#you have it down that old fight for survival

[takeurexam]

the look of love - sylus x reader

sypnosis - sylus cant help but express his love for you through his magnificent look of love to you, and even if it's something you miss from him- all he cares about that his eyes still can reach you.

• no. 1 party anthem - artic monkeys

ps: this song's meaning is not connected to the concept in any way... maybe just think about the sound?

- fluff, sylus being smitten real, blood/injuries mentioned, short

There are so many moments where Sylus can just blur the whole backround, and just look at you as if you were a goddess sent down from the heavens. His look wont leave you until you snap him back to reality- if you even can.

He can name so many moments.

There was even a time when he almost bled to death, because of some fight that happened in an auction he went to while protecting the Protocore he wanted to bid on. It unfortunately was not protected, causing Sylus to get severe injuries from the fight.

Well, he could heal- but why do that when you're there tending for his wounds? How can he tell his sweet nurse, her heart full of concern for him? The sight was so amusing to him, that he couldn't seriously get his eyes off you.

"You know, I didn't expect for someone like you to get injured so seriously like this." You murmur, dipping the hot wet cloth into his wounds to clean them. You cant see it, but your patient had his eyes straight towards you, as if he was a motion detecting device.

"Don't be so careless, okay?" You whisper too quietly, but it was enough to reach the white haired man's ears. He couldn't hold back the smirk curling on his lips, seeing you so concerned for him just switches a light bulb inside him.

He looks at you, red eyes full of love inside them; he cant just get enough of it. He can't survive a day without seeing you, and the sight of your hair, your skin, your eyes, or merely your ear could be enough for him.

"You're too caring, Sweetie. It makes me want to get injured more-" Sylus recieves a not too strong, yet forceful hit on his chest from you. He sees your furrowed brows, and he swears- it was the last tug on his strings.

"Dont say that, I'll actually kill you." You lift a fist suddenly, yet it never hits Sylus. He just laughs it out, seeing you lift a fist at the Leader of Onychinus. As if you had any power against him. You did.

"Ouch." He hisses, for your words and the pain of the injury. Your eyes flicker towards him, a sting of pity stinging your heart; you were like a stingray, and you have stinged his heart completely.

You slowly patch up the wound, adding last necessary items to cover up the cleaned wound. Once you finish, you fix the materials and set them aside for now; you have something more important at hand- babysitting a twenty-eight year old.

He stares at you, his red eyes making the official color of love. You raise a brow, confused on to why he was staring right at your soul. Is there something behind you? Your face? What was it?

"You're staring at me as if I killed your whole family." You comment, crossing your arms together. He erupts into chuckles, but his gaze never leaves you.

"Nothing."

There was another moment where in you were both crossing the road, talking about where to walk to next in four in the morning, having friendly arguments on where the best place in Linkon can be for watching the sunrise.

You two decided to just walk, as it was just four in the morning, and a morning walk cant be that bad. Its cold and the atmosphere is comepletely nice, unless theres kidnappers or something- but aside that, its nice.

"This is very heavy." An elderly woman was beside the stoplight for pedestrians, carrying four heavy looking bags, at the middle of the night.

You and Sylus look at each other, with the same thought to why there was an old woman in the streets at four in the morning.

But setting your concerns aside, you leave the white haired man beside you, stepping your way to the old woman. "Here, let me help you." You smile, carrying the two other bags for her.

"Oh! Thank you, young lady. My old body cant carry bags that much anymore." She cackles, her teeth shining. "I bought so many gifts for my lovely grand children, that they were too heavy. I'm suprised I got this far." She exclaims, her smile contagious.

Your conversation with the old woman dosen't make you aware of Sylus entering the picture, as he walks behind you. He smiles, carrying the other bags from the old lady. "Let me help you too, Miss."

"Oh, how lovely." She giggles, pointing towards the house a few blocks away. "I'll just settle there, and you two can continue your way." The two of you nod, making your way to the said place.

But ago, Sylus was once again caught up in your web. He couldn't stop staring at you when you stepped up to the old lady, with no hesitation to leave him hangging alone, knowing the risk factors.

He looked at you, as if he "found his bride." He just stood there, staring at you smile widely at the old woman.

And as you two walked, he can't help it- his eyes cant stop lingering over you, he can't stop his heart from racing, how the night sky couldn't even engulf you in its darkness, and how you shine so brightly in his eyes.

It wasn't even the last time. He cant even count how many times it happened, but there was one exact moment that made his heart tie its knot to you.

When you accidentally witnessed something you weren't supposed to see. You were normally walking in Linkon, nothing unusual, until you notice a familliar red evol roaming around a balcony of the building you were staring at.

As your eyes zoom closer, you see the man who held his evol; his suit red and black. He carelessly beat up the men with him, as if he was in an action movie and he was filming for mission impossible.

But your eyes squint a little more, and you see a strand of white hair on the man. "Sylus?" You murmur, not deciding to scream it out.

Like the wind carried your voice to him, Sylus looks down from the balcony, seeing your little figure looking at the mess he is right now. His heart stops, as if blood just stops flowing towards him, but it cant; he finished up the men, and with a heavy breath- he used his evol and flew down to settle beside you.

He sees you, clothes formal as you just came from work- compared to him, he looked like a mess. Blood was all over him, not even his- but from his enemies. His clothes were dirty, whilist yours were clean.

He felt his mind race. You knew about his position in Onychinus, and how dangerous he was- but he never involved you in his dirty work. He could never let you see how much of a monster he was.

His fear crept up to him, awaiting the words "monster" come out from your throat.

"Need a tissue?" You tilt your head, your tone offering and sweet. What? He was confused, where were the words he expected to come out from your mouth?

He stood there, blood creeping from his forehead, as he remained dumbfounded. He accepts the tissue you reached out to him, his eyes not leaving you.

The tissue didn't matter, damn it. Why weren't you running? Why were you still there, right infront of him, acting as if it was nothing? Was fear consuming him right now- maybe he was just hallucinating, and you already ran away from him.

You click your tongue, grabbing back the tissue from his hands. You wipe the blood from him yourself, the dim streetlamp was the only light source for you two.

While you wiped his blood, his crime- he spoke. "Why are you here, wiping the blood on my body when you've seen what I do?" His voice is quiet, a voice laced with confusion, fear, and a little bit of sprinkled hope.

"Honestly, does it matter?" You laugh, "I jumped into your life aware of what you do, so dont come to me playing the confused man, 'kay?" You snort, finishing the process of wiping the blood.

And his eyes absorbed the sight of you, as if he was being cursed by a witch to hallucinate you forever, well, for him- would it even be a curse?

You truly have recieved the look of love.

a/n: finally done! after one month of the poll, i finally release the short ahh oneshot i promised. i deliver! ❤️ so sorry this is short, i just have a thing for short fanfics LOL

[oldsoul007]

the last time

joel miller x reader

summary: they knew it could happen

joel miller masterlist

The world had narrowed down to the two of us.

Joel’s chest heaved as he helped me stumble through the crumbling streets, both of us drenched in sweat and dust. The Clickers had almost caught us. We had barely managed to get out of the warehouse alive, and the sky was now darkening, thick with the remnants of the day’s heat.

Every time Joel glanced at her, the knot in his stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. He’d seen her fight off exhaustion more times than he could count, but today, she was different. Her steps were slower, unsteady. Her breath was ragged, a little too sharp for comfort.

“Y/n,” he muttered, his voice low but filled with concern. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. I kept my eyes forward, her hand still gripping his but with less strength than usual. The space between us felt heavier with each step.

Then he saw it.

I had raised my arm, reaching out for support as we turned a corner, and there—just below my jacket sleeve—was the unmistakable, jagged bite. Blood, still dark and wet, stained the fabric.

Joel’s heart stopped. For a split second, everything around us ceased to exist—the ruined city, the setting sun, the bitter chill creeping in. All that mattered was the blood on my arm. The blood that had never, ever been part of our plan.

“No,” Joel rasped, his voice cracking like old wood. He jerked me around to face him, his hands shaking as they gripped my shoulders. His gaze locked on the mark. The bite.

“I—” I tried to speak, but my throat caught. The words wouldn’t come.

“You—” Joel took a step back, his hands falling away from me as if I had burned him. His heart thundered in his chest. He looked from the mark on my arm to my face, the realization sinking in like cold water. “How?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in, trying to steady myself. But when I looked back at him, there was no hiding the truth. No pretending.

“It happened during the fight,” I said softly, my voice cracking. “I didn’t… I didn’t even feel it at first. We were so damn close to getting away—”

Joel shook his head, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “You didn’t tell me. You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to—” I cut herself off, glancing down at the ground. I was trying to hold it together, but I knew Joel could see the exhaustion in me, the weight of it. I was breaking, just like he was.

“I need you, y/n.” The words burst out of him before he could stop them. His voice broke, raw and desperate, like something inside him had cracked. “We’ve already lost everything. I can’t lose you, too.”

My eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them away, trying to stay strong. I reached for him then, my hands trembling as I touched his face—gently, like I was afraid to shatter him, afraid to shatter myself.

“You already have,” I whispered, the words so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.

Joel’s chest tightened, and his mind couldn’t process what she was saying. His breath came in shallow gasps.

“No,” he said, shaking his head violently, as if he could fight the reality away. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, and his voice came out hoarse, ragged. “Not after Sarah.”

The mention of Sarah felt like a punch to the gut. It always did. Every time.

I flinched, the ghost of Sarah’s name hanging between us. He knew it was unfair to say her name, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was the only comparison he had left. The only thing that explained the magnitude of what was happening to them.

The loss was too big.

I shook my head, a slight smile breaking through my tear-streaked face, but it was bitter and broken. “I know. I know.” My voice cracked again, and I dropped my hand from his face, letting it fall to my side. “But I can’t keep pretending that this isn’t how it ends for us, Joel. We knew this could happen. We knew.”

Joel’s whole body trembled. “No. We’ve made it this far. We’ve survived the worst, y/n. Please.”

I backed away from him then, taking a hesitant step back, like I was afraid that if I stayed too close, the weight of it all would crush us both.

“Joel,” I said quietly, the pain in my voice more than he could stand. “You are—. You’re the only thing left, the only thing I have.” My voice faltered. “But this… I’m not gonna make it, and I can’t ask you to watch me change.”

Her words struck him like a blow. His heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest. He reached for me again, but I stepped further away.

“I won’t let you do that,” he pleaded, his voice breaking as he reached for me one more time. “I won’t let you turn. We’ll find a way. There’s always a way.”

But I looked at him then, my eyes full of love and something else—something darker, like I knew the truth even though neither of us wanted to say it.

“I’m already gone, Joel,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “There’s nothing left to save.”

The words shattered him.

I wasn’t talking about the infection, not really. I was talking about the part of me that had fought for so long, the part of me that had fought with him, for him, after everything they had lost. I was talking about the end of something we’d both held onto for so long—an end we had both feared, but never truly acknowledged until now.

And in that moment, as the world seemed to press in on them, Joel understood. The pain in his chest, the ache of losing someone again, was a familiar feeling—a feeling he had buried so deep after Sarah. But it had come back. And it was here to stay.

I had always been a fighter. We both had. But this? This was something neither of us could fight. Not anymore.

Joel stepped forward again, slowly this time, his heart pounding in his chest, but when I didn’t pull away, he reached out for me, cupping my face in his hands. I closed my eyes, and a tear slipped down my cheek.

He kissed me then—slow, desperate, as if trying to burn me into his soul, trying to make this last moment stretch into infinity. I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his, breathing raggedly, our faces close enough to feel each other’s tears.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words choking him. He couldn’t say it enough, not while there was still time.

“I love you so much,” I murmured, my voice soft and fragile. “But I’m not the one you need to save, Joel. Not anymore.”

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, as we both understood what was coming. What we had left was each other—and that wasn’t enough to stop what was inevitable.

I pulled away then, not to escape, but because I knew I had to.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, the words a whisper in the cold evening air.

Joel could barely breathe, his heart shattering in his chest as he watched me turn away from him, each step breaking him just a little more.

And as she walked into the darkness, leaving him behind, all he could do was stand there, watching, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see her—his y/n.

[aloysiavirgata]

Will you write me a post-Fight Club fic? They’re bruised and beat up and I want to read about it.

Kersh had said Sweet fancy Moses when he saw their injuries and ordered them either home or desk bound until such time as they would not terrify small children with their countenances.

***

Scully slouched against the wall with an ice pack on her face. She did not want to be here, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either. People stared and she hated it more than she hated paperwork. She had practically worn a groove in her apartment floor from caged pacing.

Mulder was using a tape dispenser to grind Excedrin tablets into a powder. He rubbed it on the insides of his swollen lips like cocaine.

“Ow,” he observed. He didn’t get the fun medications until he went home, which he didn’t wish to do because it was boring. He carried his injuries with a certain swagger.

“I thought Mr. Saperstein was going to show you some in-your-face, smack-down moves so you could quit getting your ass kicked so often,” Scully said.

