibbled on a corner. Once his mouth had recovered from the assault of taste and flavors, he made a noise of deep enjoyment and wolfed the rest of it down, groaning in delight the whole time.

“Told you,” Hope murmured, smiling smugly, and sipped her tea. “Want another?”

“Fuck yes,” he said, heartfelt, and held his plate out for more. “Please and thank you.”

She made him two this time, while he gulped his tea only barely mindful of its temperature, and one for herself. As she settled back into place, she eyed him, the smile fading. “Do you want to talk about tonight, Rafe?” she asked quietly, a hand going across the island counter to rest cool fingertips across his wrist. “I understand if you don’t, but…”

“No,” Rafe said, turning his hand under hers so he could link their fingers. “No, I don’t want to, but that just means I should.” He scrubbed his face tiredly and ate another quarter sandwich. “I’m going to replay it until I figure out what I missed. Ron’s always ideated suicide, but I never thought he’d—” His throat closed and he swallowed painfully, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I reviewed his session tape before I came to pick you up,” Hope said, in the silence that surrounded them, and her hand squeezed his reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have thought he would either. And maybe he didn’t think he would, until he did. Even being able to read minds doesn’t make us perfect therapists, Rafe. You know that.”

“I know,” he said, dipping his head and inhaling the scent of Jules from the hem of his shirt again, wishing fruitlessly he could have the real thing tonight instead of a phantom stand-in. “I know. I just… I hate when I have to sign someone into a psych hold against their wishes. I … I just really fucking hate it.”

“I know,” Hope said soothingly, her other hand coming to cover their linked fingers. “But sometimes, it’s part of the job.” A delicate pause, long enough for him to flick his eyes up to meet hers. “Do you want me to take over as his therapist, Rafe?” she asked finally. “Or maybe find someone else for him going forward?”

Rafe’s mouth opened, shut, opened again, and closed with a sigh. “Might be for the best,” he said wryly, shoved the final quarter of sandwich into his mouth, and chewed before continuing. “But I don’t want to make any decisions when I’m this tired and this emotional. Only bad things come from me doing that.”

“Smart idea,” Hope agreed, smiled gently at him, and extricated her hands from his in order to begin cleaning up the dishes. “Do you need anything else before I take off?” she asked over her shoulder as she turned to rinse their plates in the sink.

Rafe felt an uncharacteristic pang of panic at the thought of being alone tonight, a rapid two-step hammer of his heart rate abruptly picking up speed, and the subsequent surge of adrenaline that came with it, but wrestled all those responses back. “Can’t convince you to stay?” he asked, with a half-hearted and wry grin. “You could read Grimm’s fairy tales to lull me to sleep.”

Hope smirked, and her eyes flicked over his shoulder, just as he heard the sliding door open, and a chilled breeze gust against the back of his neck. “I think I’d be something of a third wheel tonight,” she murmured demurely, drying her hands and turning to face him. “Good evening, Julius. I’ll be out of your fur presently. Kindly save the porn until I’m safely out of the room?”

The deep, amused whuff of assent behind him, gruff and beloved and as familiar to him as his own name, brought tears to Rafe’s eyes. “You told Tempe I needed Jules, didn’t you?” he said, faintly accusatory but finding it hard to actually be upset with her.

She shrugged one shoulder with a pleased smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “What’s the point of having an identical sister in your husband’s pack if I can’t telepathically relay your needs to your mate?”

“I hate you,” he said around the lump in his throat, sliding off the stool at the sound of toe claws clicking across the kitchen floor, and buried his face in Jules’ ruff, fingers burrowing deep into his fur.

“Yes, I know.” He felt her bend to press a kiss to the crown of his head, and her hand touched the back of his neck, warm and bright and infused with her magic. “I bid thee farewell for the evening, Rafael. You’ve thanked me twice this night, and for that doubled insult, I leave you with a wolf to chase you, and the moon to watch over you. Try not to enjoy yourself too  much, and take tomorrow off, hm?”

Whatever pithy comment he would normally retort to an exit like that was lost in the head-swimming scent of Jules’ fur against his cheek, the solid, muscular warmth of him as he growled softly, in just that way that always weakened Rafe’s knees. Fur became skin, muscles shifted under his touch, but Jules’ growl didn’t change with him.

“I called you,” Jules said, deep and rumbling, sliding a hand into Rafe’s curls to pull his head back. “Before I left.”

Rafe’s breath caught in his lungs, low fire abruptly flaring in his groin, because Jules did not look particularly happy with him, and that meant a very good night ahead. “You did,” he croaked, and closed his eyes reflexively as Jules bent his head back further with the grip in his hair, nuzzled along the lines of his throat with hot lips and sharp teeth.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” A hand tipped with sharp claws traced delicate lines down his cheek, and Rafe bit back a whimper of desire.

“I told you I was fine,” he whispered, mouth gone dry as a bone and erection leaping to life as Jules nipped his neck, the faint scarred place where he’d sealed their bond long ago. “And I was. I was fine.”

“Angel…” Jules’s grip on him gentled, hands framing Rafe’s face and allowing him to get a proper look at his mate for the first time. His breath caught again, desire flaring higher, at the wildness in Jules’s eyes, the feeling of danger edging into the pinpricks of his clawtips against Rafe’s skin, the soft, exasperatedly fond look that was as familiar to him as his own name. “You’re not fine. You’re wearing sweatpants.”

He laughed, despite himself, buried his face in the side of Jules’ throat and clung to him as he laughed until he was crying, until his breath came ragged and gasping, until all the energy he’d managed to scrape together from his shower and meal had drained again, leaving him limp and listless in Jules’ carefully cradling embrace. “Yes,” he said, when he caught his breath again, sank a hand in Jules’ windblown hair and kissed him, light and sweet. “I’m wearing sweatpants. Clearly, a cry for help.”

“When it’s you, my prissy sweatpants-are-for-plebians mate,” Jules said wryly, “yes, it is.” His hands smoothed up Rafe’s back under the shirt, warm and broad and shivery-good, and it took superhuman effort for Rafe to not melt into a puddle right then and there. “You’re wearing my shirt,” he said, sounding faintly pleased. “You don’t do that when I’m home.”

“I don’t need to do it when you’re home,” Rafe shot back, sighed with a lopsided smile. “I have the real thing when you’re home.” Jules’ eyes darkened into true gold at that, heated and intense, and his thumb traced Rafe’s lower lip. A thrill shot up Rafe’s spine, and shivered back down. “Stop it,” he said, completely without conviction, as a smug, alpha-male grin curved Jules’ mouth. “It’s comforting. I had a shitty day.”

In one fluid motion, Jules surged to his and lifted Rafe right along with him, a move that absolutely did not make him squeak in surprise. Jules’ mouth came down on his, hard and breathstealing and possessive. You belong to me, Jules rumbled, nudging Rafe’s knees apart and wrapping his legs around his waist, as Rafe’s ass nudged up against the edge of the island, slid onto it.

Rafe broke for air, breathless and flustered, and laced his fingers together behind Jules’ head. “You’re such a fucking heathen, old wolf.”

“Infernal wolf god of the underworld,” Jules agreed, nuzzling his cheek. “You wanna talk about your shitty day?”

Rafe considered, playing with the hair at the back of Jules’ neck. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not anymore.”

Jules grinned, he could feel it curve against the pulse point under his jaw, and he jumped as Jules’ teeth scraped his skin again. “You want me to take you upstairs and tuck you into bed?”

That required no consideration whatsoever. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” he said, locking his ankles together and finding a grin of his own curving his mouth. “Bonus points if we actually make it to the bed itself this time.”

---

They did not quite make it to the bed.

Rafe’s sweatpants lay in ribbons somewhere on the stairs leading up to their private suite, and he had enough mental wherewithal to be distantly sorry for whatever wolf Jules caught rolling around in it in the morning. It was his last coherent thought for some time.