Mulder scowled at her. He grabbed a pad of paper from the desk and wrote YOU’RE LOOKING PRETTY ROUGH YOURSELF XENA. He tapped at it until she looked up.

“The Lorax is coming for you, Mulder,” she warned.

He was finding it difficult to talk clearly with a wired jaw but, because he found it impossible to refrain from making smart remarks, he was on his third legal pad.

WELL EXCUSE ME BUT I WASN’T EXPECTING TO HAVE TO EITHER TAKE A CANE TO THE JAW OR PUNCH AN OLD LADY

He added a frowny face and several exclamation points to emphasize the complexity of the situation.

Scully examined her reflection in the back of a spoon. Either Lulu or Betty - Scully couldn’t remember which thanks to the concussion - had launched herself off the ropes and onto Scully. She had led with her forehead.

“Burt Zupanic,” she mused, readjusting the ice. “Of all the men to fight over.”

SWEET-ASS PERM, Mulder noted, unhelpfully.

She laughed, which hurt. Most things hurt at present, her pride included. She’d already had three cups of coffee this morning, but after surviving all her various maimings, Scully was confident her organs could handle it. She emptied the pot into her Stanford mug.

Mulder tapped her arm. HEY I AM ORDERING SOME CLAM CHOWDER FOR LUNCH. DO YOU WANT ANYTHING?

“Clam chowder through a straw, ugh, Mulder. Besides, you’re not supposed to have anything with chunks in it.”

THEY ARE BLENDING IT UP FOR ME. MILKSHAKE OF THE SEA.

She gagged a little. “That’s vile.”

PROBABLY. IF THEY MAKE ANOTHER MOVIE ABOUT US I THINK WE SHOULD NOT MENTION THIS PARTICULAR INCIDENT.

As though he actual movie had been so much better. She cringed every time she thought about it. At least the COPS episode conveyed her reluctance and irritation. “Pinky swear.”

He held his own finger out and she hooked hers around it.

THE PACT IS SEALED

“Hey Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to get the hell out of here, go take some of the really good painkillers, curl up in my bed in our underwear, and watch bad Lifetime movies until we pass out? I don’t have chowder but there’s leftover tomato bisque with your name on it.”

FUCK THE CHOWDER LET’S ROLL

They were out the door before the ink dried.

[saphiccarma]

hi! It is totally oka if you aren’t comfortable doing this but…

Could you do an Agatha x reader after the Road? Agatha recovers her body and finds Reader. Agatha and Reader are finally choose to start a family and they try smut and their attempts bear fruits. Reader is pregnant and tells Agatha

- I missed you

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary - Agatha died. She was dead, but before that the two of you were planning to start a family, have a kid. And when Agatha gets her body back, the two of you make it happen

Warnings:smut obv, nipple play, kissing, enchanted strap (referred to as cock maybe once), pregnancy

A/N:This one was really fun to write! Thank you so much for sending it in. :)

You caught word that Agatha had died through Rio. The Green Witch was never your favorite person, but she wasn't your enemy either. You had known her for nearly as long as Agatha, both of them being close to you throughout all the years, and then when Nicholas happened, Rio drifted away. You made it clear then who your favorite was.

Even still, Rio and you kept in contact.

That's why you threw yourself into her arms, sobbing, when she told you what happened to Agatha. You pounded at her chest, fists attempting to hit her in the chest, but she just held you close. Her face pressed into your hair, and she sighed. You screamed and cried as tears streamed down your face.

And for the next few weeks, you were devastated. Before Agatha left for The Road, you had been planning to start a family since you had just broken her free from Wanda's spell. Magic would be able to make it possible. The two of you knew that. Being a mother was something you had always wanted, a warm feeling that glowed inside your chest whenever you thought about it. A mini-Agatha, or you, running around the house - whether it was a boy or a girl - their joyful screams echoing as you chased them around.

That warmth in your chest faded, almost completely, when Rio visited you. The instant you saw her, you knew what happened, and all hope for a family crashed down inside of you. It felt as if your heart shattered. You spent your time holed up in your room, a blanket wrapped around as you stared at old photos. Agatha was the first person who showed you kindness other than your parents. She taught you how to be a witch, how to control your powers and cast spells and survive. But now she was gone. Completely gone and you were lost without her.

Your fingers trembled around your phone as tears brimmed your eyes. Chewing on your lower lip, you swiped through the photo albums and tried to fight the tears that threatened to come down. There were dozens of photos. Ones of you and Agatha, smiling with bright eyes, and others just of Agatha. Some of them were of Senor Scratchy and Agatha, or just the bunny. He was still with you, downstairs.

You lived in a different house than the one Agatha lived in during her time under Wanda's spell. This house was cozier. It was filled with memories. Picture frames that hung the walls, small souvenirs decorating the shelves, and books that both of you loved. Everything reminded you of Agatha and it hurt to just look around, but that didn't stop you from wallowing in your misery while scrolling through photos.

A bitter laugh bubbled out of your throat at a particular one. It was Agatha, lying on the ground her hands folded across her chest and eyes shut, flowers braided into her hair. You had convinced her to do it for you, pretend to play dead, and she obliged begrudgingly, but there was a small smile on her face. How ironic. And now she really was dead.

A slight creak snapped you out of your thoughts, head snapping up and ears perking. There it was again. And again. Power charged between your fingertips, ready to fire a moment's notice, and you blinked tears away from your eyes. Agatha had a lot of enemies, and with her gone they might resort to harming you. When the door opened you prepared to lunge out of bed and strike, but you were not prepared to see your dead wife staring at you.

She looked elegant as always. Her fancy purple dress that flowed thickly all the way to the floor. Brown hair joined it, stopping just past her shoulders, and there was new light grey streaks through it. If anything, it made her hotter. Icy blue eyes, filled with a tender love you missed, met yours. Tears swelled in your eyes once more and you did a double take. There she stood in her full glory, a smirk settled onto her pink lips, eyes sparkling with triumph.

"You're- You are not real." you stammered and there was an undeniable tremble to your voice as your fingers shook. Fake Agatha sighed softly, shaking her head.

"You always were skeptical," she murmured, "But I assure you, I am very real." As if to prove her point, purple magic sparked at her fingertips and you gasped at the familiar sight. That was all the confirmation you needed to spring from the bed and scramble towards her. Agatha was the only one who had magic of that color. You launched yourself at her, and her arms wrapped around you, her chest rumbling slightly as she laughed softly.

Sobs racked your body as you mumbled, "You're alive." Over and over. And that spark in your chest blossomed once again. You felt lighter, the weight of her death not hanging over you. Relief flooded through your system, calm and cool in a way that soothed all your worries and made your chest tight as you held her tight, fists balling into her dress, and cried.

"Did you doubt me?" Agatha pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering and leaving a patch of heat once she pulled away. She placed her hands on your hips, pushing you away once your cries slowly dwindled. Her eyes were dark as she stared down at you, "I missed you."

You leant up until your lips met hers in a tender kiss, one that had so much meaning. It started out soft at first. A symbol of reconnecting, a way to show how much you missed and loved her. But when her tongue swiped against your bottom lip and you let out a quiet whimper, it escalated into much more. Heat fueled the kiss, Agatha's lip dominating yours and her tongue swiping through your mouth. Her hands pushed you back until you stumbled and fell onto the bed. Not once did her mouth leave yours as you fell, her legs straddling your hips.

You were wearing nothing but one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of panties, and already you could feel them getting wet. Agatha laughed against your mouth, pulling just an inch away, as her eyes met yours.

"I missed you," you whispered, hands falling onto her shoulders and tugging her back in for a kiss. Her chest pressed up against yours and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Open-mouthed kisses were placed from your mouth to your jaw, tender and slow. She took her time until your grip relinquished on you, and she moved down to your neck. You squirmed beneath her, hips wriggling as the wetness between your thighs pooled even more, and her lips sucked on your neck. She made sure to mark you, and you knew that silently, it was her way of claiming you. After her weeks away, she was making sure you knew that you were hers.

With a snap of her fingers, both of your clothes were gone, magicked into a pile on the floor. Her cold breasts pressed up against yours and you could feel your nipples harden once exposed to the cool air. She looked the exact same as before, but it was no less stunning to see her naked. The sharp outline of her collarbone and the soft curve of her breasts. Agatha trailed down to the spot right above your collarbone, her lips leaving a hot trail that was cooled by the air flowing through the window. Soft whimpers and moans were already escaping you. You could practically feel her smirk against your skin.

Her lips finally met your breasts, lips latching around one of your sensitive peaks. Your hips bucked when her tongue swiped over it. She suckled on your nipple, relishing in the way you tugged at her shoulders and whined beneath her, her tongue swirling in precise, lazy, circles. Eyes squeezed shut, you threw your head back, hands clawing at her shoulders.

Then Agatha pulled back, her eyes met yours, "Do you remember what we talked about before I left?" she murmured, her voice low and filled with a promise, "Do you still want to? Have a kid?" Her words sent a jolt through you and your eyes snapped open. It looked for a moment as if she wanted to take it back.

"Yes," you blurted, breathless, "Yes. So much."

That was all it took for Agatha's smirk to widen and for her to wiggle down your body, to place herself between your thighs. She snapped her fingers once more, and a harness and strap appeared around her waist, the strap a dark purple. Agatha had talked about it before, the prospect of an enchanted strap, able to impregnate you. You were left wide-eyed at the sight of it. You had down things like this before, but never an enchanted one. The very thought of sending a jolt of pleasurable nerves through you.

Her hands settled on your hips, "Tell me if you want to stop," she whispered. The tip of her strap nudged at your entrance and a little moan left you, "God, you're wet," she groaned, her grip on your skin tightening. You had little to no warning before she plunged into you. A broken mix of a whine and moan left you, your hands grasping into the sheets. This one felt better than any other one you had ever used. Agatha started out slow at first, letting you adjust the size of it, her hips moving slowly.

And when it seemed as if you were warmed up, your wetness slicking it up, she started pumping in and out faster, not caring to be gentle. Squeezing your eyes shut you didn't bother to contain the sounds coming from your throat, desperate and needy ones as you fisted the sheets.

"You feel so good around my cock," Agatha's head was thrown back as she fucked you, her fingers curling into your hips and nails digging into your skin. You could hardly focus on that. Just the pleasurable feel of her strap inside of you, sliding in and out and the little grooves hitting all the spots just right. The hot feeling of satisfaction coursing through you. That familiar tightness in your stomach was small when you first started, but now you couldn't ignore it.

You could tell Agatha was close to. Her movements lost any sort of coherence, just moving erratically, and her breathing grew labored. She was much better at controlling her sounds than you were, just a few small whimpers. Agatha knew you were close by the way your walls fluttered around her, thighs quivering with every thrust, and your moans and whines getting higher in pitch by every passing second.

"Aggie," you whined, "Please."

Her voice was a light gasp of breath, "Wait," and when you made a sound of frustration, her tone hardened, "Wait for me."

You struggled to control the orgasm that threaten to rip through you, and your heart beat so fast in your chest as the pressure in your stomach increased. You writhed beneath her, hardly able to stop yourself as Agatha brought herself to her high. It felt like an eternity before she finally spoke again.

"Go ahead," she ordered, "You can come."

That was all you needed to let go. Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, one filled with endorphins and pure pleasure, coming with Agatha's name. Everything felt lighter. She came right with you, her cum filling you from her strap. Her juices filled you up even as she pulled out slowly, hushing you when you whimpered softly. The strap disappeared and she flopped down next to you.

Her juices leaked out from your dripping cunt and Agatha's fingers reached down to push it back it, slowly holding it there. You loosened your grip on the sheets, curling your hands out of tight fists, and you opened your eyes. Turning to face Agatha, you smiled softly, still a bit breathless from one of the best orgasms ever.

"I missed you so much," you whispered, hand coming up to cup her face. A part of you still couldn't believe that this was real, that Agatha was actually here. She wasn't dead. She was alive. You didn't bother asking how she had even gotten her body back.

Agatha's fingers were warm inside you, "I missed you so much too. So, so much."

Her lips met yours in a soft, tender, kiss. One filled with love.

^____________^

Your hands trembled around the test, a bright pink plus sign staring up at you. Happy tears welled in your eyes as you forced a smile down. You were pregnant. It took one try and now you were pregnant. You were going to have a baby with Agatha.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," you murmured quietly, your eyes trained on the stick in your hands. The door creaked open softly. It was only a moment before you felt Agatha's arm wrap around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder as she peeked over it.

"Baby," her voice was soft and you could just barely detect the slight tremble, "You're pregnant."

You swallowed thickly. You were excited, you really were. But you were also nervous. Pregnancy was a thing that could go wrong in so many ways, but it could also go right. It was a painful process, you knew that, and that scared you. But Agatha was right here with you, her lips kissing the spot beneath your ear. She spun you around so that you were facing her and you couldn't stop the small cry that left your lips as you buried your face into her neck.

She rocked you slowly, back and forth as one would do to a child, humming a low song. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, small sniffles leaving you as you quietly cried. It was an odd mix of happy tears and sad ones, both relieved and scared.