His back hit the wall just beside the double door opening into their suite, and he had just enough time to gasp and fist his hands in Jules’ hair as the sadistic bastard abruptly dropped to his knees and sucked Rafe’s cock into his mouth, quick and hard. The moan that crawled out of his throat was high and keening, hips flexing helplessly against the iron claw-tipped grip keeping him still.

“Julius!” he gasped, scrabbling for purchase against the wall, his mate’s shoulders, clutching for anything to keep him from collapsing as a long, inhuman tongue curled and flexed and teased the underside of his shaft. “Oh fuck, Julius!”

A growl rumbled out of Jules’ chest, vibrated along the entire length of his cock, and Rafe’s head cracked back against the wall as his back arched abruptly. A hoarse, sobbing noise too raw to be a cry crawled from Rafe’s throat, and his hips jerked free to thrust eagerly into Jules’ wicked mouth. Pleasure built fast, shook his legs, whistled through his keening breath, an almost overwhelming wave rushing furiously through his veins.

Jules, he pleaded brokenly, helpless and writhing, clawing for support as his orgasm swept through him. Yes, fuck yes, almost there, almost….

He howled and thrashed as Jules abruptly pulled back from him, pulled free with a wet, sucking pop, hands pinning him to the wall as he whimpered and jerked, orgasm denied at the last possible second. His eyes snapped open, his teeth ground together, and he glared absolute death at Jules’ smugly serene smile. “Not… fucking… fair,” he whined, rolling his hips in a fruitless search for friction.

“Bed first,” Jules said with a smirk and, one hand keeping his wrists together, the other scooping under his knees, he hoisted Rafe into his arms and carried him into the room, where he dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed and hauled his own shirt over his head.

Rafe, flustered and raw, froze dead at the sight of Jules chest coming bare, his mouth running dry just like it always did, watching the interplay of light and shadow over the lines of his muscles. “God, you’re fucking hot,” he heard himself say, breathless and awed, and reached to tug the button of Jules’ jeans out from its slit in the denim.

Jules’ return chuckle was deep, smug and all male, and his eyes closed in blatant pleasure as Rafe slid his jeans over his hips, and closed a hand around his length, hard and eager and already leaking. “Keep that up,” he murmured, hips rocking lightly in time with Rafe’s strokes, “and I’m gonna forget you’ve had a shitty day and just fuck you until you can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.”

“Seems like as good a way as any to forget about my shitty day,” Rafe replied, and leaned in to brush a kiss to the very tip of him, delighted with the shuddery spasm and muffled grunt that resulted. “You’ll have to tell me which name, though, old wolf. You’ve had so many throughout the years.”

Something primal, ancient and untamed flashed through his eyes, and his grin was full of dark promise and sharp fangs as he crawled with inhuman grace onto the bed, pulling Rafe under him and fumbling with the cap to the lubricant kept on his nightstand. “You know which one,” he murmured, and captured Rafe’s mouth in a brutally possessive kiss, hand tight enough on Rafe’s hip to leave bruises.

Rafe whimpered, head forced back as Jules bit at his throat, and his own nails dug into Jules’ shoulders, making breathless noises as Jules slicked him, then eased into him with surprising gentleness. “I love you, old wolf,” he whispered into Jules’ sweat-damp hair, clutching him desperately as he pulled almost all the way out again.

“That’s not my name,” Jules said gleefully, and snapped his hips forward, driving into him deep and hard, and Rafe’s cry was bitten off in a long, wordless howl as Jules fucked him fast and mercilessly, breath harsh and hot against his throat, growls savage and loud in his ear.

Every muscle whipped tight and tense, and Rafe keened through his nose, short, sharp pants as his balls tightened and his cock swelled, eyes squeezed shut as he spilled, helplessly, furiously, against the friction of their bellies in a dizzying crash of pleasure that made his head swim. “Calu,” he cried, locked his legs and arms tight around his mate, rutting against him even as the pleasure reached the point of too much.

“Rath,” Jules rasped, face buried in Rafe’s neck, and Rafe cradled him tight through his climax, whimpering and panting, and Jules’ bone-deep groan of relief and the hot spill of seed inside pulled another moan of bliss from him.

They lay together in the aftermath, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin and exhaustion. Rafe nestled against Jules, sated and exhausted, eyes drooping as the rhythmic caress of Jules’ hand up and down his back lulled him towards sleep.

A quiet, almost inaudible but clearly satisfied whuff from Jules roused him just a little, though, and he cracked open an eye to stare at him. “I didn’t want you to miss your full moon pack night,” he said softly, answering the unasked question hanging in the air from earlier. “I know how important they are to you. And to the pack.”

Jules heaved a sigh, soft and drawn-out. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re ever going to get it through your head that I love you more than I love running with my pack,” he said finally, and shifted to stroking through Rafe’s hair as Rafe laid his head on his shoulder. “You saw fit to give me a perfectly capable son who is more than qualified to fill in for my pack duties whenever I need him to.”

Rafe traced a fingertip through the hair dusting Jules’ chest, silent as he thought about how to phrase his reply. “I don’t like presuming,” he started, only to find Jules hand sliding across his mouth to shush him.

“No one comes before you and our cub, Rafael,” he said firmly, and followed it up with a brief, but no-nonsense kiss. “Order of priority negotiable. Now, go to sleep. We’ll talk more about this in the morning.”

“Such a fucking heathen beast,” Rafe grumbled, but obediently shut his eyes and this time, didn’t fight slumber as it came for him, falling asleep curled tight and safe in his mate’s arms, with the scent of home easing his dreams.

[spitfirerose]

It’s Noct Your Fault ((Prompto x Noctis/Pain))

Back at it again with a lil bit of fic, this time inspired by @kaciart’s http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/162720647938 (As such, there is an ill character that throws up, if that grosses anyone out).

Prompto’s been feeling under the weather lately, at least that’s what he’s been trying to convince himself.

Yeah, if that weather was a gods damn hurricane followed by five tsunamis, ten monsoons, and a dozen squalls. He’s really just waiting for the ground to crumble away and mercifully swallow him whole already. Chills of sweat have him drenched beneath the swaddle of blankets as if he’d marathoned the foul conditions instead of having confined himself to bed for the past couple days.

Prompto can’t remember when he’s eaten an actual meal last, and doesn’t feel like throwing it back up like he had yesterday’s breakfast of nibbled toast, or what little water he’s managed to sip down. A half-lidded glance over at the nightstand reminds him that the glass he seeks is on the floor, knocked over by poor coordination of his body’s further betrayal. The groan that slips past cracked lips is hoarse, conveying just how shitty he feels as he slowly, slowly props himself up on his elbows, squeezing his eyes shut until the surge of dizziness passes.

The piercing chirp of his phone going off nearly has him cry. It’s a text from Noct, and he doesn’t need to see the reminder that they’ve got training later today.

“C’mon, Prompto, pull yourself together.” Is so, so much easier said than done, but there’s no way in hell that he’s missing any precious time with his best friend. Prompto can get through this, he has to.

The pain in his stomach is just going to have to kill him some other time.

He’s wrong.

Gods, is he wrong.

It’s going to kill him right now.

Noct had noticed his unusually pale skin, how his facade of cheer had cracks in it. He had been willing to call off the session in favor of Prompto going back home for the rest he clearly needed, or better yet playing hooky and crashing at his place under Ignis’s care. The blond had only put on a slipping smile under the excuse of a cold and playful remark of Noct just wanting to slack off as usual, insistent that he’d be alright–more than alright to kick his best friend’s butt. Noctis merely gave him a smirk at the confidence, but both knew that there was no convincing on either side.

Prompto should have been able to dodge that hit like it was nothing, should have been able to twist away with ease before the hilt of the practice blade connected with his lower right side. Noctis had been holding back, and he’s not sure whether to be insulted or relieved.