"We're having a baby," you laughed wetly into her neck, "I'm pregnant."

Agatha laughed into your hair, kissing you briefly, "We are."

That confirmed that you were crying out of joy. Tears happily streaming down your face. You were going to have a baby.

[severeprincesheep]

Wow. Not the kind of humour anyone working on television will ever have the courage to pull off.

HARTFORD, CT—Creating an electric and intimidating atmosphere with their cheers and vocal cries for blood, throngs of health insurance executives reportedly crowded into a massive outdoor coliseum on Aetna’s corporate campus Monday to watch one of their policyholders engage in a life-or-death fight against cancer.

Sources confirmed that the stone arena was filled to capacity for the highly anticipated spectacle, with over 90,000 officials attending from providers as far away as WellPoint, Kaiser Permanente, and HCSC to see if the patient could survive an intense, brutal struggle with the advanced stage III illness.

“Today we bring you one of our most thrilling challengers to date: a 57-year-old caucasian male with preexisting high blood pressure and a family history of heart disease,” said Blue Cross Blue Shield CEO Scott Serota from an extravagantly decorated box seat, his booming voice immediately silencing the raucous masses of middle-aged executives. “He holds a privately purchased Aetna PPO with a $400 monthly premium and $1,500 annual deductible, but faces the fight of his life against an aggressive form of multiple myeloma, one of the most ruthless killers known to man.”

“Bring out Aetna member #ABP80424!” Serota continued as the withered patient was wheeled into the sand-filled arena on a small gurney to loud boos and whistles. “Let the battle commence!”

According to reports, the policyholder, who was equipped with limited resources of his own during the fight, immediately faced the punishing and grave challenge of successfully submitting claims for a preliminary consultation with an out-of-network oncologist. As a slew of taunts and jeers rained down from the hordes of health insurance professionals, sources said the increasingly weary combatant suffered a crushing blow upon receiving a $60,000 bill for one week of inpatient care that exceeded his plan’s hospitalization coverage limit.

A tense hush reportedly fell over the arena moments later when a CT scan showed the cancer on the brink of remission, though the stadium soon erupted into emphatic cheers when the patient was not approved for further sessions of targeted chemotherapy that were deemed “medically unnecessary.”

“He’s putting up a pretty strong fight, but they really need to put an end to this soon—he’s starting to cost way more than he puts into his annual policy,” Humana executive vice president James E. Murray said as the patient, after making notable progress in obtaining a referral from his primary care physician, was instantly bombarded with an overwhelming barrage of indecipherable paperwork required to justify a follow-up appointment at his radiation therapy clinic. “But overall, though, it’s been an incredible show. It was especially exciting watching him try to recover after they refused to cover his doctor’s treatment program for being experimental and medically unproven. Frankly, I’m impressed that he even managed to come back from that.”

“C’mon, kill him already!” added a screaming Murray, turning his attention back to the fight. “Finish that worthless scum!”

Experts confirmed that such cancer battles—along with kidney disease battles and lengthier diabetes battles—have been held in the coliseum since its completion in the early 1960s, and have remained a popular form of entertainment among American health insurance executives ever since. However, demands for more graphic carnage have reportedly grown in recent decades, with audiences clamoring to see patients become crippled by increasing premiums and left to die as insurers purposefully delay processing authorization forms for costly surgical procedures.

The most famous of the coliseum’s challengers is said to be legendary Cigna plan member #ZH0115672, who bravely fought breast cancer for six years before finally succumbing to the disease in 2004. Sources said the 63-year-old policyholder almost incited riots in the stands after contesting a claim for post-operative mastectomy care through third-party arbitration, though the situation was fortunately defused when the arbiter sided with the health care insurers.

“Sometimes if the patient lasts long enough and things get a little too drawn-out, we’ll unleash all the exclusions and caps we secretly hid throughout the contract for the most expensive medical services,” said UnitedHealth chief financial officer David Wichmann, watching closely as the policyholder darted back and forth between specialists to repair damage from the substandard care of a recommended in-network doctor. “It’s just a little fail-safe we have in our back pocket to make sure the crowds don’t get restless. Besides, these patients know the risks when they step into the world of HMOs and high-deductible health plans.”

“Oh, he’s done for,” Wichmann added as the helpless man fell to his knees and began begging for help paying his $800 monthly prescription of generic Zometa. “This is my favorite part—where we decide his fate.”

At press time, deafening chants of “Deny! Deny! Deny!” drowned out the patient’s desperate appeals against new coinsurance charges, after which the president of Aetna reportedly smirked and slowly dragged his index finger across his throat.

(via Delighted Health Insurance Executives Gather In Outdoor Coliseum To Watch Patient Battle Cancer - The Onion)

[the-lonelybarricade]

Rain Check? - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: 5 times Rhysand didn't take his shot, and the one time Feyre took too many

@carrieeve It's me! Hi! I'm your santa, it's me!

For the @acotargiftexchange, you told me you'd like an AU oneshot that was Feysand focused with a friends to lovers plot - I deliberated a long time over how best to bring that vision to life, and then after some light blog stalking, I saw that you're a fan of Jim/Pam from the Office! I started binging the show for research purproses, and a Feysand office romance was born! 🥰

I really hope you enjoy it! It's been such a joy quietly stalking your blog for these last many months, and I look forward getting to know you even more now that our identities are revealed! 💕

Words: 12k

Read on AO3

-

The first time Rhysand saw Feyre, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Only problem—so did every other man in the office. And they didn't exactly disguise their interest in the young, cute receptionist working on the fifth floor of their London skyrise.

After being propositioned by just about every single man in the office, including the ones who fell alarmingly outside her age range—a category which Rhys wasn't confident he was excluded from—he thought the last thing she needed on her first day was another colleague making a pass at her.

He offered a polite hello and welcome, but he intentionally waited until she survived her first week to strike up any further conversation. The chance opened for him when she walked into the break room at the precise moment he was filling up the kettle.

"Hey," he said, tipping the spout to gesture his hello. "Fancy a tea?"

"Oh." She glanced at the kettle, her bow-shaped lips popping open in what he could only assume was surprise. As if she'd walked into the break room expecting anything other than an electric kettle and a pod coffee machine. "I… didn't bring a mug."

"Well, Feyre, I'm not sure how they treated you at your last place, but here, corporate spoils us rotten with communal company branded mugs." Setting the kettle down on the base, Rhys flipped the overhead cabinet open, gesturing to its contents as if he'd unveiled a trove.

The dramatic flair earned him a polite laugh. It was cute, if a little forced. And he craved the chance to learn what her laugh sounded like when it wasn't given out of pity.

He gestured to the middle shelf, which deviated from the monotony of blue logo mugs. "If you do end up bringing a mug in, this is where you can keep it. Though I'll warn you, conversation gets stale here and that almost ensures you'll be asked for its backstory. I recommend bringing in something interesting, unless you want to end up like poor old Drakon."

"What happened to Drakon?"

Rhys gave a hearty sigh as he withdrew two mugs from the cupboard, shaking his head as he said, with the utmost solemnity, "He's known as the guy with a boring mug."

Her lips twitched. He thought that was a genuine smile she might have been fighting.

"If all I'm known for is having a boring mug, I think that's fine by me."

"Oh, believe me, you are far from the danger of that fate, Feyre darling—" the endearment slipped out before he could think better of it. He winced inwardly, trying to monitor her reaction in his periphery. Her brows lifted, and he continued on, hoping he could recover through the theatrics of setting the mugs in front of her, proclaiming proudly, "Because I'm gracious enough to let you use one of mine. Go on, take your pick."

The distraction paid off. Slip-up now forgotten, or so he hoped, Feyre leaned forward to read the print.

Then snorted. "This says Office Wanker."

He grinned. "That was my secret santa gift from last year."

Feyre lifted the other mug by its rather phallic shaped handle. The ceramic was dark green, with small white spikes pinched throughout to mimic a cactus. Feyre grinned as she read the white print on its side: Don't be a Prick.

"I'm sensing a theme."

"That was another gift." Rhys pitched his voice low. "Do you think they're trying to tell me something?"

"I think…" she bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that told him she was purposefully building anticipation. "They might be mugging you off."

"That couldn't be it," he said, knowing his deadpan delivery was ruined. He could feel the stupid grin already plastered over his face and he couldn't help it. "My mother is adamant that I'm a delight. She says everyone likes me."

"I'm sure she's right," she whispered, with just the right amounts of sympathy and derision that Rhysand might have fallen in love with her right then and there.

He nodded to the two choices on the counter. "So which mug are you going with?"

"Oh—dear. Hmm. They're both such strong contenders." Feyre lifted the mugs, tilting and examining each with exaggerated scrutiny. Then she shoved the one with the phallic cactus towards him. "I think Prick fits you better. I'll go with Wanker."

"That's quite the statement to make in your second week," he said, eyes locking with hers as he accepted the mug, their fingers brushing just briefly enough to pass as accidental.

Pride warmed his chest when he noticed her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. It was a similar shade to her lips, he thought. Which was a mistake, because he immediately needed to fight the temptation to stare at her mouth.

"Well," she said, withdrawing her hand, the movement a little stiff. A little uncertain. "At least I won't be known as a girl with a boring mug."

"That you most certainly will not," he purred.

The kettle clicked, steam billowing from its spout, and he was privately grateful for the excuse to pull his attention away lest he do—or more likely say—something stupid and inappropriate.

The entire office was flirting with her. If he escalated this beyond anything other than playful, inane small talk, she would think he was just another jerk trying his luck on the new girl. And really, isn't that exactly what he was?

Rhys lifted the kettle in offering. "So," he said. "Did you want tea?"

"Oh," she repeated. He would have teased her for it, this copy and paste exchange. Why did it keep surprising her that they were in the break room for tea? "No," she said finally, pointing toward the coffee machine. "I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ah," he said, pouring the water into his mug and tried to keep his cool as steam crowded his face. This whole time, he thought she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She could have been in and out of there in a minute if she just put the damn pod in.

But she lingered, watching him stir in sugar—which wasn't how he preferred his tea, but it offered an excuse for him to stay in the break room just a little longer.

"Do you—" he cleared his throat— "Do you know how to use the machine?"

"Yeah," Feyre said, waving the offer away. "I've got one like it at home."

"Ah, good."

He set his teaspoon in the sink, not in any rush to leave but faltering for a reason to stay.

If he could go back and do anything differently, Rhys would have chosen that moment to ask her out. Just for a coffee, to get to know each other. To explore what was already an obvious chemistry.

Instead he pinched the handle of his mug and nodded. "See you around then, Office Wanker."

Feyre waved. "Bye, Prick."

-

The bi-weekly sales team meeting was the bane of Rhysand's existence.

While he was being forced to sit and listen to Tamlin Spring stroke his own ego in front of the executives, Rhys knew his unattended inbox and phone line was being inundated with client inquiries that would prove a much better investment of his and the company's time.

Instead, he was trapped in an hour-long posturing session where each member of the team needed to prove to corporate that they were making enough money to justify their payslip. Something which Tamlin had been struggling with this month, though he was giving quite the performance about the value he had in the pipeline with his "nurturing prospects".

The door clicked open, and every head in the room swiveled towards the interruption.

Feyre stood there, one arm propping open the door, the other fidgeting with a sticky note. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a wince. "I just have a note for Mr. Night. One of his clients is on line 6."

She waited until one of the executives gave her a nod of approval before scurrying to Rhys, her head ducked down. She didn't linger, pressing the sticky note into his hands, then disappearing as quickly as she'd come. He clenched his jaw when he noticed the trail of eyes that followed her.

Tamlin's gaze, in particular, dipped beneath her skirt-line, then back up. Twice. He shared a lazy grin to his left, not even trying to hide what he'd been doing. Worse, reveling in it.

"I should take this," Rhys said tightly, staring at the note in Feyre's hasty scrawl.

Office wanker,

Hope you're prepared to pay up.

"It's from my contact at Hybern," Rhys explained to the room. "I'm on the verge of closing this deal."

The executive gave Rhys a stiff nod of approval. Hybern had been a prospecting account for upwards of a year, until Rhys had taken over the lead two months ago. It was a big account, one he knew the execs were antsy to close.

Rhys had been waiting for Tamlin to finish fumbling his update to announce Hybern officially signed this morning. The choice had been purely strategic, an attempt to highlight the contrast between their performances after Tamlin tried to undermine him in the last meeting. And, admitedly, he'd been looking forward to the gratification of seeing Tamlin flounder in front of the execs he was trying so hard to brown-nose.

This was far more gratifying, though.

Rhys strolled out of the confrence room and returned to his seat, where he promptly picked up his desk phone and dialed line 6.

"Rhysand speaking."

"You thought I wouldn't do it," Feyre said in sing-song triumph. "You really thought I'd be too scared to do my job because of a bunch of serious old men in suits?"

Rhys blew out a stung breath. "Ouch, Feyre. Old?"

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over your creaking bones."

"I didn't take you as a sore winner," he said, grinning.

"Doesn't matter what you took me as, because you know where you'll be taking me now? To lunch. And I'll be ordering something expensive."