Right now, he’s settling for death.

Prompto’s not entirely sure if he screamed or not, air nearly impossible to come by as he’s doubled over, arms shaking over his gut to shield himself from further harm. Maybe it’s to keep from bursting, excruciating pain sure to tear him apart from the inside at any second. Eons away, he can make out the tones of a panicked Prince, hovering uselessly in watery vision like some kind of daydream. Fevered hallucination or not, he gets even more nauseous at the realization that he’s the source of this Noct’s worry. Prompto’s faintly aware of the words that slur out of him, hopefully some semblance of assurance to warped apologies, willing every last frayed nerve in his body to get their shit together in a last ditch effort to at least stand.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, he’s fine–

Prompto collapses like a puppet’s strings have been sliced clean off, a definite cry escaping him this time as his legs give out. Noct’s fraying composure scales higher in pitch, arms cradling him upwards off the floor. It’s an awkward position, head somewhat resting on his friend’s shoulder with a blessedly cool hand plastered against his forehead while the other grips his bicep. There’s a lot of things Prompto wants to say, feebly attempting to squirm out of Noct’s firm grip as if to prove his health isn’t completely failing him. He’s sorry for being a pathetic mess like this before Noctis, first of all, tears barely able to be blinked back.

“N–Noct–” Prompto gives up lifting his head to meet the frantic midnight sky he knows are staring into him, if not darting around to find someone, anyone, to help.

“Prom? Prom, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to–I–I shouldn’t have–” The Prince is rambling, the first that Prompto has ever witnessed from the typically aloof individual. It’s so unlike Noctis that it’s more terrifying than whatever the hell’s wrong with him.

“Noct.” He repeats the name, voice steady before crumbling with what little self-control he has left. Black spots dance before his eyes, throat tightening as his gut churns like the wash cycle at that cheap laundromat. “Gon’ puke.”

That’s really all the warning he gets before bile is weakly hacked up, and Prompto’s skin crawls at the sensation of slick sick spewing past his chin and spilling down onto his arm to Noct’s shoes. The clenching pain is unbearable, tears streaming down his cheeks at the relentless pressure, having no shame left in his worst nightmare come true to brokenly sob in the Prince of Insomnia’s arms.

Everything hurts. It spreads beyond the searing origins around his stomach, throbbing pulse deafening in his ears as it takes over most of his dwindled focus. Typically bright crystal blue eyes are clouded over with the distant glaze of tears. Noct’s words are but a muffled shout on numb ears, listlessly making out that his friend is addressing someone. Maybe it’s to him, Prompto’s not really sure, fragmented apologies translated into pitiful moans and groans once past his lips.

An angel of scarlet hair and gold amber eyes enters his sliver of vision, blurred but beautiful nonetheless. The thought crosses his vacant mind of how odd it is for the wingless young maiden to be donned in armor, or to look so concerned as she briefly looks him over. Noct pleads something, and valkyrie is gone in the next blink. Prompto whines, feeling betrayed as to why she hadn’t come to collect him to put an end to his misery.

“Aurarius is going to get help.” Is all Noct says, repeating it over as if to reassure himself that his one and only best friend isn’t going to die in his arms because of him. “She’s fast. She’ll get a doctor in no time, and you’ll be feeling better soon before you know it. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Prompto definitely doesn’t feel okay, but the sincerity of Noct’s attempts of comfort are soft and warm contrasted to the agonizing aches and chill. If these are his last moments, he’s a pretty lucky guy. Minutes crawl by, maybe even a lifetime, before he picks up on rushed footsteps, one holding a distinctive limp. It takes a herculean effort to open his eyes, immediately regretting it as he makes out the King of Insomnia and his Shield.

His gut hurts for an entirely different reason now, going frigid like Shiva’s sealed his fate with a cruel kiss as he visibly shivers. Prompto thinks he’s trying to say he’s sorry for puking all over his son, but there’s nothing but worried kindness on the King’s solemn features as the man merely shakes his head. Noctis is reluctant to give him up to the Shield, Prompto weakly protesting that he’ll get that shining armor filthy by the dirty mess he is. Clarus Amicitia isn’t fazed in the slightest, scooping him up carefully as though the boy could shatter like he feels he will any second.

It’s funny, Prompto thinks, how surprisingly gentle the behemoth swordsman is. He’s still really sorry, though, as the shift in movement and of being lifted has yet another round of vomit dribble out of his mouth. The father of two doesn’t scold or act disgusted, instead ordering the Glaive from earlier to inform the doctor’s that they’re on the way.

The last he remembers is someone placing an aged hand on his burning forehead, promises echoing in his head that he’ll be alright.

Rest.

And so he does.

When consciousness becomes his again, Prompto is certain he’s dead.

Plush comfort surrounds him, blissfully tucked into the cozy warmth. It takes a moment to process why it’s such a big deal, finally feeling the dull throb down at his stomach as his body hazily reports in. Faint voices are hushed nearby, deep in conversation that he can’t make out for the light sound of snoring at his left side. Curiosity gets the better of Prompto as it always does, neck stiff as he turns his head in the direction of the noisy breaths. The lighting is dimmed down wherever he is, but his eyes still burn as he slowly blinks them open. A disheveled mess of raven hair takes up most the slumbering face of Noctis, and he’s tempted to snort at the unsurprising sight. Prompto settles for a soft smile instead, comforted by the presence of his  hero of a best friend more than Noct’ll ever know. The name is more of a whisper of air, about near to confess his feelings when something gently squeezes his right hand.

It’s quiet, Prompto realizes, the voices having halted since having moved. His fingers twitch in the hand that holds his, making the effort to turn his head as eyes narrow in concentration. Everything’s so foggy, like he’d been sleeping for some time, aware now of a weight sitting at the edge of the bed. Prompto’s gaze wanders from the hand up onto its’ owner’s arm, soon squinting up at the face of his King.

A dry groan escapes him, scratching at his throat. A glass of water is pressed against his lips, strong yet sure arms keeping him upright long enough to greedily drink its contents. Clarus nods in approval once emptied, setting him down against the welcoming pillows once more.

Time passes slowly as his senses return, guilt tripping him as to why the two of the most important men of Eos are at his bedside. He’d say their behavior is like that of parents, if he had to guess the foreign feeling that tugs longingly at his heart. Regis’s voice holds a soothing calmness as he informs the blond of all that had occurred–‘operation’ followed by words too large to keep up with in his current state–, before finally asked how he’s feeling at how dazed he looks.

Prompto doesn’t lie like he had to Noctis. He’s too tired to pretend that everything is perfect, even admits to the implication that his adoptive guardians are never really home–but they’re still the best parents he could ask for, really! Even if sometimes they don’t leave him enough money for food during their absence, but that’s alright because he’s picked up a part-time job to help keep the power on and the cupboards stocked. It’s the least he can do for them, grateful to have a roof over his head and aw man, they’re really going to be disappointed in him after hearing about this–

Clarus rises abruptly out of his chair, nearly toppling it over as he storms out of the bedroom. There’s a startled squeak and salute of his name as the door just about flies off its hinges, Prompto catching a glimpse of the redheaded Glaive sneaking a look in. Relief flashes across her features at seeing him awake, then she’s gone yet again as the door is quietly closed as if remembering the occupants inside.

“It would seem you’ve worried quite a few people whom care deeply for you, Prompto. Myself included.” Regis breaks the silence, lips quirked upwards as his gaze lingers at the doorway before landing back on the pair. Noctis still sleeps undisturbed in the slightest, and the smile remains for just a moment longer. “I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer to watch over your recovery, but I trust my son can keep you company in my stead.”

Prompto nods, a strange kind of sadness washing over him as his hand is freed and patted for reassurance. The King rises to his feet, albeit with a quickly concealed grimace of the pain that ails him.