He hoped she would. "Order whatever you want. A deal's a deal."

"Oh, I'm getting a side and a dessert."

"Better yet, why don't I take you to dinner? You can have the full course and drinks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. One that prompted him to glance towards her reception desk, where he could see her pink lips part open. Her head swiveled towards him, brows merging to assess his meaning.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"We're celebrating," he said, evading the question. "I closed the deal with Hybern, you won our wager. Let's get drinks."

"Okay," she said. Her smile was shy. "Let's go to dinner."

"Tonight?"

She hesitated. "I�� have nothing to wear."

"Blimey, Feyre. I didn't realize you'd come to work nude. A bit bold, don't you think?"

"Shut up," she said, giving an exaggerated eye roll to be sure he could see it across the room.

It was, perhaps, with too much severity that he rushed to add, "You look perfect."

The admission hung a second too long. Rhys cleared his throat before she could mull over the gravity with which he said it—meant it.

"Anyway, we'll leave together after work, yeah? I know just the place."

Feyre bit her lip. It wasn't the immediate agreement he was hoping for, but the pink flush rising over her cheeks was an encouraging sign.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll wait by the lift."

"Don't want them to see us leaving together?" He teased.

"Are you kidding?" She sounded horrified. "If they see us leave together, tomorrow there will be rumors that we're shagging."

"In rumor only?"

"See how well dinner goes first, Prick."

"That's not a no," he crooned, to which Feyre slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

He couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face, even once the sales team got out of their meetings and Tamlin plunked into the seat beside Rhys.

Tamlin scowled. "What are you so happy about?"

His voice was sour, even for Tamlin. Rhys figured the meeting must have gone south after he left. Ass kissing could only go so far when there's no money to be shown for it.

"I closed the deal with Hybern," Rhys said, deciding to capitalize on what was shaping up to be a superb day by rubbing it in Tamlin's face just a little bit. "Sending it through for approval right…" Click. "Now."

"Congrats," Tamlin muttered, mustering as minimal enthusiasm into the word as possible.

Rhys would have felt bad for the guy. When Tamlin first joined, Rhys had tried to take him under his wing, taking him on sales calls and feeding him solid leads that just needed a bit of nurturing. He'd thought they were something like friends until he'd caught Tam trying to poach his clients six months ago. When Rhys asked him to back off, Tamlin had gotten upper management involved, and things had gotten messy.

Since then, their relationship had regressed into this—Tamlin slumping back in his chair, frowning at his screen as Rhysand's closed deal started making the rounds in their sales channels.

The door to the CRO's office snicked open. "Hey, Rhysand. Can we talk?"

"Of course. I'll join you in a moment."

As Rhys slid out of his chair, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance towards Feyre. He was just doing his job at the end of the day, but he was good at it, and some juvenile part of his brain wanted her to notice.

Their eyes met. It always zapped through him, the sight of those bright eyes, like dragging his feet on carpet and touching something metal.

Feyre ducked her head, smiling shyly at her computer.

When he turned back, he saw Tamlin staring at him. Hard.

"What?" Rhys asked, straightening.

"The quirky little receptionist?" He snorted. "I didn't realize that was your type."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tamlin shrugged. "I'm only trying to warn you. I hear she's fucked half this office."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, obscuring the fingers he curled into fists. He shouldn't let Tamlin rile him. He knew it was untrue, and even if it was, he wouldn't care. But Feyre would be upset if she knew that's what people were saying about her.

"Watch your mouth," Rhys said. "This is a workplace, not a locker room."

"Could've fooled me. I thought it was brothel when I first walked in."

Tamlin's head turned deliberately to Feyre, who's desk was positioned directly in front of the entrance. She was leaning over now, scribbling a note on her desk. At the angle, the cut of her top sloped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The observation felt like stepping into Tamlin's mind, seeing Feyre the way he saw Feyre.

It was truly a shock to the system to feel repulsed by a sight of breasts—by Feyre's no less, which were magnificent in any other context. Rhys felted trapped between defending her, which would only validate Tamlin's suspicions and make her more of a target, or to let it slide and hope the bastard moved on.

"Each to their own, I suppose," Rhys said, brushing past Tamlin's desk. He slipped a hand out of his pocket to thrum his finger across the wood. "Hey—think they'll give me that promotion for the Hybern deal?"

The deflection worked. Like dangling car keys in front of a toddler, Tamlin's focus shifted back to the CRO's office.

He sneered. "Let me get back to work, Rhysand."

"Right. Right. That Adriata account, huh? Heard it's not going to well."

"Fuck off."

"So touchy," Rhys said, clicking his tongue. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'll give you some tips after my meeting."

Tamlin made a low grunt in the back of his throat, a sign that he was retreating into what Rhys and Feyre had dubbed 'beast mode'. Rhys actually preferred it when Tamlin was in beast mode. It meant kept his mouth shut and communicated through nods and grunts until his temper subsided—which, Rhys would argue, was much more effective communication than when his colleague attempted to use words.

It was a shame those sacred moments of Tamlin's silence would be wasted in the CRO's office. Rhys wasn't sure what to expect as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Come in," the CRO said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "I heard you closed the deal with Hybern. Many congratulations—I know that was hard won."

"They made me work for it," Rhys acknowledged, lowering onto the alabaster seat. "But I knew we'd close them in the end."

The CRO nodded. "You did good work."

"Thank you," Rhys said, bracing himself for the pitch. He knew he wasn't called in here for a congrats.

"You're a strong salesman," the CRO continued. "You have excellent people skills, and you're good at getting clients on your side."

Rhysand's brows rose. He didn't think he'd ever heard this much praise come from upper management before. He was still waiting for the catch.

"The deal with Adriata has fallen through," the CRO went on. That was corporate speak for: Tamlin wet the bed.

"That's a shame," Rhys said mildly. It wasn't his deal, and he wasn't exactly heartbroken to hear Tamlin fumbled a big sale.

"I know you have a contact there—Tarquin. You used to work with each other at your previous role. Do you think you could leverage that to recover the sale?"

Rhys paused. Adriata was one of the leads he'd fed to Tamlin through that acquaintance. He could have taken the deal himself, but he thought the new guy could use an easy win. It shouldn't have taken this long—nearly a year—to close the deal and it certainly shouldn't have fallen through.

"Adriata is Tamlin's client," Rhys said slowly. "If I helped close the sale…"

"You'd get the commission," the CRO said, hearing the question that went unspoken. "And the account will be yours. I just want this closed before fiscal."

In other words, before Monday.

Rhys glanced at the digital clock on the CRO's desk, calculating the time difference in his head. "Tarquin's based in L.A. Latest I can get him on a call is five."

"If you stay late and get this done, you can take Monday off."

It wasn't Monday he cared about. It was the date he envisioned with the pretty blue-eyed receptionist. He thought he would finally have the chance to take her somewhere nice and give this chemistry between them a solid chance.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek. Feyre would understand, wouldn't she? With the commission he'd get from Hybern and Adriata, he could take her somewhere even nicer. Hell, he could take her out of London. Fly to Paris for the weekend. Amsterdam. Art museums. Anywhere she wanted.

"Okay," Rhys said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

After that, he returned to his desk. Tamlin was still in beast mode, ignoring Rhysand's existence and probably nursing his ego about the ruined Adriata deal. It offered Rhys the privacy to slip a sticky note from his desk and pass it to reception on the way to the break room.

Have to stay late tonight. Rain check on dinner?

-

The following Monday, Rhys took the day off.

And later that morning, he was waiting to meet his family for breakfast when he received a call from the police.

His mother, father, and younger sister had all died in a car accident on their way to meet him.

Rhys took the rest of the week off.

-

It was the day of the funeral.

He was sitting on a bench, staring absently at a flock of ducks wading through The Serpentine at Hyde Park.

He'd just gotten back to London and couldn't bear the thought of going home. So he'd come here, though it was a miserable, foggy day and he could feel the cold burning his nose, cheeks, and ears.

In some ways, the cold felt grounding. This pain was real. Fixable. So much easier to process than the intangible grief he was drowning in.

"Here I thought I was the only person in London mad enough to be out on a day like this."

It was just his luck to run into Feyre on today of all days.

Rhys knew he looked a mess. He wasn't trying to hide it. And he knew it was inevitable she would see him in his grief. Their company only offered five days of bereavement, after all. He'd be back at work on Monday, and he didn't anticipate being any less of mess than he was now.

When she appeared before him, hands settled on her hips, he wondered if this was how it felt to see a mirage in the desert. To glimpse salvation and know it was impossible to reach.

In the dull grey backdrop of English winter, she was a smear of vibrant color. She was wearing a sky-blue overcoat, buttoned over a cream turtleneck and brown suede trousers. Her cheeks and nose were frostbitten, like his own, and it made him feel strangely envious of the cold.

"You look like you're freezing."

Unlike Feyre, bundled in her coat and scarf and mittens, he wasn't dressed for the weather. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and though he'd brought an overcoat with him to the funeral, he was fairly certain he'd left it at the wake.

"I'm fine," he said.

A blatant lie. Usually he was better at those.

"Here." Feyre began unwinding her red knit scarf.

"No." Rhys held up his hands to stop her. "Really, Feyre, I'm—"

Dodging his weak attempts to deter her, Feyre unraveled her scarf and wasted no time hooking it around Rhysand's neck. The scent of lilac and pear coiled around him, constricting like the vise of a serpent.

"Keep it," she said. "It didn't really match this outfit anyway."

"I'm not sure it matches mine," he said, glancing down at the shock of red against his black suit.

"I don't know." Feyre leaned back to admire his outfit with a level of interest that had Rhys reconsidering his whole wardrobe. "I think you look nice with a bit of color."

"It's warm," he granted, pressing his palm to the soft fabric. The heat of her body was still there, though leeching by the second. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"Keep it," she said, taking the seat next to him. "Like I said, it looks good on you."

He could see what she was doing. She even raised her brows, practically taunting him for a response. Something like Clothes tend to look better off me, or it looked better on you.

The mask was in reaching distance. He knew the script. He just didn't have the energy to don the part.

Feyre tried to keep the concern off her face. The only problem was, he'd spent the better part of a year trying to learn how to read her. He knew her tells, and if he didn't, he could still see the crease of concern forming between her brows.

"Where have you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual. "The rumors are crazy, you know. You close the two biggest sales of the year on the same day and then disappear for a week."

Rhys offered her his best imitation of a grin. "Is that your way of saying you were worried about me?"

"You know as a receptionist, it's part of my duty to know all the latest office gossip."

"No gossip here, Feyre." He shrugged. "Just taking some time off."

Feyre frowned. Her voice was soft and devastatingly gentle as she said, "Rhys. It looks like you just came from a funeral."

"Didn't know them that well."

It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was that Feyre was one of his last shreds of brightness and he wanted to keep her firmly compartmentalized from this grief.

If he told her, she would worry for him. Every exchange in the office would be weighted. Different. He couldn't stand the thought of her holding him like shattered glass, the way everyone else in his life was doing.

And, most of all, he couldn't stand the thought of burdening her.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric, as if trying to instill the depth of her conviction. "Even if you hardly knew them, I'm sorry if today was difficult for you."

"Difficult?" He said, the word strained. "No day where I get to see you is difficult, Feyre."

"Do you want to get a drink? You still owe me lunch, remember?"

Rhys pressed his hand over hers, squeezing tighter than he should. But in that moment, it felt like she was all he had to hold on to.

"Not today," he said. His eyes stung and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Rain check?"

Feyre nodded. "Rain check."

-

Rhys went back to the office the following Monday.

Things returned to normal. Almost.

The equilibrium of his life had shifted, and normal looked a bit different. Less like living, and more like survival.

He didn't go up to the receptionist counter like he used to, armed with a hundred excuses just to talk to Feyre. He made his own copies. He scheduled his own appointments. He stopped playing mental games with Tamlin.

He just… stopped.

And everything else kept going.

That was the most overwhelming part. The constant, distinct sensation that he was being left behind because he didn't know how to keep up.

Feyre found new people to talk to in the office. Tamlin made different enemies. Corporate started taking an interest in other high performers. He felt like a shadow, an apparition haunting his own mundane life. And he only woke up once they were already burying him.

That was how it felt, anyway, when the news broke the office. Like handfuls of dirt tossed on top of his lifeless body.

Feyre and Tamlin are engaged.

He couldn't breathe. The weight was too much to claw through. Engaged? He didn't even know they'd been dating.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Rhys said to her in passing later that day.

"Oh." Feyre cheeks turned the same red as the scarf he kept in his bedside drawer. He supposed it was inappropriate to keep hold of it now. "Thank you."

"How long have you two been…?"

He was too much of a coward to even finish the question.

Feyre managed to fill in the rest, though. "About four months."

That was all? Christ, he could have been married to her four times over by now. If he'd been brave enough to ask her out on that first day.

But he sensed the way she braced herself for his response, and guessed people hadn't been holding back commentary about their hastiness to get down the aisle.

"Sometimes when you know, you know," Rhys said, reserving his own less-than-complimentary thoughts.

He could think of only one reason Tamlin was in such a rush, and the suspicion was too ego-centric to lend any merit to.

Feyre was a treasure. Anyone with eyes could see that. Even Tamlin.

When Feyre gave him one of her forced smiles, he felt it like another clump of dirt landing on his chest. There were many ways he'd describe his relationship with Feyre, but something it had never been was forced.

He'd hurt her, he realized. When he withdrew into his grief without explaining himself. He should have told her what was going on.

And now he'd lost her.

Rhys thrummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I should let you go back to work."

Feyre's solemn nod was the eulogy that finally sent him sputtering, wondering what on earth he was doing buried in this hole.

Tamlin was obnoxious, sure, but at least he was alive.

Maybe it was time to move on. Not just from his grief, but from Feyre, too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd tried going on a date.

Not since she first started here.

With a heavy sigh, Rhys pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his cousin.

Rhys: Drinks tonight? x

Mor: I already made plans with a friend. Unless you want to join us??? 👀 xxx

Rhys considered. He snuck a glance at Feyre, catching her in the act of tucking her unruly hair behind her ear.

The sight of her struck him like a punch in the gut.

Rhys: Is she single? x

Mor: I thought you'd never ask 😌 x

-

It was his first night out in… god knew how long.

He hadn't left his house much in the last few months, and truthfully it had felt good to fall back into the routine of caring about his appearance. Taking a shower, shaving, picking a nice cologne, styling his hair so it wasn't just a sad mop of curls.

He felt… good wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't there yet. But his head felt clearer, and the air felt crisp, and he didn't feel like he was on the verge of suffocating in his own dread.

It was progress.

"Rhys!"

He barely had time to turn before his cousin vaulted into his chest, knocking him back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug.

"You look good!" Mor pulled back, her eyes brighter than the last time they'd met. He could see her relief in them. "Really."

"You do, too."

"You have no idea how many times I nearly sent Az and Cass on a kidnapping mission." She slapped his shoulder lightly in admonishment. "We've been worried sick!"

"I've just been busy," he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but lacking any other armor. "I'm sorry."

Mor sniffed. "You'll only be forgiven if you buy me and my friend a drink."

Rhys scanned the crowd. "Is she here?"

"Yeah. She just went to the bathroom. Asked me to order her a G&T."

"Coming up," Rhys said. "Go find us some seats."

"I haven't told you what I want," Mor pointed out.

"House red. Biggest glass they have."

She grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I missed you—"

"No touching the hair," he said, batting her hand away. "Seats. Now."

"Okay, bossy."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching the corner of his lips. It was nice. The normalcy of bickering with Mor.

It was a busy night, despite being a weekday, so it took a while for the bar to make their drinks. Longer still, for Rhys to take up the precarious task of balancing all three drinks in his hands as he searched for the table.

He caught a flash blonde hair poking over the seat of a leather booth and grinned. There was another girl sitting beside Mor, a brunette, both of their backs turned as he rounded the corner.

And nearly dropped the glasses on the floor.

Bright blue eyes stared at him, wide and achingly familiar. Her mouth parted open into a gasp.

"Rhys?"

He was equally dumbfounded. "Feyre?"

Mor said her friend was single. It shouldn't have been the first thought to bubble up through his shock. But it was.

"How do you two know each other?" Mor said, the question nearly accusational.

"We work together," Rhys said, recovering enough to set the drinks on the table.

Mor's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she said, whipping her head to gape at Feyre, who was dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my god, Feyre!"

"Is something the matter?" Rhys asked, unable to pry his eyes away from the red stain burning along the dainty curve of Feyre's ears. She kept her hands over the rest of her face, but he could see peeks of blushing skin through the gaps in her fingers. How was it possible that she was the one mortified about this?

He could see the mischief spreading over Mor's face, and it made him nervous. "Oh," his cousin said, drawing out the vowel as she plucked her wine glass from the table. "It's just that Feyre darling here has told me all about the people she works with in her office. Neglected to mention names, of course, but I'm starting to put two and two together."

Feyre darling. Smug satisfactions coursed through him at the realization that Feyre had been telling Mor about him. Not Tamlin—or at least, not exclusively Tamlin.

Feyre retreated from her hands just enough to glower at Mor. She wasn't meeting Rhysand's eyes, which likely had something to do with her scarlet coloring. He'd made her blush before, but never like this—never the kind that spread over her throat and collarbones, too. For a distracted second, he let himself imagine dragging his lips across every inch of red skin, just to see how long he could make the color linger.

"Let me guess," Rhys said, knowing he should keep the purr from his voice—she was engaged, for Christ's sake—but his eyes never lifted from her face. "She told you about a devilishly handsome salesman who sits at the desk across from her?"

"Hmm." Mor feigned an expression of deep thought. "That doesn't ring any bells, no. Though I'm pretty certain she mentioned something about a giant prick?"

Feyre's lips twitched, the making's of a smile.

Until Rhys interjected, "I suppose I do wear tight pants."

"You're disgusting," Mor said, wrinkling her nose. Feyre made a sound like she was inclined to agree.

And it was starting to drive him crazy that she wasn't saying anything. Was still refusing to look at him.

He tried to tempt her gaze by dragging her gin and tonic across the table, pushing it towards her as he asked, "What else have you been telling my cousin about me, Feyre darling?"

Finally. Finally she looked at him. Those blue eyes were more wary than he was used to seeing, but still full of challenge. More so, as they narrowed.

"I didn't know you two are cousins," she said, artfully evading the subject.

"Would have kept the finer details to yourself, if you'd known?"

Feyre lifted her chin. "It's not nice to speak ill of someone's family."

"Oh, I'm sure your descriptions were scathing." He smirked. "Do you have a code name for me?"

"Yeah, Prick."

"I know you're more imaginative than that, Feyre. You probably gave her a physical description, too, hmm? Tall, dreamy eyes, dark-haired—"

"Swaggering, insufferable arrogance," Feyre filled in.

Mor shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known it was Rhys from that alone."

"You wound me," Rhys said, clutching his chest. "Both of you."

His cousin rolled her eyes. "I think you'll manage to recover." She turned to Feyre and tapped her half full glass. "Where's the bathroom? There's a cute brunette at the bar and I need to make sure my lipstick hasn't smeared."

Feyre studied Mor's makeup. "You're fine."

"Liar. You just don't want me to leave you alone with Rhys." She slid out of the booth, her white teeth on full display. "I think you two can play nice for five minutes."

"Your judgment is questionable as always, Mor," Rhys said, though it did nothing to deter his cousin from gathering her purse and striding towards the restrooms.

Leaving him alone with Feyre.

He reminded himself to take deep, steady breaths—a task which escalated in difficulty once he noticed the scent of her perfume. Lilac and pear, the same she was wearing the day of his family's funeral. The same scent which had long since faded from the scarf she'd wrapped around his neck.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for crashing your girl's night."

Feyre shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I knew you were coming. I just… didn't know you were coming."

"And that makes it worse?" He said, ignoring the pang in his chest that she would prefer a stranger's company to his own.

"It makes it… complicated."

"Complicated?" Rhys raised his brows. "Like how Mor asked me to come here to meet her single friend kind of complicated?"

Feyre sat up straighter. "Mor said what?"

Rhys winced. He hadn't meant to throw Mor under the bus. "Just for my own clarity, you are engaged to Tamlin, right?"

"That's also…. complicated."

"Complicated how, Feyre?"

She chewed on her lower lip. A habit he'd noticed at the office, and had sent him walking stiffly to the men's room more times than he'd care to admit.

"Tamlin asked me to marry him last night," Feyre said, her voice so soft that he needed to lean over the table to hear her over the loud atmosphere. "I didn't say yes. I didn't say no, either. I just… I wanted more time to think about it, I guess. But he announced it to everyone in the office today."

Rhysand's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. "That bastard."

"I don't know what to do about it," Feyre said, all in one exhale. Her shoulder slumped. "I feel trapped. If I back out now, it will be this whole big thing. We'll have to walk it back in front of the entire office and it will be so uncomfortable."

The last thing Feyre needed was a big reaction. He could see it in the way she braced herself across from him, holding her body taut as if she was a passenger in some unbridled vehicle, expecting to crash at any moment.

He managed to keep his voice calm as he said, "This isn't the kind of decision that you should feel pressured into. You should marry someone because you want to, not because you feel obligated."

Feyre shrugged. The gesture was resigned, like he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already said to herself.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

"Then I think that's your answer. If it's not a resounding, unwavering yes, then you shouldn't do it."

"Will it ever be like that, though?" Her voice was strained. "Do people ever actually fall in love and know that they want to be with that person forever? Without any question?"

Rhys needed to take a deep swallow of his whiskey before he could answer. "Yes," he said, feeling it burn down his throat—the admission and the alcohol and the words he just couldn't bring himself to say. "If it's the right person, you know. Without any question."

Her eyes bored into his, so deep he swore she could see straight to the quick of his soul, where he was still raw and healing and afraid to tell her what he should be telling her.

Don't marry him.

I love you.

Please, don't marry him.

He didn't know what he would do—he didn't know if he would survive—if he unmasked himself completely, revealing every gnarled, jagged edge of jealousy and love and fear, and she still walked away.

"You came here wanting to meet one of Mor's single friends?" Feyre's voice trembled a bit, as if she was also holding back too much, waning beneath the weight. "Like, to be set up on a date?"

"Yeah," he said, shame drying the roof of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, though he couldn't explain why or how. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there."

Feyre looked down at her drink. "Sorry you got me instead."

If there was one thing Rhys couldn't stand, it was hearing Feyre apologize for something outside of her control. She was always doing that in the office—apologizing for delays due to broken printers and out-of-order lifts.

"I owed you a drink though, didn't I?" He forced himself to wink. To grin. To play the smug arrogance he knew she expected from him. "This is a much better twist of fate."

Feyre opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something else, when Mor saddled back into the booth, lipstick freshly re-applied. "So," she said, tossing a lock of curls over her shoulder. "What did I miss?"

-

Feyre did, eventually, call off her engagement with Tamlin.

It happened months after Mor's failed setup attempt. Months of listening to Feyre go back and forth with Tamlin in the office about wedding plans, holding his tongue while she was strong-armed through every decision. Months of watching her steadily grow thinner, quieter, duller.

Months of watching Feyre Archeron wilt before his very eyes.

He didn't know what the catalyst was, in the end. All he knew was that one day, he walked into the office armed with a stupid joke to try to make her smile, since she was doing less and less of it these days. And instead he'd met the stern face of their new receptionist, Alis.

So when Mor told him that she'd invited Feyre on their annual trip to their family cabin in the Alps, he'd had conflicting feelings.

One hand, he'd get to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Feyre, where they could deviate from their usual script of jammed printers and pleasant weather. And more importantly, he could finally, finally, enjoy her company without the threat of her impending engagement looming over their shoulders.

On the other hand, what was the appropriate buffer to give the love of your life time to grieve her relationship with the worst man you've ever met? Mor had told him, very sternly he would add, that all topic surrounding Tamlin were strictly off limits.

Did that include topics concerning the absence of Tamlin, and if or when she'd be ready for someone to fill that void?

He ached to tell her how he felt. Now that the Tamlin-shaped dam was finally removed, he was drowning from the weight of holding back years of confessions and unrequited feelings.

Their burden became impossible to carry the closer the trip became, to the point where he considered bailing simply out of fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Feyre deserved better than that. After all this time, they both did.

But his fears were unfounded when she walked through the door.

Rhys had long associated Feyre's presence with joy. Even during those agonizing months he'd loved her and believed she would be marrying another man. The sight of her walking into a room still filled him with joy.

Now, he was flooded with distress.

She was thin. He noticed she'd been losing weight in the months leading up to her resignation. But this was drastic.

Feyre looked as if her dread and grief were eating her alive.

He wanted to weep at the sight of what Tamlin had done to her. Weep, then take Cass and Az and three of their best baseball bats and—

"Feyre darling," he greeted, lifting from the sofa with a broad smile. "Look at you, out of work clothes."

"I'm surprised you recognize me in something other than a blouse."

"Well, I wasn't certain at first," he intoned, strolling closer to the doorway. Until he could see the snowflakes on her long eyelashes and every adorable freckle smattered over her nose and cheeks. "But that smear of paint always gives you away."

Feyre turned her head to Mor, her eyes widening as if to confirm, Do I really have paint on my face?

"Oh, ignore him," Mor grumbled. But she did lick her thumb and lean in to rub Feyre's cheekbone, which resulted in sputtered protest that his cousin happily ignored.

Rhys watched Feyre thrash against Mor's hold, a familiar fondness stirring in his chest. "It is nice to see you again, Feyre. I've missed you at the office."

"Why?" She snorted. "Because I was the only sane person there?"

"Precisely for that reason."

He opened his arms to her, and he was relieved that she didn't hesitate for a second to throw her arms around him. Rhys held her tight, trying and failing not to marvel at how fragile she felt. Some delicate, breakable thing.

What happened to the girl who proudly drank from an office wanker mug on her second week? Rhys knew she was still there, hidden behind layers of guilt and sorrow and what he suspected was the subconscious voice of a man who'd tried everything in his power to whittle her down.

"How is… everyone?" She asked, her diction stilted just enough that he knew who she was truly asking after.

He shot a help me glance to Mor, who immediately jumped in and admonished, "You both promised me no office talk!"

Rhys held up his hands. "Okay, okay. How about wine talk?"

"Why dear cousin of mine, how did you know that's my favorite topic?"

"Lucky guess," he said flatly.

He recognized Feyre's laugh. That hollow, polite sound that she used during her first week in the office, when she felt obligated to laugh at every bland, unfunny joke. Including his own.

It was enough that she was laughing—that she was trying to laugh again. And he resolved that if he could do one thing for her on this trip, it would be getting her to laugh. A genuine, shoulder-shaking, clutching-her-stomach-because-she-can't-breathe laugh.

Rhys turned his gaze to her, failing not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. "What about you, darling? Are you drinking wine these days?"

She grinned, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm drinking anything these days."

That seemed like too much to unpack when she was still standing in the entryway, the open door blowing a gust of cold air at her back.

It was instinct, the way he reached for her scarf to unravel her in the direction of the overstuffed armchair. If he was overstepping, Feyre didn't seem to mind. Her laughter was more breath than anything, but she indulged him by twirling on her toes, helping him to unwrap the rest of the scarf as if it were a choreographed dance. Though, with the way her balance wobbled at the end, Rhys didn't suspect they'd be competing on any dance shows in the near future.

"Careful," he said, bracing her elbow. "The nearest hospital is an hour away and in the next thirty minutes, none of us will be sober enough to drive you."

"You could always bundle me up on a sled," Feyre mused. He let go once she regained her balance and tried not to look disappointed when she retreated from his touch to curl up on the arm chair. "At least if I didn't reach the bottom, I'd be going out in style."

"Sledding!" Mor squealed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, yes, we should absolutely do that this year!"

Rhys shot his cousin an incredulous look. "If I recall correctly, our last emergency hospital visit was the result of sledding."

Mor poked her tongue at him. "Whatever. Cass probably thought it was as worth it for the photos alone."

Rhys explained to Feyre, "Last year, Cass face-planted a rock. Fucked up both his front teeth."

"He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he saw the blood," Mor added, rolling her eyes. "Az took a picture and Cassian made it his screensaver for like six months."

Feyre shuddered. "I think I'll pass on the sledding."

If he was honest, Rhys hoped she stayed exactly where she was for the rest of the trip. Safe, in that oversized chair, in front of the crackling fire, where he could already see some color returning to her expression.

His eyes swiveled to the basket of blankets tucked beneath the coffee table. He knew if he grabbed one for her, he'd be accused of coddling. And maybe he was.

Even so, he couldn't help praising, "Wise decision."

"Lame decision," said a deep voice, striding out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped far too precariously around his hips.

The cabin had four bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, with only one bathroom nestled in the center. No one was exactly thrilled to be sharing a single bathroom between five adults, though Cassian argued half the fun was trying to catch a glimpse of Azriel naked.

"Cassian I presume?" Feyre said from the armchair.

Cass grinned, striding forward on wet, slapping feet. The only thing that dissuaded him from dripping onto the carpet to go shake Feyre's hand—or offer some other, far less appropriate greeting—was Rhysand's sharp glare

"And you must be the renown Feyre Archeron." He slid Rhys a knowing grin that was begging for a punch. "I'll go get dry before the hall monitor gives me a detention for getting his precious carpet wet. But then, you and I have much to talk about."

Rhys couldn't give two shits about the carpet, though it was his parents' and it was cashmere. But he would prefer if Cassian could avoid flashing Feyre when she was only a few weeks post-break-up.

He needed things to go well so that Feyre would consider coming back next year. And the year after. And however many holidays it would take for her to consider that she might like to be part of this group.

And if that was all she ever wanted, that would be good enough. As long as she was happy again.

"Should I be scared?" Feyre asked.

"Of Cassian?" Mor laughed. "No more than you would be afraid of a big, slobbery puppy."

"It's Az people usually find scary," Rhys said, wandering in the kitchen to fetch the girls their wine. "But that's just 'cause he's quiet. Truth is, he's a big softie."

"More like he's got a big softie," Mor muttered.

Rhys straightened. "Pardon?"

"Are we talking about Az's dick?" Cassian called, scrambling back into the room. "Without me?"

The front door shut, diverting everyone's attention to where Azriel stood, a gloved hand still pressing the handle. He blinked at them, sighed, and then walked back out the front door.

"Wait, Az!" Cassian called, cackling as he vaulted over the sofa to get to the front door faster, narrowly recovering from flashing them by fisting the towel at his groin. He managed to catch the door before it closed, sprinting outside with his feet and chest still bare.

"Are they…" Feyre hesitated. "Together?"

It was a terrible time to have handed Mor her wine glass. She sputtered, choking on a mixture of wine and laughter that erupted over her clothes, the sofa, and the coffee table.

Feyre leapt to her feet to help. "Oh my god, are you okay?" She thumped a fist behind Mor's back as his cousin's laughter fizzled into a coughing fit.

Rhys, meanwhile, set Feyre's wine glass on a clean corner of the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

"I'm sorry for—all of them, really," he called to her.

Mor, still wheezing, could only lift her middle finger broadly on his direction.

"To answer your question," Rhys said, coming back to Mor's side to divide layers of paper towel among the three of them. "No, Cassian and Azriel are not dating."

His cousin shrieked at the reminder, launching into another coughing fit.

"Thanks," Feyre said, balling up her collection of towels to dab them gingerly into the carpet. Red wine. His parents were rolling in their graves. "I, uh, think I put that one together."

"Cass just likes to push buttons. And Azriel's the most private among us, which leads to a lot of speculation," he sent Mor a pointed look, "among our group."

Mor, having mostly recovered from her fit, tapped her chest and croaked, "It's the greatest tragedy of Cassian's life that he'll never know if his dick is bigger than Az's."

"We spend every year naked together in a sauna," Rhys reminded her, raising his brows as if to say, what are you up to? Mor didn't usually indulge conversations about naked men to this degree. "Believe me, he knows."

"And?"

Rhys jerked his head, just to be sure he'd heard the question right. Feyre was looking at him with a glint in her eye. She was biting her lip, restraining a laugh just like she'd done on the first day they'd spoken to each other in the break room.

A habit she'd never broken, after all these years.

His lips twitched. "And, what, Feyre darling?"

"What's the outcome of this annual dick measuring contest you three apparently have in the sauna?"

"Why don't you join us this year and find out?"

"Am I allowed to bring my strap?" Mor asked.

The front door shut, revealing cold-flushed yet grinning Cassian and a bewildered looking Azriel.

"I don't know what conversation we just walked in on," Cassian said, "but count me in."

This was a nightmare. At least, Rhys thought it was a nightmare. Feyre, strangely, seemed to be enjoying herself and he thanked the gods that she had a good sense of humor about all this chaos.

"You must be Azriel," Feyre said, beaming at the dark haired male becoming a shadow at Cassian's back. "I've heard so much about you."

Azriel glanced toward the door. Rhys knew he was debating the merits of trying to make another escape. He'd probably already started his car by the time Cassian caught up and dragged his ass back.

"All good things," Feyre assured quickly.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever seen Azriel blush before.

"What happened here?" Cassian said with a low whistle, taking in the mess of wine-soaked paper towels. "It's too early in the evening for you to have forgotten where your mouth is, Morrigan."

"Har har." Mor stood up from the sofa. "Just for that, I'm stealing one of your hoodies."

"Didn't you bring your own clothes?" He complained.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if I wore my own."

"I only brought like two hoodies!"

"You should have thought about that before you opened your big, dumb mouth."

"At least steal one of Az's. He smells better than me."

"If you think so, maybe you should wear one of his hoodies."

"Mor—" Cassian groaned as she strode off into his room. "Mor!"

"I should have warned you they were going to bicker like this," Rhys said apologetically, perching himself against the armrest of Feyre's chair to, at last, hand her a wine glass.

"Oh trust me, bickering over sharing clothes is a staple of sisterhood. I'm used to it."

"That's right, you have two sisters don't you? Nesta and Elain." She looked surprised he remembered. "How are they doing?"

"Well. Nesta is this scary, big shot lawyer who eats suited men for breakfast and Elain is living the dream cottage core life with her husband, Lucien. You remember him, right? He was Tam's—" she winced. Like that name was a bruise she didn't mean to press.

"I remember him," Rhys said, trying to help her past the slip-up. "Redhead, right? Snarky?"

She snorted. "You could say that again."

"Does he treat her right?"

"Oh, like a princess." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the way she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"I believe it," Rhy said. He wondered if he had that stupid grin on his face again, the one that proved just how wound he was around Feyre's little finger.

Feyre didn't seem to know how to respond to that, but she shrugged and said, "They're happy."

Rhys didn't doubt for a second Feyre was happy for her sister, but he could see the discomfort on her face at that admission. It couldn't have been easy to have a brother-in-law who was close to her ex fiancé. And he knew first hand how difficult it was to see someone else happy and have that reality feel so distant it was foreign.

"I'm glad," he said. "And I'm glad you could join us this year. It will be a relief to have someone sane in our entourage."

"I don't think that's fair to Azriel," Feyre said. "So far, he's been the most well behaved."

Az smiled. "The night is still young."

Rhys chuckled at Feyre's look of betrayal. "Like I said, darling. You're the most sane person here."

"Maybe that's what I'd like you to think."

He liked seeing something other than resignation in her eyes again. So much that he couldn't resist leaning forward, his voice ripe with challenge as he purred, "Then I look forward to being proved otherwise."

-

Despite his best efforts, Rhys couldn't convince Mor that it was a bad idea to take everyone sledding the next morning.

They were all nursing hangovers from a concoction of liquors that they'd made the mistake of letting Cassian combine into what he called 'Solstice Punch'. Rhysand had a blistering headache, which wasn't helped by Cassian's noisy attempt to make breakfast. With only four rooms, Rhys had drawn the short straw for who had to sleep on the couch.

Rhys groaned, burying his head beneath a pillow. "There is no way in hell that you're getting me onto a sled today."

"Even if you get to share one with Feyre?" Cassian teased. "You'll get to wrap your arms around her and—"

"Shut up."

"I guess Az and I will just get to enjoy her company instead," Cassian said smugly.

It nearly convinced Rhys to go, until Mor strode into the living room. "Feyre isn't coming," she announced. "She's not feeling good."

Rhys sat up way too fast. "Is she okay?" He asked, blinking away the black spots that burst in his vision.

"Calm down, white knight. She's just hungover like the rest of us." Mor looked at Cassian, frowning. "Maybe we should take it easy today."

"Fuck that. Az is already loading the car. You coming?"

Mor sighed. "I can't leave Feyre."

"Sure you can," Cassian said, grinning over her shoulder at Rhys. "Lover boy will take perfect care of her."

Rhys slumped back into the sofa, ignoring the jab. "You go, Mor. We'll take it easy today."

Mor pressed her lips together, consternation pulling at her brows as she flicked her eyes between Rhys and Cassian. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll go. Someone needs to babysit the idiots. You sure you'll be okay, Rhys?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now get the hell out of here so I can go back to sleep."

-

Rhys couldn't say how much longer he slept for. When he woke up, the cabin was silent. Someone had graciously left the curtains drawn, keeping the living room subdued in darkness and by the same virtue, making it impossible to guess how late in the day it was.

The heating had kicked on at some point, leaving him sweating beneath the pile of blankets. He kicked them off and shuffled into the hall.

"Feyre?" He called, stopping to listen outside her door. When there was no answer, he assumed she must still be asleep.

Rhys pushed into the bathroom, intent on washing off his sweat even if the bright fluroscents felt like a thousand needles shoved into his eye sockets. He groaned, fumbling half-blind as he jerked the shower curtain open and turned on the water.

It was only once he was under the water, steam billowing around him, that he felt his head begin to clear. And that was when he realized he left his clothes in the living room.

Rhys fell forward with a groan, resting his head against the damp tile as he debated the merits of retrieving his clothes now or waiting until he finished his shower. There was no telling if Feyre would still be asleep by the time he finished. At least if he left now, he could evade a potentially awkward encounter.

It took all of his willpower to step out of the warm embrace of water. More, to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

He opened the door gradually, peering through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before he hurried with wet, slapping footprints to where his bag rested beside the sofa.

As he crouched to unzip the top, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door handle turning. He froze.

The door pushed open. He knew he was doomed because whoever stepped through was far too silent to be a member of his family.

Rhys hovered in place, clutching his towel tight around the hips, internally debating whether it was better to let her know he was there or try to flee behind the kitchen counter before she realized.

"Rhys?" Feyre called.

Shit. It was fine, right? She'd seen Cassian in a towel yesterday and hardly reacted.

Slowly, he rose from behind the couch, prepared to play this off with a flirty comment. But as soon as he saw her, his brain deserted every word of the linguistic tongue.

"Oh!" She jumped, faltering to quickly re-secure the towel she had wrapped around her torso.

Rhys decided a Christmas deity must be trying to punish him. There was no other explanation for the ridiculous towel she was wearing, so short her breasts spilled over the top and if she bent, even the slightest, he would be able to see her entire ass.

Where on Earth had she found a towel like that?

Rhys needed to finish mentally reeling his tongue back in before he was able to shape coherent words. And once he did, they came out entirely too rough, like he was scraping them over sandpaper.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

A familiar blush was spreading over her chest, but Feyre did a good job keep in her expression composed as she quirked a brow. "I think that depends on who wore it better."

"I won't make any argument on that front," Rhys said. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to drink her in like this. "I'm just grabbing some clothes and I'll head into the shower."

"Or—"

How could such a soft, breathy word strike with enough momentum to take him off his feet? Rhys clenched his hand tighter around the handle of his bag, trying to will his blood flow back into his head.

"You could come join me?"

Fuck. Fuck. He'd never heard Feyre use the voice before—at least anywhere outside of his own fantasies. It was just rough enough to scrape him raw, wondering if he'd imagined the sultry undertone or if he was letting his own ego get to his head.

"Join you where, exactly, darling?"

"The sauna," she said. "I've just warmed it up, and seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

This was how it must have felt to be ensnared by a siren. To see your every desire brought to life, just in reaching distance, and to know it would be your undoing.

There wasn't any scenario where he could go into a sauna with Feyre, alone, and keep hold of the careful distance he was putting between them. He couldn't think of a single outcome that wouldn't end with Feyre in his lap, panting beneath his touch. And he wanted it. So badly he would crash his ship to shore and gladly drown in the wreckage.

But he wanted her to be ready, too. He didn't want to be another man pressuring her into say yes, making her feel trapped. If he was going to kiss her, touch her, do anything more than flirt with her, he needed to do it in a neutral space, where she could leave if it became too much.

Rhys was careful not to let the pain show on in his face. He released his breath through his nose, quiet, measured.

"I think we should wait until we're better hydrated," he said. "I wouldn't want you passing out. Rain check?"

Feyre's smiled dropped. Rhys was starting to feel nauseous again, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Oh." Feyre said. He could hear her disappointment. "Okay. Maybe later, then."

Rhys held himself still as she hurried past, fleeing into her room. His chest pinched at the sound of the door snicking shut, as if a piece of his heart was caught in the doorjamb, begging for it to open.

With a sigh, he gathered his clothes and went back to his shower.

Feyre

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had returned at some point in the late afternoon with a few nicks and bruises, but no broken teeth. Feyre was assured that meant it was a successful sledding trip. Which was more than she could say about her lazy day at the cabin.

She'd spent most of it in her room, with the exception of her brief attempt to coax Rhys into the sauna. After his mortifyingly polite rejection, she'd spent the rest of the day in her room until Mor came knocking.

"You okay?" She asked, finding Feyre buried beneath a pile of blankets.

This was ordinarily Rhysand's room. Which meant that everything in here smelled like him. Citrus and a dark, churning sea, threatening to swallow her whole beneath warm, chunky-knit blankets.

"Doesyercznlkmm?"

"What?" Mor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Feyre pulled her head out from beneath the blankets. "Does your cousin like me?"

"Rhys?" Mor frowned. "Of course he likes you."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know how I feel about him, Mor. Sometimes I think he feels the same way, but then he just pulls away from me."

Mor glanced towards the door, her expression wary. She always grew a little evasive whenever their conversation skewed towards Rhys, and Feyre felt a little guilty for putting her in the middle.

"My cousin can be pretty guarded," Mor said. "He keeps his cards close to his chest, especially after his family died. But… Look in that box, under the bed."

Feyre's eyes followed Mor's gesture to the small gap under Rhysand's bed. Curious, Feyre extracted herself from the bed to fish out a small shoebox. She pushed the lid open, frowning when she saw a red scarf carefully folded inside.

"He took that here last year. Wore it everywhere. It was the first Christmas since his family died and I think it brought him a lot of comfort." Mor shrugged. "He wouldn't say where it was from but I have my suspicions."

Feyre ran her fingers over the soft wool, recalling the anguish on his face when she'd given it to him. She'd always half-heartedly wondered what happened to the scarf, but she'd assumed he'd thrown it out or otherwise forgotten about it.

Mor said, "If you want to know how he feels, you should just ask him. But I think you mean a lot to him, Feyre. Maybe he's just waiting for you to tell him how you feel."

Easier said than done. The last two years was a montage of chances where she could have told Rhys how she felt and didn't. It was always never the right time. He was working late or she was rushing out the door or he was grieving or she was dating Tamlin—or it was just safer to stay in this soft, liminal space between friendship and something more.

Walking away from Tamlin had been easy. Complicated, yes, but emotionally… All she'd felt was relief.

If it's the right person, you know. Without any question.

"Right," Feyre breathed, nodding to herself. "Tell him how I feel. That should be…" Nerve wracking. "I can do that."

-

Rhys

When Rhys felt something soft wrapping around his neck, his first suspicion was that Az and Cass were pulling a prank on him. It wasn't uncommon to wake up from a drunken stupor in this cabin with a marker mustache and a few drawn-on dicks.

He was convinced when he felt the weight of a body settle over him.

"C'mon Cass," he mumbled. "Not now."

The body above him giggled. Light. Feminine.

"Does that imply Cass usually climbs into bed with you?"

Rhys opened his eyes to find Feyre's face hovering inches over his, her hair cascading around his head like a canopy. Her hands were at his chest, tugging a red scarf around his neck.

"What's going on?" He asked, not convinced he was awake. He didn't even remember going to bed, but the lights were off, so it had to be late. "What time is it?"

"You never gave my scarf back," she said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer to his question. "But you kept it all this time."

She was straddling his lap, her ass settled just above his groin. If he moved even the slightest bit, he would grind against her, and he couldn't deny the temptation crossed his mind.

"Are you drunk?" He asked. Which, as he thought about it, was a stupid question. They'd all been drinking—Feyre more than anyone. He had a vague memory of half guiding, half stumbling with her into his bedroom.

Which, as he sat up, was where he realized they still were. Not on the sofa. Christ, he must have crashed trying to get her to bed.

"Not any more than you," she argued. "At least I managed to stay awake. Pussy."

He laughed. "Did you really just call me a pussy?"

"Do you prefer it to Prick?"

"Not really. Though I'll admit, I am fascinated to learn what other filthy words you'd like to call me."

Feyre tugged at the scarf, drawing his face closer to hers. He could feel her breath against his lips as she whispered, "You'll have to earn them."

He fought a shiver at the invitation in her voice. "How?"

"Kiss me," she said, eyes fixing on his mouth.

He wanted to. More than he wanted to breathe. "We're drunk, Feyre."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Pussy," she said again, before grabbing both ends of the scarf and yanking it upwards, crashing her mouth to his.

Rhys shut his eyes, a guttural sound forming in the back of his throat as he slipped his arms around her back, pulling her tighter. It wasn't the kind of first kiss he'd imagined giving her. That had always been soft and sweet, an admission in itself.

This kiss was clumsy and urgent—two people latching to each other as if terrified the other would let go. Feyre wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with a grip he likened to someone hanging from a precipice, where every digit, every ounce of surface area, could be the difference between life or death.

"Feyre," he groaned, trying to pull away. She chased him, mouth crashing back to his, swallowing his protests, and he was simulatenously in heaven and hell. "Feyre," he said again, pushing lightly at her shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. He could feel her body trembling.

"Don't push me away, Rhys." Her voice was so small. "Please, don't push me away. Not again."

She might as well have reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, securing an arm around her back to keep her pressed where she was, her fluttering heart beating against his. "I'll sleep here. Just—let's wait until the morning, okay? I promise to kiss you stupid once you're sober."

Feyre tugged at her scarf as she thought about it. He knew she made her decision when she sighed softly and slumped into his body, resting her head against his chest.

"Rain check?" She asked, with a small yawn.

Rhys had never been happier to say those two stupid words. "Rain check."

[rosieuv]

Just watched the 3rd Sonic film and it's so good oh my god

This definitely feels like something only Sonic fans would enjoy as the first 2 films are based on the classic Mega Drive games, which not only are the most nostalgified , but also in terms of lore are quite simple. Sonic 3 on the other hand, is based on Sonic Adventure 2, which has a much heavy lore due to the abilities of the Dreamcast making it easier to mix in story and levels. Therefore, if you're like my brother and don't know what the lore vaguely is, you won't find it as interesting. It's strange how all the clips for the trailer were in the beginning half hour though. It did make me wonder how long this film actually was and what it entailed. Either way, it's a very good film and I feel tired after leaving that cinema due to a burnout from all that action causing some kind of over-stimulation (I know that because typically I fiddle with a hair bobble but I just sat there the entire film either watching or frantically kicking my legs up and down at the fight scenes as if I couldn't go "fuck yeah this is so awesome!" in a room full of 10 year olds, then that was the next best thing to deal with the massive screen, massive speakers and my obligation to point out literally anything if a film is good).

okay spoilers here

The plot has so much action and it's great. There's no stupid plot with the other humans, which is what I was worried about considering the B plot with Sonic 2 and the Knuckles show. Instead, the B plot is focused on team Shadow, as opposed to team Sonic. In fact, the humans don't really do much this film as they have no reason to. I also find it cool how the Knuckes show ties in as the guardian of the Master Emerald is Wade (I think that's his name) and he appears for like a minute using it to play ice hockey on the roof of the police station.

The beginning scene is the best I've seen in any film. The switch between Sonic hanging out with his family and friends and having a race while Shadow just kicks the military's ass and leaves in such a badass way and then it all links with the military guys in the helicopter within the first 5 minutes as there's no time to waste and that fight at the beginning is so good that the marketing is all centred around that (to be fair, Shadow has a motorbike) and it doesn't take long to show that Shadow is very much a threat, to the point where I wasn't sure how the heroes were going to win as he was teaming up with Gerald Robotnik who has all this cool tech stuff, and Eggman was watching soap operas in the crab thing because he lost all his government funding and tech stuff in the second film and is legally dead (they never explained how he survived that but it must be some kind of chaos emerald plot armour). I love how they just showed him as even more insane then he was in the first 2 films as he descends from being a well respected scientist to hiding from the government as all he really has now is the crab so once they find out he's alive, it won't be much of a fight. It's also cool how he has the adventure 2 suit in the ending scenes with the climax.

Okay here's a list of notable things I thought were cool:

Shadow having a motorcycle

Maria actually looking like a human and not some bootleg barbie doll (I know it was 2001 but it's surreal seeing all those scenes in high definition with live action as I'm so used to seeing them as Dreamcast cutscenes with motion capture)

Maria's outfits looking more like from the 70s than the 50s as this canonically takes place in 2024 so 50 years ago would've been the 70s and not the 50s like in Adventure 2

Maria never really having last words as she exploded instead of getting shot, so it would be easier to manipulate Shadow into thinking that she would've wanted revenge as there's no way to prove that she wouldn't've (I haven't gotten 'round to playing Adventure 2 though so my knowledge of Maria comes from video essays, but I'm pretty sure Shadow was motivated by him miss-remembering her words, not by manipulation by others).

Shadow with high budget CGI

Jim Carrey coming back again (seriously, these films wouldn't be as good without him as Eggman)

Eggman dying for real at the end in a big space explosion as a sacrifice feels in character for how he was portrayed in Adventure 2

Eggman land in the VR thing

Knuckles still being well written (seriously, the writers really know what they're doing when it comes to his character)

The ambulances and police cars in the London section being actual British ambulances and police cars and not American ones (Hollywood did their research!)

Shadow's voice actor

The scene with Sonic and Shadow on the moon and all that character development

Shadow having his heelys

Tails is better in this film as he doesn't fanboy like he did in the second film (not a major point, it's quite subtle, but I like it)

The dog having subtitles for 2 gags

The blackout caused by Sonic and Shadow

Tails trying to save Sonic when he's falling into the Earth's atmosphere but failing feels more realistic, and it makes more sense how Knuckles was the one to save them both as I imagine he's probably done something like this before and Tails is like 4 or 5

The idea that the man and the woman that I can't remember their names but they're the ones from the beginning, going down the crochet rabbit hole if the main 3 leave for like 2 days is hilarious

The "Sonic getting blasted to pieces thing" in the plan was funny, especially at the laser section (can't really explain it without the clip)

the cinematic remix of that one song from Adventure 2

Wait...wasn't G.U.N mentioned in the Knuckles show? I swear it was...

In the first battle, Sonic asking Shadow "who does your highlights?" (and calling him "Hot Topic" later in the film)

The flashbacks with Maria fitting well with the rest of the film in a way that didn't feel clunky

Shadow commenting on the soap opera

That final scene with Eggman with the live stream reminded me of the broadcast where he blew up the moon in Adventure 2

The moon still gets exploded...kinda

The chao cafe (I know chaos are in the game but I'm not sure to what capacity)

The doughnut guy almost dying due to a slip up (not really cool but I like the character development it showed...and also how damn strong Shadow is that one punch blew doughnut guy into a coma. Makes you wonder how damn strong the main 3 are to still be standing after all the battles against Shadow...)

Shadow having a super form with Sonic (I know it's from the game, not sure where though)

Shadow surviving in the post credits scene made me in a happier mood when I left the cinema as I was sad he died

Sonic saying "gotta go fast!"

Okay nitpicks time (there's not gonna be many though):

The dance scene with the lasers was a bit too long

No Snapcube fandub references

It's never really explained where the crab came from or how Eggman survived

Not really explained how Gerald Robotnik got all the egg weapons too. They're not recreations as they still follow Eggman so how did he get them from the government? Was this part of the deal when he was released from prison?

Where did the Chaos Emerald go when Shadow almost died? He was in his super form.

How the hell did Shadow survive getting nuked by the explosion? I know he's strong as hell and was in his super form, but still.

How do the main 3 and Shadow breathe in space?

Agent Stone putting the full coffee cups in the bin really annoyed me like at least pour it onto the floor so the grass can drink it

I really like how Shadow was written in this film. He's not just "Edgy The Hedgy" like he's portrayed now (don't quote me on that, I haven't really been up to date on this so "now" is more like pre-renaissance) and his weakness is his own grief, which is how Sonic "defeated" him by talking to him on the Moon about not letting that grief distract him and that made him go to Sonic's side even though Sonic could've just beaten the ever loving shit out of him while he got the super form and Shadow was weakened, but he didn't because he isn't a psychopath. And some stuff I mentioned earlier like the motorcycle and the cool powers. Basically he's his Adventure 2 version but even more badass, and his Adventure 2 version was the best version and my favourite character in the franchise.

According to the Wikipedia page on it, a 4th film is in production. Personally I think this works better as a trilogy as how the hell do you top fighting a death ray that's going to blow up the Earth, in space? Also the main villain guy is dead and definitely isn't coming back because isn't Jim Carrey like 70 something now? I think it's gonna be all time travel-ly as it seems to be based around Sonic CD and that's it's main thing. In the post credits thing there was Metal Sonic (who doesn't really fit the aesthetic of the films as all the robots are egg looking things as it's set on Earth, and not space animals who got robot-y and so are a lot more colourful) and Amy Rose, who destroyed some of the robots with her hammer so it's clear she's not going to be like her flat personality in CD and be more like Tails I guess. It's hard to tell considering she only appears for like 15 seconds, but her first appearance in CD was following Sonic around while love hearts come out of her head, and then getting kidnapped, so I think her personality is going to be like her in the Sonic Boom TV show (she gives me "notable time traveller looking for someone who's important in the future" vibes). I feel like this premise works better as a TV show, with each episode being a different time period in each zone. Maybe this is just me wishing for an episodic cinematic universe Sonic TV show where it's the main 3 doing stuff on Earth and Shadow appears every now and then 'cause they have to be doing something with his character as he's shown to be at least somewhat alive in the post credits scene. I know it'll be expensive as hell to do all that CGI, but I can dream.

Yeah that's basically it. Overall: 9.7/10. Now my new favourite film. God I'm tired.

[twentyonefirstmates]

Anyway oldies station is the most beautiful song ever written sorry I don't make the rules

[otp-more-like-killmeplease]

[ganondoodle]

so with echoes of wisdom .. i havent watched any of the trailers beyond the very first one and the thumbnails/screenshots and what others have said about it-

but with the world inside the rift being called "Welt des Nichts" aka "world of nothing/void" in german ('still' in english, for some reason) and demises title in french being "avatar of nothing" ... yeah my anxiety is shooting through the roof again

(hopefully you can be a little more forgiving for me being anxious/weird about it bc demise is my blorbo)

i had similar worries with totk, that werent proven true thankfully, but the darn book is making it all worse again with all those weird lore things the game doesnt even so much as hint at AND potential retcons- im in for a really rough time huh, not just stress in real life (more in tags.. its alot) but now about my specific hyperfixation from two things even (AND artblock still..)

weird as it may sound, i dont want demise to get more lore, partly bc i dont believe theyd do anything with him that i would like (given their track record) but much more importantly- the fact that he has this little lore about him is precisely one of the reasons why i fell in love with him, i tend to like characters that are neglected by the narrative, and his story being both so flat and already done meant i can be very creative with what i come up with for him without necessarily contradicting anything in canon (which is ... or was a big point of how i wrote destiny's story and lore, working with canon in a way that reframes it all without straight up ignoring it ... but i suppose i urgently need to let go of that and accept i spend alot of time working things that will go to waste :( ) AND not having to worry that there will be more stuff with him that would massively change not only what im writing but also potentially how i feel about him since the game he was briefly in was the oldest chronologically and ended with his death- i didnt expect them to mess with anything that far back and thought theyd just go forward and leave the timeline behind and wouldnt mess with it again, given how botw seemed to be a sort of 'fresh start' that seemingly regarded the past as the past that needs to rest and that the timeline was finally no longer a discussion if everythings unified through botw and one thing going forward

but i suppose i was very wrong with that .__.

right now the only thing that motivates me still is the left over determination and spite to work on my zelda comic, since i have never gotten this far and really want to get something done for once, but i cant lie that im feeling like i should pause all work on it too to wait and see waht the book and the new game will do .. either to determine if i still have the will to keep working on it after those things are out (my love for tloz has been taking alot of hits lately ..) or if i have to change stuff (mostly bc of my lore problem trying to not ignore it ..)

[millionsknives]

PUSH ON THRU |-/

[thedrotter]

a once in a lifetime miracle: oc art!! this is Shiva.

doodles from a month or so, but i cant really draw properly right now. but i wanted to do something meanwhile so i colored these :33

[midnightwind]

I love Dragon Age companion quests, but sometimes I wish we had more that didn't culminate in fighting a Big Personal Bad, you know

[thepandalion]

once again devastated that I don't know how to make video games because my video game dreams are literally the coolest

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I promised you some lions! Let's talk about manes, males, and management.

This is Tandie, the current male lion at the Woodland Park Zoo.

Notice anything odd about him? He's got one of those hilarious awkward teenager manes. Except... this cat is nine years old.

I was, of course, immediately curious.

Manes serve a lot of purposes for male lions, including being an indicator of health and fitness - it's actually a sexually selected trait and a social signal. Mane texture / hair quality / length is dependent on nutrition and the body having energy to grow (and carry around!) that much hair! The color is also a signal: males with darker manes have been found to have higher testosterone levels.

In one research report, wild males were much more likely to avoid a lion decoy when it had a longer or darker mane - but the girls really loved a dark mane. It's thought this is because a long, dark mane is an indicator of mate quality. Males with longer, darker manes have higher testosterone and were pretty healthy: meaning they had more energy for fighting, had a better chance of recovering if they got injured, and generally had a higher rate of offspring survival. Manes matter!

So, back to Tandie. He was actually born at the Woodland Park Zoo in 2014 alongside two brothers, to dad Xerxes and mother Adia.

This was Xerxes (rip).

Obviously, a very large, dark, lush mane on Xerxes here. So where did these blond muttonchops come from on his son?

I asked the zoo docents and got an answer that didn't make a lot of sense. They told me that after the three cubs grew into adolescents, they were moved to the Oakland Zoo together. But living together suppressed his testosterone, and he never grew a mane.

Hmmmm.

Here's a photo from 2016, when the brothers debuted at Oakland. They're a year and a half old in this photo.

(Photo Credit: Oakland Zoo)

And here's from an announcement for their third birthday.

(Photo credit: Oakland Zoo)

Okay, so these dudes obviously all were growing manes as of 2017. I think Tandie is the one on the left in the first photo, and laying down in the middle on the second. What happened?

I was just in the Bay Area for a zoo road trip, of course I went to Oakland and tracked down a docent to ask some questions.

It turns out that shortly after the brothers turned three, they started acting like adult male lions: they started scuffling regularly. It's a normal social thing for male lions to live in groups, called coalitions, but according to my lion experts there's generally a baseline level of some social jostling within them. It wasn't quite clear from what the docent said if they couldn't manage the boys together, or if they just wanted to avoid the scratches and small wounds that result from normal lion behavior. Regardless, they put all three of the boys on testosterone blockers in order to be able to keep them together as a social group.

Now, I don't know a lot about the use of hormone alteration as a form of captive animal management, except in the case of birth control. I don't think it's something that's unethical - there was just a webinar on it that I saw go by - but I don't think it's commonly done with big cats. Lions have kind of complicated reproductive cycles, and for instance, we've been learning that female lions can take much longer to come into estrus again than expected after coming off hormonal birth control.

In males, testosterone blockers (or being neutered) means they lose their manes. This is why a lot of rescues will do a vasectomy on their males instead of a neuter - it allows them to keep their mane and the social signals that accompany it.

Tandie returned home to Woodland Park Zoo after Xerxes passed in early 2022, and the docent told me all of the lions had been off their blockers "for while." I'd guess those things happened around the same time, since bringing the trio down to a duo at Oakland would reduce some of the social tensions.

Hormones are such interesting things, though. One of Tandie's brothers has a full mane again, and the other is still totally mane-less.

As for Tandie, his mane is growing back in, and it looks like he might rival his dad for length and coloration.

He started here, in February:

Yesterday:

What a difference four months (and maybe proximity to a girl) makes!

[surgepricing]

I think about Azula shooters often and their common refrain of "if Azula hadn't had a mental breakdown, she would've won" and I'm here to tell you that no, she wouldn't have.

There is no universe in which Azula was winning that fight with Zuko (or Katara, for that matter).

Azula spent so much of Book 2 being built up as this deadly terrifying force against whom the heroes are badly outmatched that it can be difficult to catch exactly how quickly Zuko is advancing.

Back up a bit to Book One. For the fearsome exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko's not that impressive a firebender. He's not bad by any stretch, and he's able to lay the untrained Sokka and Katara flat pretty easily. Then he gets in the ring with Aang, who is an airbending master, and the difference between a regular bender and a master becomes apparent when Aang literally puts his ass to bed:

People have attributed this to the fact that no one's fought an airbender in 100 years, but I think it's also worth noting that Aang (a 12 year old from a pacifist nation) has probably never fought anyone before. Like, ever. And yet the second Aang thinks "okay, I'll attack back", the fight's over.

Zuko's got the same genetic predisposition for firebending talent that Azula does, yet it never seems to manifest because of his mental blocks. At the beginning of the series, he's already so beat down that all he really has is conviction, pride, and anger, so even with training from Iroh (the firebending master, thank you very much), he struggles. Yet throughout Book 2, when he has no time to train because he's on the run, he actually seems to advance faster. The fact that his bending is literally tied to his character arc (as his morals become tangled and he has to fight off aforementioned mental blocks) is pretty brilliant. Like, by the time of the Crossroads of Destiny, Zuko getting his ass handed to him by Aang is a pretty consistent feature of the show--he just can't match wits with him.

Hell, at the beginning of the series, he and Iroh (again: the actual firebending master) launch a combined power surface-to-air attack...which Aang casually swats away into a nearby ice wall. Come the Crossroads of Destiny, however, and Zuko by himself launches this bigass fireball that blows through Aang's defenses.

Zuko advances so quickly that it's scary. That prodigious talent is in him even if it doesn't come through as cleanly as with Azula. Who, by the way, was busy about to get flattened by Katara some few dozen feet away, until Zuko took over and then effectively stalemated her himself.

All of this in retrospect makes it abundantly clear why Zuko's firebending seemed to skyrocket so much when he learned true firebending from the Sun Warriors: it was really the only thing left. He's hard a hard road learning how to fight waterbenders, earthbenders, and airbenders, and even if unconsciously, he's applying the philosophy Iroh taught him about augmenting his bending style with aspects of other styles (see also, the waterbending-like fire whips he uses in the above gif). Once he actually understands fire and how it works, he's got it mastered. Hence why any gap between him and Azula effectively disappears as soon as their next fight--before her friends have betrayed her and her stability goes out the window. There's no real sense of urgency to their fight at the Boiling Rock prison. True, Sokka's presence with the sword helps, but Zuko doesn't look remotely worried and he counters Azula's every attack perfectly.

All her life, Azula only ever learned fire. She was taught by the best people the fire nation can employ, so she knows all the cool tricks, but she's still poisoned by the corrupted firebending practiced in the modern ATLA timeline. Unlike Zuko, who managed to get the basics if nothing else from Iroh (fire comes from the breath, and can be used to survive as much as to kill), Azula has always used fire as a weapon and a means to hurt others. She has no true knowledge of the craft, meaning she's got the same weaknesses as Zhao, she's just better disciplined to the point she can make up for it.

Zuko's victory was a given considering Azula's complete loss of control by the time of Sozin's comet, but even had she been in a perfect mental state, she'd have lost, because in many ways Zuko is simply the better firebender.

And that's the truth of it.