Maybe it’s selfish to wish he didn’t have to go, a childish thought that Prompto tries to banish to no avail.

No one ever stays. He learned that a long time ago.

He frets with what he can grasp of the blanket, biting at his bottom lip in both ashamed of the childish desire and to prevent himself from blurting the embarrassing request out.

It’s the father in Regis that knows better.

“Perhaps I can stay until you fall back asleep? Would you like that?” Bless the Six, he takes his place back on the bed’s edge even before Prompto nods that yes, yes he’d really like that.

To no surprise, he lasts only a couple minutes later, and Regis waits a good dozen more to really be sure before gingerly rising as not to disturb the two.

“Rest well, my sons.”

[flauntpage]

Mackanin Was Good At Keeping A Seat Warm, But Now What?

You know how you learn a piece of information, process it, and then you let it rattle around for a few minutes before forming an opinion? Well, today, when the Phillies announced Pete Mackanin wouldn’t return as manager next season, I began that process. I read it on Twitter. I said, “Oh. Wow.” And then I waited for the synapses in my brain to fire so I could feel some kind of way about it. Here’s the weird thing, I let it sit there for a bit, and I…I just don’t feel any way about it.

When the Phillies fired Charlie Manuel, I felt sorry for him and a little bit pissed because he took the fall for Ruben Amaro’s complete ineptitude. When the Eagles fired Chip Kelly, I belted out a hearty “FUCK YEAH!” With Mackanin, I don’t know, it’s just somewhat hard to get worked up one way or the other over the move because he did an average job with well below average players. There’s something to be said for the fact that most players seemed to play hard for him, but there’s also nothing that jumped out about him that made anyone say, “This is the guy.” That’s really the knock on Mackanin—he was just a guy who did a respectable job while keeping a seat warm. He was never going to be at the helm when the Phillies were ready to contend, but I was nonetheless a bit caught off guard by the move, primarily because the Phillies still seem at least another year away from contending. I figured this move would happen, just a year from now, particularly given their recent improved play.

The Phillies’ win percentage rose from .333 before the All-Star break to .486 after it. They won six more games in the second half of the season than they did in the first, despite playing 15 fewer games. In the event they sweep a shitty Mets team this weekend, they will actually finish the second half over .500 with a 38-37 record.

The players, for their part, didn’t seem particularly fazed by the move. J.P. Crawford, Nick Williams, and Rhys Hoskins each gave stock replies about being surprised by the move (while seeming completely unsurprised) in the clubhouse prior to Friday night’s game. In fact, the most interesting thing said came via Williams, who told CSN’s Marshall Harris that he learned of Mackanin’s firing from his fiancé who told him while he was in the clubhouse hot tub. Guess there wasn’t an emotional team meeting to break the news.

The real story, however, is where the Phillies go from here. One name that has emerged early is that of Lehigh Valley manager Dusty Wathan. Crawford, Williams, and Hoskins spoke glowingly of the 44-year-old, who Hoskins characterized Friday as a manager he “felt comfortable going to with baseball stuff and non-baseball stuff.”

The move would make some sense given his familiarity with the team’s core group of young players, but I’m not so sure that is the direction the Phillies will go. Klentak told reporters that they will look at internal and external options, but with a team that finally appears poised to spend a shit ton of money and an increasingly impatient ownership that would like a return to relevance, I wouldn’t be surprised if he and President of Baseball Operations Andy MacPhail look outside the organization. “Hey, Manny Machado, you will have the chance to play for DUSTY WATHAN!” doesn’t sound like a great sales pitch. At the very least, if Wathan does get the job, it has not yet been decided. If it had been, Klentak would have emerged from his meetings in Clearwater this week, fired Mackanin, while simultaneously announcing Wathan’s promotion. It sounds like a fluid situation far from completion.

While their ultimate direction remains unclear, one thing clearly came into focus with today’s move and it is that the Phillies are about to become players at the offseason table once again.

Mackanin Was Good At Keeping A Seat Warm, But Now What? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv