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whileyoursleeping · 3 years

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Hello all, I wrote a lil oneshot post-canon for the season 4 finale. Shameless fluff. You’ve been warned. This has also been posted on AO3 - link HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31520699

TW: Mentions of the shooting; mentions of PTSD.

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Buck wears socks to bed.

It’s disturbing in a way. Eddie doesn’t know anyone above the age of ten who still wears socks to bed – except, apparently, Buck.

Buck is also still sleeping on his couch.

Eddie’s been home for a week. He’s mastered the on-off motion of his sling for the shower, he’s sleeping okay – as okay as anyone can while being literally fucking shot for no good reason, and not even in Afghanistan, at that – and he’s not in significant amounts of pain, anymore. The meds have taken care of that, and he’s taking them dutifully, because he might not like them but Chris needs him. Chris needs him more a little stoned than he does bedridden from pain.

But it’s been a week, and Buck is still sleeping on his couch.

It’s not even comfortable. Buck’s not small enough to fit on there without cramping up. And Eddie just – kind of hasn’t told him to go home, and Buck just kind of isn’t going home, he’s more or less just ferrying his things back and forth between Eddie’s coffee table and his own apartment, studiously avoiding eye contact each time, as if Eddie is going to catch his eye and say – well, say what? “Go home? Thanks for taking care of my son and carrying my lifeless body to the fire truck and risking your fucking neck again to save my life and keeping a vigil – but go home?” Not fucking likely.

So he’s sleeping on Eddie’s couch. And Eddie’s not sure how to approach it – or if he even wants to approach it. Buck was scared. He said as much, and other people said as much, and Eddie remembers Buck picking him up and putting him in the ambulance. Fire truck? He doesn’t remember the details, he just – remembers Buck picking him up.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be after that whole “follow your own heart” crap Carla pulled on him – he doesn’t particularly want Buck to leave. Buck saved his life, and Eddie feels weirdly safer with him here. It’s nice to have him around in the mornings – even if he looks tired. Even if Eddie’s couch has not been useable as a couch in over a week now.

He wanders into the living room that morning to find that Buck is already rubbing his eyes, sleepily, looking totally worn out and like he’d like to go back to sleep, but can’t. He sits when he hears Eddie enter – a dog standing at attention.

“Okay?” he checks worriedly.

Eddie smiles drowsily. “You know the pain meds keep me pleasantly high almost all day, right?”

“Yeah.” Buck doesn’t look soothed. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Buck. I’m okay.” Eddie pats his shoulder on the way past, yawning. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll make pancakes.”

~*~

Buck is exhausted.

Eddie knows this because Eddie wakes up a lot at night and goes wandering. He does this because despite the pain pills, he’s just not moving enough to be tired, and his normal army sleep schedule never really left him. He’s like a fucked-up, traumatised meerkat – awake every two to three hours, patrolling the perimeter, looking for enemies.

Just so happens that his perimeter is the length of his hallway between Chris’s room and the couch, where Buck is decidedly not resting peacefully. His enemy, at the moment? The Roomba. Chris has stuck several dozen googly eyes to it and, at one point, had armed it with a butter knife. It’s mildly terrifying. Butter-knife-less at the moment – but terrifying. Eddie squints at it as he moves towards the kitchen.

(“Because it’s funny, Dad,” he’d giggled. “Maybe it’ll make Buck laugh.”

Buck had laughed, but in a strained, I’m-so-tired-I-want-to-cry kind of way. Eddie’s dreading coming off his pain pills for the pure fact that it’ll probably be him next. PTSD is a bitch.)

He was going to get water, but that requires moving through the living room. Buck is crashed out on the couch – his duffel is spilling over on the floor, his phone facedown on the coffee table. Eddie can see him relatively well with the street lights and moon lighting up the smallish living room – he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping peacefully. In fact, even as Eddie watches, Buck twitches.

He goes ramrod still, abruptly not thinking about his heavily-armed Roomba or meerkat analogies. He is suddenly, painfully, sober – the pain pills feel burned out of him as he watches Buck twist, his fingers twitching and then curling into the duvet, face scrunched.

A nightmare. Buck is having a nightmare. Eddie’s not high anymore. The pills are no longer filling his head with cotton and fuzz – every single sense feels alight like it hasn’t in two weeks, tuned in to Buck, struggling, on the couch.

What’s he supposed to do? What can he do?

He watches, alarmed, as Buck gasps and jerks – his stupid socked feet flail and kick into the arm of the couch, and the duvet goes flying back. Buck’s upright, at least semi-upright, on one elbow, panting and scrabbling against the thin, shitty mattress – for what? Purchase? A hand to hold? A memory to cling to, something to soothe him through the remainder of the night?

The room’s quiet. Eddie’s frozen, unsure of what to do. Is this what it was like after the tsunami?

After a moment, Buck makes a sound – a whimper, or a cry, or some awful hybrid of the two – and collapses back, rolls onto his side, away from the TV, and curls up, not bothering to adjust the duvet. His feet – he’s wearing white socks tonight – flex, toes clenching.

Buck drags the corner of the duvet up over his face. The next noise he makes is very clearly a quiet sob and Eddie – oh, he cannot stand this. He’s not going to watch it any longer.

It’s not like he doesn’t know Buck hasn’t been sleeping, at least not well. He did the first night – eleven hours, actually – but every night after that has been plagued with nightmares. He’s heard Buck rustling around or pacing and watched him try to put on a brave face every morning at breakfast, and he can’t do it anymore.

His feet cross the floorboards. He sits on the edge of the couch – Buck flinches – and puts his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, rubs gently.

Buck sniffles. He doesn’t move for a long time, keeps the duvet up over his face. He doesn’t make any more noises, but his shoulders shake, and Eddie remembers – I kinda lost it when I told him you got shot. I’m sorry, I should’ve held it together.

Eddie wonders when anyone reasonably expected Buck to hold it together.

Buck moves suddenly – his fingers grip at Eddie’s, and they’re shaking. He holds on and – well, if Buck wants to hold hands, it’s not like they haven’t done it before. Eddie held his hand for an hour or more while they were getting him out from under the ladder truck two years ago. Eddie’s happy to hold his hand.

He doesn’t know how to help. Buck’s still sniffling, his face angled away from Eddie’s. He’s happy to take the comfort, but not happy to let Eddie know he’s crying, apparently.

They sit like that for a while. Eddie’s helpless and almost angry for it. It’s not like he hasn’t suffered – he has. It’s going to take therapy, physical and mental, to get past this. But Buck – Buck watched it happen. Watched him almost die. Buck’s not stoned and he wasn’t shot and there’s no buffer between him and the memories. For the first time, Eddie is angry at the team – how has no one noticed? How has no one cared?

Buck drags a hand across his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Bet you’re sick of me crying.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, I – I am, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

Buck nods into the pillow. His legs flex – he has to be cold; the air is definitely cool and Buck hates cold weather with a passion. He’s wearing socks and boxers and a hoodie and all of that thoroughly confuses Eddie – he wants to arrange the duvet properly but he can’t with Buck clinging to his hand. That’s fine too.

He thinks about it for a moment. Problem – Buck is sad; Buck is scared. Buck is clearly traumatised. Nobody appears to have addressed that last one.

Solution. Well, Chris seems to help a lot. But Chris is asleep, and Eddie can’t really properly address the trauma thing.

But he can maybe make Buck feel less alone.

He removes his hand from Buck’s shoulder, clumsily adjusts the duvet, and then climbs under it, adjusting until his side is pressed to Buck’s back and he can feel Buck trembling horribly against him. His legs twitch; his socks brush Eddie’s bare feet.

“Why do you wear socks to bed?” Eddie asks.

There’s a long pause. Then, “That’s what you want to know?”

“Sure.”

“I… don’t know?”

Eddie makes a face at the ceiling. Buck hasn’t rolled over. “You don’t know?” he asks dubiously. “Are your feet cold?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you wear socks to bed in summer?”

“I… sort of do it all year round – Eddie, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t know, truthfully, beyond trying to cheer Buck up. Although, maybe he just – needs to cry? Sometimes when Chris is upset he just needs to cry. No solutions, just… comfort.

He pushes against Buck’s back more, and, because he can’t reach Buck’s hands like this, links their ankles together. Buck shifts – but only to stop the knobs of their bones rubbing uncomfortably. He sighs, shakily, but when breath finally leaves his lungs entirely, he almost feels steadier.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he whispers.

~*~

Buck rolls during the night, a soft breath leaving him. Eddie’s only aware of it because it ghosts across his throat – Buck’s rolled towards him.

The mattress shifts. Buck is deliciously warm against Eddie’s side – his socked feet brush against Eddie’s shins, a few times, almost deliberately. Buck sighs again, settles.

The air goes still. Eddie can smell something new and different, faintly – the couch bed smells like Buck, like the woody, fresh scent of his aftershave and a little spicy and like Buck’s own shampoo. There’s something indefinable about it – something that’s just how Buck smells.

Eddie yawns. His jaw cracks. His shoulder, at the moment, doesn’t hurt, even when he shifts and looks for Buck’s hand, clumsily – he finds it, pulls it up until he can link their fingers together and rest their joined palms on his own belly. He squeezes. Are you there?

A second passes before Buck squeezes back. His palms are rough and hot and his thumb nervous where it brushes Eddie’s knuckles.

Yes. I’m here.

Eddie yawns. He goes back to sleep.

~*~

The sunlight punching through the living room window wakes him up.

He blinks. He’s on his back still – his feet are cold. When he turns his head to the side, the first thing he sees is Buck’s face – buried somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s shoulder, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

He’s drooling. It’s a little cute. Eddie raises his head – his shoulder twinges unhappily – and looks to the end of the couch.

Yep. Buck’s still wearing socks. His legs are curled up, almost like he’s trying to keep warm, and he’s more or less pressed to Eddie’s side, but not quite on top of him.

Eddie’s struck with the sudden though that if his shoulder wasn’t injured, he’d roll over – put an arm over Buck and let Buck hide as long as he needed to. He can’t do that right now, and the impulse is frightening if only because it doesn’t come from the so-called brotherly love he’s continued to tell himself is what he feels for Buck.

It’s not so frightening he can’t deal with it though. Quietly. And he might not be able to hug Buck right now – but Buck slept through till morning, the first time in more than a week in all likelihood. He even looks peaceful.

If Eddie does pursue this – whatever this is, this little, fledgling, hopeful thing in his chest – he can only hope that Buck reciprocates. It’ll take time, of course. Plenty of it. But – Buck is already Chris’s other parent in the ways that matter and he’s kept bedside vigils and they slept here, last night, holding hands for the majority of it. Is there a lot left to think about? Eddie doesn’t think so.

He raises his head again. Looks down.

Except those socks, maybe. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

#buddie fic #buddie #buck/eddie #look we all just needed some fucking COMFORT okay

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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I know him

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened

warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words

The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same. Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.

In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.

Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.

It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.

Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.

June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.

The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.

Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.

She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.

‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.

Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.

Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.

With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.

Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.

The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.

She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.

A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.

‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.

The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.

She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.

‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.

Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.

‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’

Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.

The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless

When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.

‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.

For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.

‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’

‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’

At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.

‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.

‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.

‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.

‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.

‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’

Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.

‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.

Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.

‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’

When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.

A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.

Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.

The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.

She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.

-----

‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.

‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.

Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.

Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.

This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.

Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.

She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.

The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.

Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.

Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.

‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.

‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.

A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.

Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.

‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.

The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?

The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.

Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.

‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’

‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.

Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.

Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’

She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.

The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.

‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.

Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.

‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’

No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.

‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.

Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.

‘Where did you hear all of that?’

A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.

‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.

‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.

‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’

Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.

‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’

‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.

‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.

‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’

Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.

The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.

#reddie #reddie x daughter #My writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #Richie x Eddie #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #the loser club imagines #it chapter two imagine #mike hanlon imagine #ben hanscom #beverly march imagine #bill denbrough imagines #stanley uris #richie as a parent #richie as a dad #eddie as a parent #Eddie as a dad

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backpfeifenguy · 6 years

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BBRAE Week 2018 Day 1 Can’t help falling in love with you

“Azarath Metrion Zinthos, Azarath Metrion Zinthos, Azarath Metrion Zinthos…” Raven had been meditating for forty-five minutes, and thus far it had been unproductive to say the least. Her emotions refused to settle, feeding her frustration, thus turning the next few minutes into a struggle just to get back to square one. Even more frustrating was that she knew the reason for her sudden emotional uproar. It was green with pointy ears, fangs, and a love of terrible puns.

Now, this wasn’t the first time Beast Boy had sent her emotions out of balance, but it was still a new experience. She was used to being angry with him, although in the three and a half years since she’d dealt with Trigon, that had become a less frequent state of affairs. She was also used to worrying about him, a fact that she’d only admit to when things with him got bad, something which happened more frequently as she learned more about him and came to understand the depths of pain he hid behind his smiling facade. But despite the curious sensation of heat she felt when she thought about his big cheesy grin, she knew she wasn’t angry. And even though her heart sped up in a burst of adrenaline whenever she recalled those moments when he let the mask slip and showed her what lay underneath, she knew she wasn’t worried.

No, she knew what it was, and that was what bothered her the most. As she gave up on meditation for the time being, she cast her mind back to her first meeting with Aqualad, and knew that she’d felt strangely warm back then. And as she headed to the kitchen, pinning her hopes of achieving some semblance of calm on a cup of herbal tea, she recalled the way her heart had raced when Malchior had charmed her. “I can’t believe it,” She groaned. “I’ve got a crush on Beast Boy.” Shaking her head at the absurdity of her situation, strolled out of the hall, stopping only when she heard a voice coming from the common room.

“And it’s just not fair, y’know? Like, what am I meant to do now?” Raven froze in place as she recognised the voice coming from the common room. Because of course it was Beast Boy. “I mean, I get that she’s way out of my league, but c’mon dude! I can’t just turn my feelings off!” And just like that, all Raven felt was cold and empty, like she’d been cored with an icicle.

“He has feelings for someone else…” She whispered to herself, blinking back tears that she’d never admit existed, even to herself.

“Like, she’s smart, she’s funny in her own way, she’s beautiful, and I’m basically just green and funny-looking.” Every word out of Beast boy’s mouth made her hurt just a little more, but she listened anyway.

“And rich.” A new voice chipped in. It was familiar, but Raven couldn’t quite place it.

“Come on Eddie,” Beast boy responded. “She’s way too classy for something like that to help me.”

“Fair enough,” The voice that Raven now knew to be Kid Devil’s conceded. “I’m just saying, you’ve got some stuff going for you.”

“I’m with Eddie.” A third voice that sounded like Speedy’s interjected. “You’re a good man, Gar. I know that better than most.” Raven knew that Beast Boy had helped Speedy overcome his heroin addiction, and that he also liked to downplay his part in doing so.

“If anyone should be pissing and moaning, it’s me.” Kid Devil (Raven usually felt more comfortable referring to her friends by their superhero aliases, real names were too intimate) said. “No way in hell is Rose ever gonna waste her time with a loser like me. What does a guy like me have to offer a confident, sexy badass like her?” He sighed. “That’s what out of your league looks like.” Although Raven was sympathetic towards Kid Devil, at that moment she wished he’d just keep his mouth shut and let Beast Boy talk some more so she could work out who his mystery girl was and what made her so special.

“Dude, you look like a cheap romance novel banged a heavy metal album!” Beast Boy quipped, forcing Raven to choke back laughter (he was funny when he just let it happen). “Plus you can raise your body temperature super high, and you’re a total softy. There’s no way you’re not ticking at least one box in Ravager’s big book of kinks!”

“Oh, and you think you’re any different, mister fangs and occasionally claws?” Speedy chuckled. “You’re fetish fuel same as Eddie.” Raven blushed faintly as she found herself agreeing with Speedy; Beast Boy’s fangs were just… damn.

“Great, just what every guy wants to hear.” Beast Boy muttered.

“If anyone’s got it bad, it’s me.” Speedy continued. “I mean, come on! Donna’s a demigod or something, and I’m a former addict single father who’s good with a bow. Pipe. Dream.”

“At least people don’t look at you like you’re a freak!” Beast Boy shot back, unknowingly causing Raven’s heart to break, just a little.

“Yeah!” Kid Devil yelled his assent. “You’ve got it easy!” For a few painfully awkward moments, silence reigned.

“So…” Beast Boy started in his up-to-no-good voice. “We all know which girl is the best looking, right?”

“If you’re trying to start an argument, it’s not going to work.” Speedy replied simply.

“How about this then?” Eddie offered. “Let’s go feature by feature.”

“Fine by me.” Beast Boy answered. “Roy?”

“...Fine.” Speedy grudgingly acquiesced. “Donna has the best bone structure, and I’m ready to die on that hill.”

“I’ll give you that one,” Kid Devil conceded. “But Rose definitely has the best hair; long, silky and platinum blonde, unbeatable. Gar?” This was it, she’d finally learn who the heck Beast Boy was so infatuated with.

“Eyes.” He answered plainly. “They’re dark, they’re mysterious, don’t even try to fight me on this one.” Damn it! So close, and yet so far. “Now, are we gonna keep to the classy stuff, or are we gonna make this interesting?”

“Rose has the best… y’know.” Kid Devil muttered, sounding embarrassed.

“Pervert.” Speedy deadpanned. “But if we’re going south of the neck, then I’m going shoulders, arms, belly, just the whole ‘warrior woman’ physique for Donna. Dick definitely has the right idea there with Kori.”

“Well, I’d say we now know more about Roy’s fetishes than we would have liked.” Beast Boy chuckled. “And you guy already know what I’m gonna say.”

“Legs.” All three men said as one. And yet again, Raven was denied the information she craved.

“Well, I guess that means they’re tied.” Kid Devil said. “They’re all equally beautiful.”

“But there’s one more big question guys…” Beast Boy said, sounding pensive. “Who has the best smile?”

“Donna.” Speedy answered immediately, sounding utterly certain. “Bright, reassuring, full of affection.”

“Have you seen Rose smile?!” Kid Devil half-shouted, sounding outraged. “Cool, mischievous, and dead sexy.”

“You’re both way off.” Beast Boy said in an authoritative tone. “Raven’s smile is the the best, no contest.” And just like that, the cold, empty feeling was gone, and Raven felt like she’d had her blood replaced by scalding hot coffee.

“How would you even know?” Speedy quipped. “Raven never smiles.”

“Dude! That’s what makes it so special!” Garfield (okay, maybe real names weren’t always too intimate) exclaimed. “You gotta work for it, but when she smiles, it’s like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. I could be having the worst day ever, but if I get to see that smile, it’s like everything’s okay.”

“Garfield Logan, ladies and gentleman.” Kid Devil said, sounding like a circus ringleader. “Shape-shifting, crime-fighting, and now poetry! Is there anything this young man can’t do?”

“I can’t get the girl.” Gar sighed. “Never have, never will.”

“Yeah, well there’s a lot of that going around.” Speedy muttered.

“Hey man, don’t take this the wrong way but… why Raven?” Kid Devil asked, unknowingly giving voice to Raven’s thoughts. “I mean, I get that she’s smart, witty, good looking; but what else? Those qualities aren’t exactly unique.”

“She’s kind.” Gar stated simply. “She tries to hide it, but she is.”

“Rose is the same.” Kid Devil murmured.

“She’s the bravest person I know.” Gar said. “She fought her destiny and won; I can’t even imagine doing something like that.” Hearing Gar sing her praises left Raven feeling a little light-headed; if she wasn’t careful, she’d get addicted. “What can I say? She’s Raven. One of a kind.”

“Fair enough.” Speedy replied. There was another moment of silence, which Raven used as an opportunity to collect her thoughts. She was the girl? The one Gar was infatuated with? She couldn’t quite believe it. What was she going to do? Tell him how she felt? It was the logical answer, but the idea scared her witless.

“Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you...” Gar began to sing, breaking the silence.

“Shall I stay?” Kid Devil picked up the tune.

“Would it be a sin...” Speedy crooned.

“If I can't help falling in love with you?” Raven finished, stepping into the room.

“R-raven?!” Gar squeaked, looking like a deer in the headlights. “You heard that?”

“I did.” She growled. “Speedy! Kid Devil!” She snapped. “Out!”

“Yes ma’am!” They answered in unison, bolting out of the room.

“Ad as for you…” She snarled, closing in on a frightened-looking Gar… and pulling him into a hug.

“Uh… Raven?” Gar sounded confused. “Not that I mind, but why are you hugging me?”

“Because I heard how you feel about me,” She answered simply. “And I’m too classy to just start making out with you before we even start dating.”

“Y-you mean…?” Gar trailed off, his question sounding more like a prayer.

“Yes Gar, I mean ‘awkwardly trail off into silence’.” She answered sarcastically. “Now are you going to ask stupid questions, or are you going to hug me back?”

“Oh, definitely option two!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her. For a moment, they were silent, just enjoying each other’s warmth, but then… “Okay guys, I can smell you out there! You might as well just come on in.” Speedy and Kid Devil awkwardly filed in.

“We were just, uh…” Kid Devil trailed off, apparently unable to think of a decent excuse.

“Worried about you, man!” Speedy finished smoothly. “Raven looked pissed, so we wanted to make sure she didn’t hurt you or anything.”

Raven sighed. “Roy, Donna’s had a thing for you for at least a year. She hates Cheshire in a big way for having a kid with you, although she loves Lian, and hates her even more for abandoning you.” The way Speedy’s face lit up at this revelation made Raven wish she had a camera handy. “And Eddie, Rose once told me that if you ever change your costume to include a shirt, she thinks she might go back to being a villain, just so she can cut it off of you.” Kid Devil’s face was similarly illuminated. “As soon as you leave this room, I’ll send them a message telling them what you said about them. I leave the rest up to you.” She doubted that Kid Flash could have left any faster. “Now, she muttered. “Where were we?”

“Right about here.” Gar grinned, pulling her into his arms.

“It won’t be easy,” She said after a minute. “Dating me, I mean.”

“If I wanted easy,” Gar replied. “I wouldn’t be in this line of work. What I want is you, no matter what it takes.”

“... So, you really like my legs that much?”

#bbrae #bbrae week 2018 #Teen Titans #beast boy #raven #speedy #kid devil

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featherymalignancy · 6 years

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Tender Jar: An Elriel Experiment

“Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness, and the infinite tenderness shattered you like a jar” -Pablo Neruda

Synopsis: Six months after the war, Elain is still mourning all that the cauldron took from her, and it’s only Azriel she trusts not to judge her for her brokenness. However, when she has a vision concerning both Lucien and Graysen, she steels her courage and braves first the Spring Court and then the Mortal World, Azriel at her side. When lines are drawn and Elain is pushed to her emotional limit, she must decide whether she will let her past shatter her or give in to the desires of her tender heart.Warnings: Elriel with brief Elucien. NSFW. Contains some graphic depictions of sex and foul language, and minor violence.

See The Masterlist here

Previously on Tender Jar…

“Az,” she said, daring a step forward to brush her fingers to his broad back. As always, he stiffened when she made contact. He’d been careful to keep their physical contact to a minimum since that night in his room, and she tried not to feel stung at how much her touch clearly repelled him. “What is it?” she pressed. "Has something happened?”

He didn’t respond, though his wings flared slightly in agitation, the way Illyrians' often did when they were experiencing some extreme emotion.

“Is it something I—“ she began, but she was cut off as he abruptly turned, wings snapping to his back as he backed her against the wall and kissed her.

Part VI: Azriel

Azriel winnowed deep into the hedge maze at the Southern end of Tamlin’s lurid estate, wrapping himself in darkness and snarling his pained frustration. When he was done, he let his body go limp, resting his forehead on the cool lip of a nearby fountain as he tried to gentle the roaring hiss of secrets the shadows whispered into his ear. He’d trained for nearly half a millennia to master them, and normally with his unassailable control, they were easy to filter. However, what happened with Elain had fractured his composure, and with the floodgates broken, Azriel was struggling not to drown in them.

Your absence has been noted. Three sentries disbatched to follow. The wraiths are with the girl. The Autumn lordling is looking for her as well. He suspects—

Azriel let out another pained snarl, struggling to overpower a foreign sensation clawing up his chest that was making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the day the Illyrians had dragged him out of his father’s house screaming nearly six centuries ago. He took a shuddering breath, fighting to lower his pulse. It was only after he mastered the feeling and took a full, deep breath that he recognized it for what it was: the urge to cry.

Azriel had once heard Rhys describe him as a creature of icy rage, and his brother was right; Azriel had always kept himself cocooned in ice, because to him, heat was nothing more than pain. Heat was the scorch of the oil on his hands as they caught alight. It was the ruination of his flesh, the smell of his skin as it burned off his bones. Heat was the look in Morrigan’s eyes as they fell on Cassian that day in the camp, and the searing pain when he’d learned that she had chosen his best friend over him.

So Azriel plunged his heart, ravaged by all he’d seen and endured, into a darkness so frigid that it too had burned, and he’d held it under the cold until it had hardened to bitter ice, and nothing could touch it. Not his desire for Mor nor his hatred of his brothers, and not the searing knowledge that in both instances, he’d been unwanted, unworthy. The numbness, though imperfect, had worked, and for hundreds of years his heart had remained that way: savagely frozen, impervious to heat.

But Lucien had been right; Elain was like Spring. She was the warmth of new beginning, and like all wintery things, Azriel’s frigidity had thawed under her careful touch. She’d done it with her smiles, and her fragile courage, and her enduring belief that no matter how bitter the winter, the flowers would bloom again at the turn of the seasons.

He’d known it had been happening for awhile, known it since the day he’d risked everything to go to Hybern and rescue her, and had tried to guard himself against it, but the last few weeks had completely undone him. Seeing her smile at him, hearing her laugh and cry—both of which were so achingly honest—it had all worn away what little resistance he’d still had.

And tonight, when he’d seen her with Lucien, watched them dance and heard the shadows whispering to him the offers the spoiled little lordling had made her, Azriel had felt a heat, unfamiliar and dangerous, blooming in his chest.

It was anger, first and foremost, anger towards the cauldron for granting an unworthy vulpine like Lucien Vanserra Elain as a mate. It was also jealousy, the same he’d felt towards Cassian when he’d bedded the female he loved. It was the white-hot pain at the realization that just as it had been with Mor, it could’ve been him that Elain had chosen, but wasn't.

More than anything, though, it was desire. He wanted Elain, had wanted her for a long time, and as he'd listened to his newly-revived heart pounding hot blood into his ears, he’d been nearly overcome with the need to have her, mind, body, and soul.

And when she’d come to him, when she’d left Vanserra to seek him out, he'd snapped. He’d spent centuries honing his control, teaching himself patience and restraint, and she’d shattered it all in a single evening.

He could still feel the soft material of her gown under his fingertips, and the press of her gorgeous breasts against his chest. And when she’d touched his wings, Cauldron damn him, he’d been ready to push up her skirts and fuck her in the hall, he’d been so blinded by want.

But had only taken two syllables from her to bring it all down, and in point of fact, it had been perhaps the only word capable of breaking the fugue her touch and taste had thrown him into.

Lucien.

And the way she said it, the desperation and need in it, it had broken Azriel. He felt all of it—everything he’d spent centuries holding at bay—crash into him all at once.

Whatever slow, slouching agony Azriel had endured over Mor, whatever lessons he thought it might have taught him about managing disappointment, hearing Elain say another male’s name while she was in his arms had been so much worse. At least with Mor, he’d never allowed himself to touch her, or to fully acknowledge just how badly he wanted her to return his affections, however pathetic and unrequited. That last little distance—that barest stretch of dignity he’d retained by not seeking her out—had been his salvation through centuries of wanting.

But with Elain…

He’d ceded the majority of hope he’d ever had of not wanting her for the rest of eternity when he’d let her touch his wings that night in his bedroom, and he’d yielded the rest when he’d kissed her tonight and let himself fully imagine what it would be like to be loved by her, to have her always at his side.

He let out yet another pained snarl, banging his fist on the fountain’s lip so hard that the water within shuddered in fear.

The shadows continued to roar in his ears, but even through the chaotic, cacophonous disappointment eddying his thoughts, he felt something foreign lurking at the edge of the poisonous fog that made up his mental shield, seeking permission to enter. He rolled his neck and let go of his strangling grip on the shadows, allowing the presence into the antechamber of his mind.

What the hell is going on? Rhys’s voice echoed. Mother’s tits, I can feel you seething from here.

Azriel clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. He couldn’t bare to voice what had happened, even knowing Rhys of all people would understand.

Talk Rhys commanded. What’s going on? Is Elain alright?

"She’s—beautiful, brave, in love with another male—she’s fine."

And you?

“You know me.”

Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking.

Azriel felt the prescense in his mind rallying its strength, seeking to gain further entry.

“Get out my head,” he snarled, snapping at a tendril of Rhys’s power with a barbed one of his own.

Then tell me what’s going on with you! I can feel your distress from Velaris!

“I’m not distressed.”

Unhinged, then. Seriously, I—

"Can you never mind your own damn business?”

Azriel felt Rhys’s energy change, felt it sharpen and grow dark.

I’m still your High Lord. Tell me what’s going on or I swear to The Mother Az, I will unleash Nesta Archeron on you. Or maybe I’ll have Cassian kick your ass, I haven’t decided.

"Go ahead,” Azriel snarled quietly.

He could take Cassian and they both knew it. Besides, a few broken ribs would be a welcome distraction from the evening so far. Anything to numb the memory of Elain's hands sliding through his hair, down his chest...

Is it Vanserra? Has he—done something? Said something to you or Elain?

"He’s a child; I can handle him."

Yes, but does he need handling?

"It’s nothing,” Azriel replied, clenching and unclenching his left fist. He needed to hit something. Or better yet, someone.

Fine, Rhys snapped. But I want you back in Velaris in three days, or I will send Feyre and Nesta to sort whatever this is out.

“We leave for the mortal lands tomorrow. Depending on what happens with the boy, we could be back in Velaris by sundown.”

I will hold you to that, then.

“Fine,” Azriel said. “We’ll speak when I return.”

There was silence on the other end of the sinuous connection, but Azriel could feel Rhys’s presence linger.

Az, are you sure you’re alright?

“I said I was fine.”

Is this about you and Elain?

Azriel’s throat ached with the effort of keeping his voice even.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t have to lie to me, brother. I see the way y—

Azriel snapped down his shields without so much as a goodbye, feeling with grim satisfaction as Rhys’s voice was smothered by the dark fog.

He stood alone in the darkness for several more minutes, fighting to force his pain back into the icy chest he’d kept it in all these years.

Some sick, tortured part of him yearned to go to Elain even now, to hear what she’d been about to say when he’d disappeared. She’d kissed him back, after all, and the way she’d touched his wings with such careful intent and writhed against him…

No, he wouldn’t. She’d made it clear enough where her heart lay. He wouldn’t burden her with the odious task of formally rejecting him, and he couldn’t trust his fractured composure not to betray him. No, he would stay here until he could master himself, even if it took all night. He had no choice but to face her when they left the following morning, but he promised himself that by then, he would be in control again. He didn’t have a choice: their mission was far from complete, and the journey would only get more difficult from here.

He forced all the tension, all the frustration and pain, from his shoulders and back, down his arms and stomach until the power of it was concentrated in his scarred hands, his favourite reminder of just how unworthy he’d always been, always would be. He snarled, and he felt the lip of the fountain strain beneath his grip, a thin tracery of cracks spidering through the marble.

The violence of it made him feel—if not better—at least less manic, and he let out a shuddering breath, head hanging low enough that he felt his shoulder blades touching, his wings forming a dark mandorla behind him that shielded him from prying eyes. Tamlin's sentries where still trying to sniff him out, the shadows warned him. Azriel let himself fade deeper into darkness. If someone were to pick a fight with him now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back from tearing them apart, and he didn’t relish in the prospect of igniting a war with Spring over something so petty and selfish.

He tensed when he felt a shadowy presence appear behind him, but he forced himself to relax as Nuala approached. She stopped a measured distance away, waiting calmly for him to speak.

“Report,” he said, forcing his voice flat.

“Three sentinels were dispatched to find you, but they have been misdirected. The Lady Elain is in her room, and Cerridwen is with her.”

She paused, and he knew what she was hesitant to say.

“And the Autumn lordling?” he asked for her.

“Still at the festivity. Though he’s begun to make inquiries after her. Would you like me to…keep him distracted?”

Azriel clenched and unclenched his fist, tempted—so bloody tempted—to say yes. Because he’d seen the way Lucien had been looking at Elain, heard the subtle offer he’d made her. Not that Azriel could blame the spoiled prick for wanting Elain. She was his mate, after all, and she was so unbearably beautiful—the most beautiful female Azriel had ever seen. Even now, he could feel his own desire for her roiling like poison in his gut.

“No,” he bit out after a beat. “Just…keep an eye on him, and tell me where he goes.”

Nuala paused again. She’d been in his service enough to know his moods, and she must sense how black it was at present, how snarled and jagged the usually polished edges of his demeanor had grown.

“And if he should come to My Lady’s room?” she asked finally.

Azriel felt a surge of fetid emotion swell at the thought of Lucien’s hands on Elain, his lips on her bare skin…

“If she wishes to invite him in, that is her choice. I am her companion, not her keeper.”

He felt Nuala’s consideration as she debated commenting. He prayed she wouldn’t. He knew he’d trained her too well and that she’d seen too much of what had passed between him and Elain not to know the score by now, but he couldn’t bear the humiliation of all of it being dragged into the open.

“And you?” she said at length.

He felt more than heard as she chanced a small step forward. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he could feel her shadows, cool and nimble, twining with his.

His own surged at the quiet caress, rising to whisper her silent invitation in her ear.

Ask her to your bed. She will not refuse. She will be attentive, she will—

Azriel turned, forcing himself to meet Nuala’s obsidian eyes. It would not be the first time he’d bedded her, but this was different. He could sense her offer, though sincere, was perfunctory, not born of any real desire for him. He wouldn’t be so selfish as to use her sense of duty against her. She was a loyal lieutenant, and she deserved better than to be a stand-in or a warm body. Besides, even if he hadn’t respected her as much as he did, he doubted bedding another female could lessen the pain of wanting Elain.

“I’ve heard the scouts report of trouble along the Northeastern border,” he said in answer. “I want to find out more before we leave. If Beron Vanserra is up to something, I would know what it is before we leave here.”

She nodded, stepping back dutifully.

“Of course,” she said, giving a small bow. “I will stay here.”

He nodded too, wishing he could find a way to express his gratitude to her without losing his grip on the reigns of the weak bit he’d managed to wrestle between his pain’s sharp, stubborn teeth.

“Thank you, Nuala,” he managed, and she inclined her head again.

“Anything, my lord.”

He bristled at the title, an ill-fitting moniker only the wraiths ever forced on him, despite centuries of protestation. Unable to find the strength to fight her on it tonight, he unfurled his wings in tacit farewell, offering her only the barest nod before exploding into the night with a leathery boom.

Azriel stayed awake until dawn, flying unseen over the territory, all the way to the outskirts of the Autumnal border. There he listened to the scout’s reports of what they’d seen, of the few Autumn spies they’d caught lurking to close to the demarcation line between their two terrorities. None of them seemed to know what they wanted, even Tamlin, who showed up to receive reports of his own just before daybreak. Lucien, Azriel noted, was not with him, and Azriel tried to assure himself it was because he was no longer Tamlin’s emissary, and that despite their professed friendship, he was no longer privy to Tamlin’s secrets. It was a desperate hope, but Azriel clung to it, not able to bear the alternative. He’d heard nothing from Nuala after he’d left her, but she seemed to understand the situation well enough that she likely would have withheld any information she knew would hurt him, unless it compromised Elain’s safety.

Azriel arrived back to his room in the early hours of morning, feeling weary to his very bones. He’d expected to have a better grip on his emotions by now, but he still felt hollowed out and raw. A few more days, he reassured himself. It was only a few more days, and when he got back to Velaris, he’d beg Rhys for something—anything—to take him out of the city and away from Elain and Lucien for a time. He hoped the distance might lend him perspective, and peace, and that when he returned, he and Elain could go back to the friendship they’d shared before all this, just as he and Mor had done so many centuries ago.

It was the prospect of losing that, he realized, that scared him more than having to watch her mate another male. He wanted Elain, yes, he likely always would, but it was her spirit—her soul—he loved best about her, and it would be worth any other pain to be allowed to keep spending time with her as they’d done in the months after Hybern’s defeat. He only prayed now that she would accept it, and that as her mate, Lucien would find the restraint to bear it.

Once in his room, he practically tore the fine velvet jacket he still wore in his haste to get the garment off. It still smelled faintly of Elain, he realized, and the scent had been quietly driving him to madness all evening, even as he struggled to get her out of his thoughts. He tried not to breathe in as he wrestled the monstrosity over his head, but he couldn’t escape the whisper of rose and magnolia that brushed against his senses. Even now, even after everything that had happened, he could feel his body react to the smell, to the memory of her soft body undulating against—

He growled, ripping off his boots and hurling one at the wall hard enough to crack some of the gilded moulding. Satisfied, he prowled into the bathing room, filling the tub with scalding hot water and generous amounts of eucalyptus to cool his sizzling nerves. He still didn’t feel entirely in control of himself, and he feared what would happen if he faced Elain with anything other than full restraint.

He felt his shadows rise in a flare, whispering to him as he settled into the bath.

The lordling did not visit her during the night, but he is with her now. They are sharing a private meal. She is calmed by his presence.

Azriel considered this before pushing the shadows outward, letting them slip from beneath the door and slither across the hall, until they could hear what was being said in the room beyond.

“You retired early last night,” Lucien commented. His tone was light, carefully observational, but the shadows could sense the underlying desperation in the question.

He suspects, they whispered to Azriel. He fears that Elain sought you out. He wishes to reassure himself.

“I’m sorry,” Elain said in response to Lucien’s unspoken question. “It’s been a trying few weeks, and I just wanted to be well-rested for our journey.”

Lucien remained silent as he considered. The shadows noted his elevated pulse, the way he seemed to fight to keep him muscles relaxed.

“I hope it isn’t because of what I said,” he finally managed. “I would never want you to feel as if I expect…“

He trailed off, and the shadows drank in the younger male’s quiet desperation.

“I don’t,” Elain assured him, and there was a soft affection in her tone. Azriel knew she could sense Lucien’s distress as well, and it wasn’t in her nature to allow someone to flounder in their own pain, particularly not someone with whom she shared such a holy bond. “I am flattered you find me so...“

She trailed off, and the shadow noted as Lucien’s heart rate continued to climb.

“I do,” Lucien said in a soft, intent voice. “More than any other female I’ve ever met. Elain—“

Azriel let out a pained snarl, withdrawing his shadows to avoid hearing any more. He watched as they bled into the water of the bath instead, leeching the it’s warmth and mirror-bright reflection until the water was obsidian and bitterly cold. Azriel forced himself to remain for several minutes, letting the chill center him. Only when he felt his muscles begin to go numb from cold did he let himself get out, dressing with brutal Illyrian efficiency. Even still, he felt his fingers trembling slightly as he attached Truth-teller to his leg. He flexed his hands several times in an effort to dispel their shaking.

He could do this. He’d faced far worse than this in his life, and he wasn’t seventeen anymore. Rolling his shoulders and letting his wings flex in agitation, he finally tucked them to his back, feeling better as he slid his sword home into the sheath along his spine. He was free from the insidious restraints of court, he reminded himself, and it made him feel a fraction less manic. An hour, tops, and he would be free of this place and the mess he’d made for himself here. If he was lucky, it would be a hundred years before he was forced to return here, if not longer.

Touching Truth-teller’s hilt to steel his nerve, he crossed the hall and knocked on Elain’s door.

“Who is it?” Lucien called, and Azriel grit his teeth in irritation.

He debated a sharp retort, the same kind Vanserra himself would have given were their positions reversed. Instead he merely admitted himself, closing the door behind him with a soft snick.

He forced his eyes to pass over Elain in an assessing arc, as if merely insuring she was safe and suitably outfitted for travel. In reality, seeing her, having her scent wash over him, was the most exquisite agony, a twisting of the knife the previous evening have jammed into his gut.

Elain was dressed in a simple gown in midnight blue, which set off her creamy ivory skin and made her brown eyes seem almost gold. Someone—likely Cerridwen—had plaited her hair down her back, and even now, Azriel had to fight down the urge to run the silken rope of its length through his fingers. He settled for flexing them instead, letting his expression grow harder as he turned to Lucien.

“Alright, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

Lucien had—to Azriel’s furious chagrin—kept their travel route to himself for the past several weeks, insisting that its secret needed to be guarded until it was absolutely necessary to divulge it. Azriel had bristled at the enduring insult of the gesture, of the suggestion he either couldn’t or wouldn’t keep the stupid, spoiled lordling’s secrets if asked.

Lucien crossed his arms.

“We winnow to the coast, and take a ship to the continent from there.”

“A ship?” Azriel repeated incredulously.

“A clever invention to safely transport one across a body of water,” Lucien replied in a glib tone, giving Elain a small wink that had Azriel seeing red. “Have you truly never heard of one?”

Azriel loosed a soft growl, fighting to keep his wings from unfurling to express the full measure of his agitation. It was Illyrian instinct to show one’s wings when challenged, and the urge was especially strong when a contested female was present. He’d already slipped up and done it once in front of Vanserra. He couldn’t afford a second time. Besides, he reminded himself, there would be no more contesting for Elain’s favor from his end.

“We don’t have time for your childish games, Vanserra,” he warned in a quiet, deadly voice. “It’s more than a week to the kingdom by sea, and we’ll be vulnerable to attack.”

“Attack from whom, Shadowsinger? No one knows where we’re going.”

“Tamlin knows,” Azriel shot back coolly. “That’s more than enough threat for me.”

Lucien bristled at the insult to his friend, and Azriel felt his fury growing. How Vanserra could stand there, after everything Tamlin had put Azriel’s family through—put Lucien’s own mate through—and still defend the prick, Azriel would never understand.

“The kingdom’s borders are warded,” Lucien said prudently instead. "Vassa’s guards have orders to shoot anyone who tampers with them on sight.”

“Leave that to me,” Azriel said. “I can get through a few wards.”

“And if you do?” Lucien said. “How will you explain our presence at court if we simply appear out of thin air?”

“Perhaps if I’d known this was your plan three weeks ago, I would have an answer to that question.”

“Spare me. You couldn’t even—“ Lucien began, but Elain cut him off.

“Please, let’s not fight,” she said, worrying a pair of soft riding gloves in her hands. “Azriel, if Lucien says this is the best way, I think we ought to trust him.”

Azriel felt the knife sinking in just that much deeper, and he had to keep himself from flinching at her words, and the realization that lay behind them. It was Lucien she trusted, Lucien she’d chosen to follow.

“Az,” she said, and he stiffened at the gentleness of her tone, and the intimacy in evoking a diminutive he’d only allowed a handful of people to ever use. “Please.”

He couldn’t help it; he glanced up at her, and the look she was giving him was enough to make him regret it. Her expression was a bare echo of the pained one she’d given him the previous evening, after things had gone so terribly wrong between them. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to undermine her decision by refusing to honor it, and anyways, he wasn’t sure he could resist attacking Vanserra if they kept arguing.

“Fine,” he said, needing to get out of this room, out of this damn territory. “But if something should go awry, Vanserra, know that it’ll be on your head.”

Lucien rolled his eyes like the petulant child he still seemed to Azriel, and he had to fight not to spring at the other male. He flexed his left hand to keep it from straying to Truth-teller’s hilt.

“Make your preparations, then,” Azriel said. “We’ll leave at nine bells.”

Lucien bristled at the command in Azriel’s tone, but he ignored the younger male, letting his eyes pass over Elain and hoping she couldn’t see all the things he was still longing to say.

With a bare nod to her, he left the room, crossing into his own and making for a small table in the back arranged with a number of ornate liquor bottles. Not bothering with one of the crystal glasses, Azriel unstoppered one and took a long, bitter swig. It burned going down, but he ignored the cloying taste, taking another sizable draught, then another.

“Is that wise, My Lord?” a soft voice echoed. “You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Azriel didn’t turn, but he did set down the bottle he was holding, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and his empty stomach rioted in protest at the liquor now heaving in his belly.

“Not now, Nuala. Please.”

“I would not see you make yourself sick, My Lord.”

Azriel grit his teeth, even as his stomach continued to roil.

“If I wanted a lecture,” he said. “I would have brought Morrigan.”

She didn’t reply to this, and Azriel knew her training was telling her she’d said what she needed to.

“I need you to go back to Velaris,” he said. “The plan has changed, and Rhys needs to be informed.”

“My Lord—“ she began, but he turned, holding up a hand.

“It’s not a dismissal, Nuala,” he assured her. “But I don’t have a way to reach The High Lord, and I gave him my word that I’d be back in Velaris by last light.”

It wasn’t strictly true, he could drop his mental shields and call out, but he was still having some difficulty keeping his shadows on a leash, and he didn’t want Rhys to know, though he likely already suspected.

“You could send Cerridwen,” she pointed out.

“I could,” he agreed. “But I am sending you. Can I trust you to follow my orders?”

She nodded, and he felt a whisper of her darkness brush against his in a gesture of silent comfort.

“Thank you,” he said, and she nodded again, already blurring into shadow.

Azriel let out a long breath when she was gone, resisting the urge to take another swallow from the bottle. Nuala was right, it was a long journey, and he wasn’t Cassian; he knew better try and drown his problems in liquor. In the end, they never died, only resurfaced gorged on drink.

Retreating into the bathing room, he washed out his mouth instead, splashing cold water on his face and neck.

The High Lord waits in the Receiving Hall. Your presence is expected. The guard has been doubled, and they grow restless.

Steeling himself, Azriel strode from the room, trying to ignore the faint lingering scent from the night Elain had healed his wings. Without even fully realizing it, he’d been preserving it, not allowing it to fade. It had been a foolish decision, especially as it tortured him one final time, but he couldn’t help clinging to it, nor could he deny that with the exception of the night before, her familiar aroma had helped him sleep better than he had in decades. Centuries, even.

Letting the door slam shut behind him, he swiftly made his way down to the Receiving Hall, where Elain, Lucien, Tamlin, and—indeed—a small army of guards awaited.

“I’m not accustomed to being made to wait, Shadowsinger,” Tamlin said in greeting, and Azriel only clenched his jaw in response. He was so close to freedom, there didn’t seem much point in souring it by punching the smarmy bastard in the face.

There was a beat of charged silence before Lucien stepped from Elain’s side, extending a hand to his friend. Tamlin accepted the gesture, and the two males gripped one another at the elbow before embracing.

“See you soon, Tam,” Lucien assured him, pulling away. Tamlin didn’t reply, but his expression was warmer than usual, and when his eyes fell on Elain, he held out a hand for hers.

Elain hesitated so briefly Azriel was sure that only he and the shadows noticed before slipping her gloved hand into his. Tamlin pressed a courtly kiss onto the supple suede sheathing her knuckles.

“It's been an honor, Elain Archeron,” he said in a flat, cordial tone. “And I was right in my predictions. Despite your…” he glanced up at Lucien. “...situation, I have been inundated with requests for your hand in marriage, Princess of Thorns or no.”

Lucien let out a low snarl Azriel himself only barely managed to keep back.

“Tell me the hands,” Lucien said, tone acerbic. “So I can cut them off.”

Tamlin gave a light laugh, and Elain used the opportunity to retract her hand and retreat back to Lucien’s side.

“Don’t worry, Lucien,” he chided, the bitterness edging back into his tone as he watched his friend press a reassuring hand to Elain’s back. “It seems you have little to fear where your mate is concerned.”

Elain flushed scarlet, and Azriel felt his own temper straining at the leash. He knew that Elain already felt enough pressure to fulfill expectations and mate Lucien. It made Azriel’s blood boil to see her goaded about it. Or perhaps that was simply his jealousy rearing its ugly head at the prospect of Elain becoming another male’s bride. No, not another male, he reminded herself. Her match, Cauldron-divined and Mother-blessed.

It was here, while Azriel was still fighting to keep his expression blank, that Tamlin’s eyes slid to him and went cold.

"Tell your High Lord that I expect an invitation to his fabled city of stars. I think after this visit I’m owed the same plunder of secrets that my territory just endured from you.”

Azriel felt his ire bend to near breaking. The shadows told him he was on dangerous ground, furiously noted the rising heartbeats of the soldiers around him. He crossed his arms to keep from going for Truth-teller, and his back was screaming with the effort of keeping his wings tucked in behind him.

"The next time he leaves my High Lady’s bed for more than an hour,” he spat quietly. "I will be sure to let him know."

Tamlin unsheathed his claws and snarled, and Azriel felt his siphons flaring, all the pain and frustration of the previous evening sizzling under his skin, trying to fight free.

“How dare you,” Tamlin seethed, and Azriel only bared his teeth, wings tearing open in obvious challenge.

He would apologize to Rhys later, he thought as he felt the sentries moving in on him. As long as he didn’t kill anyone, he doubted Tamlin would have the balls to go to war over this.

“If I may,” Elain interjected breathlessly, sliding from Lucien’s side until she was in Tamlin’s line of sight, blocking his view of Azriel. Azriel’s agitation grew at seeing the female he loved so close to those lethal claws. “The Shadowsinger doesn’t speak for Rhysand or my sister. If it’s an invitation you’ve been waiting for, then perhaps you’d accept one from me on their behalf. Come for the Winter Solstice and dine as a guest of honour at the High Lord and Lady’s table. I think you’ve find they are both eager to mend the hurt between your two households.”

Tamlin considered Elain, chest still heaving, but something in her expression must have assuaged him, because after a second his claws retracted. Or perhaps it was simply her loveliness that had turned him. It was no exaggeration that she had a face designed to bring males to their knees, a face so exquisite in its rendering that the Cauldron itself had fallen in love with her, besotted enough to give her a gift It granted few others.

“You’ve taught her well, Lucien,” Tamlin said after a breath, still drinking Elain in. Azriel could sense her revulsion, but it didn’t show on her face as she continued to hold the High Lord’s gaze. "I accept your invitation, Lady. And you,” He turned back to Azriel, who let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since Elain jumped in Tamlin’s path. "If you ever step foot in my territory again, your life will be forfeit. That’s a promise.”

Azriel, feeling at the end of his rope, simply wrapped himself in shadow and vanished, trying to calm himself down, cool the burning in his chest that had ignited the minute he’d heard Elain leave the party to come after him. He winnowed to the first checkpoint he and Lucien had agreed on, flexing and unflexing his fighting hand as he paced.

At the sound of a small pop he turned, sneering at Lucien as he advanced.

"What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucien said, shoving Azriel and nearly unraveling his tenuous control.

“Don’t touch me,” Azriel seethed, itching to teach this stupid, arrogant, unworthy welp the same lesson he’d been itching to teach the High Lord.

"Whatever it is you’re sulking about Illyrian, I suggest you get over it."

Azriel bared his teeth, wishing Cassian was there to knock the prick on his ass.

"I don’t sulk,” he snarled quietly.

Lucien gave a bitter laugh, ignoring Elain’s fretful glance darting between the two males.

"What’s wrong?” he jeered, making Azriel see red. "One of your wraiths refuse to suck your—"

Azriel flexed his power the same way one might a muscle, and his siphons flared, a Quarterstaff of blue admanant appearing in his left hand. He twirled it deftly as he used his right had to block a burst of autumnal fire before swinging it with blinding speed, knocking the spoiled lordling to the ground. Quick as an asp, he’d halved the staff into two wicked batons, turning to square off with Vanserra where he now stood, blade drawn.

“Stop!” Elain cried, breaking the blinding rage Azriel had slipped into. He could see the batons’ azure glow reflected in her eyes, and he let the power slip until they disappeared. “Lucien’s right,” she continued, gaze harder than usual. “That’s enough.”

Lucien was still snarling as he pulled her away from Azriel, as if to protect her. And she—Azriel felt the vice in his chest tighten. She let him, let him sweep her behind him.

Because he was her mate. Because they’d been made—designed—to protect one another from outside threats, just as they were doing now. And Azriel—he was that threat. He’d often felt uncomfortable in his own skin, especially with his scars, but he’d never felt so monstrous as he did watching Elain avoid his gaze from behind Lucien’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Lucien said, turning his back to Azriel and igniting Azriel’s savage Illyrian instinct to drive Truth-Teller between the bastard's eleventh and twelfth vertabrae, piercing his heart and severing his spine in one deft move.

Azriel felt another wave of acrid jealousy course through him as Lucien smoothed the tail of Elain’s braid between his thumb and forefinger, and in an instant he had his wings unfurled, flexing them wide before leaping into the air.

“Wait!” Elain cried, her hair whipping in the gust he’d created. “Where are you going?”

Away from you. Away from your scent, your smile, that pleading look in your—

“To scout ahead,” he said flatly. “I will meet you at the harbor no later than midday."

“Stay out of sight,” Lucien warned. “We’re close enough to the coast that Tamlin could claim plausible deniability if he had one of his sentries shoot you out of the sky."

Azriel bared his pearly teeth in a snarl.

“Let him try,” he said before shooting through the cloud bank and out of sight.

It was colder the higher he climbed, but he found the farther he got from Lucien and Elain, the easier it was to breathe. He let the chill soak into his skin, his hair, willing it to cool his blood. He could do this, he’d done it before, for almost five hundred years. That was different, though. So, so, different.

With Mor, he’d been little older than a child, unsure of himself and unable to control his desperate emotions. Besides, he’d been given a small reprieve from his pining for her when, sometime during Rhys’s exile Under the Mountain, Mor had come home one evening smelling of wine, sweat, and female desire and dropped, drunk, into Azriel’s bed.

At first he’d thought it was her own, and the realization that she’d come from another male’s bed had nearly undone him. However, as he’d lain there, trying not to breathe her in, he realized that while there was a foreign scent of desire clinging to her, it too was female. It was in that moment that the shadows whispered to him the secret he’d somehow never been able to see.

She’s taken a female lover, not her first. She is perhaps falling in love, and comes to you because she trusts you, thinks you a safe harbor.

It didn’t lessen the sense of unworthiness he’d always felt where Mor was concerned, the feeling too deeply ingrained to be erased in a single evening, but it was at least a small reprieve. It had still been painful to learn she’d bedded the Lord of Day during the war, but he also knew Mor well enough by then to understand why she’d done it. He was still waiting to hear it all from her, but knowing that it wasn’t Cassian she’d chosen, but freedom from her future, had been a balm.

But what he’d done last night…

With Mor, it had been misguided infatuation, and one that she’d always been careful not to encourage. With Elain, he could no longer deny that he was catastrophically in love with her, and it was a feeling he knew not even eternity would ever diminish.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the boom of his wings and the howl of the wind to calm himself. He’d been foolish to think he could ever go back to being her friend, and the realization rocked him so thoroughly he nearly lost his balance and tumbled from the sky like a felled bird. He’d ruined the best and most perfect thing that had ever been his when he’d crossed that line between them last night and taken advantage in a way she perhaps hadn’t even understood. He didn’t deserve her or her friendship, and he could no longer be around her, would have to do everything in his power to keep her away.

He was spent by the time he reached the coast and spotted the small schooner docked and waiting for them. It was crewed by mortals, he realized, all of whom bore Vassa’s crest. They all shrank back as Azriel landed on the deck, but he ignored them, grateful at least that to hear that Elain was taking a nap below. It meant that she was safe, and that he would be spared the agony of having to face her for at least a few more hours.

Giving the deck a final assessing sweep, he made to take back to the skies. If he stayed away long enough, she would be asleep again when he returned.

So he flew aimlessly back and forth up the coast, half-heartedly checking for threats and making sure to give the wards at the mortal shores a wide berth. Lucien had been right when he said they were well-protected, though Azriel would never admit as much aloud. It needled at Azriel, another reminder of his failure to infiltrate the other queen’s courts during the war, a failure which had cost them 78 lives in the attack on Velaris. As he ruminated on his own shortcomings, and the fact Lucien had not only managed what he couldn't, but that his alliance with Vassa and Elain’s father had likely helped turn the tide during the final battle, he felt himself fraying at the seams. It was no wonder Elain preferred him, mate or no. He’d done what Azriel could not; he’d saved them.

It was dark by the time he arrived back on the ship’s deck, back aching from so many hours in flight. He ought to rest, he could feel the lack of sleep tugging at him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go below decks. On top of everything, he realized he was eager to get back to the Night Court lands, and being under the stars, dim though they were in this part of the country, helped ease some of his distress.

As he stood, eyes closed as the night breeze rustled his hair, he felt his shadows rise, hearing their whispered warning a moment too late.

“We thought perhaps you weren’t coming back.”

Azriel fought not to tense as Elain’s sweet earthen scent washed over him. It was the most exquisite agony to be this close to her again, especially in a darkness so like the one they’d held each other in last night. Unsure of what to say, he didn’t reply, nor did he look at her as Elain swept forward to stand beside him. Her hair was unbound, and he felt it’s phantom brush on his arm, even through his leathers.

“So is this your plan?” she said softly. “To simply never speak to me again?”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the tightening in his throat again.

“What would you have me say?” he finally managed, his voice a hoarse croak. “Tell me, and I will."

She gripped the rail so tight he could see her knuckles through her ivory skin. Gone were the tears from last night. He could tell from her hammering pulse she was angry, perhaps angrier than he’d ever seen her.

"Tell me the truth,” she said, grabbing his arm so he was forced to look at her. “Tell me what you feel for me."

Azriel’s jaw ached from the effort of keeping the truth from tumbling out.

I love you. I will love you to the end of darkness itself.

"You have my loyalty and my respect,” he said finally. "You know that."

She gave a whine of frustration, eyes growing glassy.

"That’s not what I want from you!"

“What do you want, then?” he breathed in muted pain, wishing he had the strength to brush the tear that escaped down her cheek without pulling her into his arms and never letting go.

"Your honesty!” she snarled. "You say that we are friends, but this—“ she gestured to the space between then. “This is not friendship. And neither was what happened last night. So tell me the truth, Azriel: what is it you feel for me?"

"I respect—

"You’ve already said that! That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it!”

He was choking, drowning in the ocean of snarling, foaming, broken nothing that lay between them. The distance, which had been merely an unbridgeable canal between them before last night, was now on treacherous sea not even the stupidest soul would dare cross.

“Elain, I—I’m sorry."

She stamped her foot, more tears falling.

“Damn your sorry!"

"What is it you want from me, then, if not an apology?” he begged, panicking at the realization that she would not stop until she’d wrenched the truth from him, and his last bit of dignity with it.

"The truth!” she repeated, voice a touch pleading now. “Why did you kiss me the way you did? Why did you kiss me at all? Please, Azriel, help me to understand!"

“I—“ he began, nearly gagging on the three words he was dying to say to her. He made the mistake of glancing down at her devastating beauty, at the heart-rending warmth in her eyes. If he told her, she would try and forgive him for it, tell him it didn’t matter, and he couldn’t bear it.

Better she think him a cad than a heartsick pup. Better she hate him than pity him.

The hideous lie burned on his tongue, but he forced it out.

"You are a very desirable female, and I…I am not blind.”

She recoiled, and the horror on her face, the humiliation and pain, drove the knife home, cleaving his very being in two.

“You don’t mean that,” she breathed, bringing a hand to her chest as fresh tears welled.

“Elain,” he began, and he could see the barest glimmer of hope in her eyes that the male she’d admired, her friend, was still there. Azriel wanted to be that male for her, but he just…couldn’t. Couldn’t find the strength to spare her this pain by offering her the ugliest and most broken of all his truths: the female he loved did not—could not—love him back. “I’m sor—“

His neck snapped to the side as she hit him with all her fae strength, and his cheek burned from the pain of it. Still, he made no move to stop her as she drew her hand back and slapped him again.

“Elain—“ he pleaded, sense flooding in to drown his own selfish pain and urge him to set things right. To tell her the truth, no matter what it cost him.

It was too late. She hit him a third time, the force of it hard enough to break the skin. When he forced himself to look back at her, her face was a mess of tears, but as he instinctually reached for her, she backed away, the horror and sadness replaced with a scalding emnity that burnt him to cinders.

“You have no honor,” she snarled through strangled sobs. “And you are not the male I thought you were.”

“Elain—“

“I hate you,” she seethed, wiping at her eyes as she retreated into the darkness. “Never speak to me again.”

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cryingbilldenbrough · 7 years

Note

here’s another request for if you ever feel up to or inspired to write it: def more of the kasplon/bichie dynamic from the other kasplon thing i requested. like just the four of them in college together interacting as couples you know? a cute dynamic, imo.

okay so the other kasplon thing is this, in case anyone missed it! also this got LONG so i’m putting the rest under a readmore

ALRIGHT the concept is that before eddie and mike starting dating, eddie knew richie

they met on the first day of freshman moving in day when richie knocked on the door of the room bill and eddie shared

he was leaning against the door jam, big glasses and a hawaiian shirt hanging off one shoulder, dumb smile on his face

“you guys wanna buy some adderall?” he asks with an air of nonchalance that eddie KNOWS is bullshit, cause the kid’s eyes look a little wild and a little scared

and man, eddie is nervous about all of this too. bill seems like a nice guy so far but he also just spent like ten minutes unpacking framed pictures of his little brother and like, eddie didn’t bring a single picture from home and he feels like he and bill have nothing in common already

because eddie ran to college to get away from something and bill seems like he might be caught in the past

(he finds out later than the little brother is Georgie and Georgie is dead and he thinks he understands bill a little better than he thought)

anyway, richie asks if they want adderall and a comeback is falling from eddie’s lips almost immediately

“i think i’d rather you take it, spaz,” and fuck man!!! that was really mean!!! he doesn’t even know this kid and he’s already insulting him in like a really ableist way and eddie is scrambling to apologize

but richie is fucking dying

he’s doubled over, wild hair covering his face, and when he straightens he’s wiping tears from his cheeks

“i like you, kid,” he says, ruffling eddie’s hair

and then he invites himself in

and that’s pretty much how freshman year goes– richie invites himself into bill and eddie’s room and sits on their beanbag chair and steals their food and plays video games with bill

sometime during second semester eddie is pretty sure they start dating

no one says anything official, but bill starts spending time out of their room and comes back with wild hair and one time even a hickey

eddie assumes it’s richie that bill’s fucking around with only because richie has gotten even more Smug than usual lately

they don’t tell him they’re dating until the school year has almost wrapped up

cause it’s time to start figuring out where they’re going to live next year

eddie’s fully willing to stay in the dorms again, because living with bill turned out to be a lot of fun!! and eddie feels like he really blossomed into a young adult this year but he’s not sure he’s like, ready to get an apartment or something

anyway, eddie goes to bill first and is like, wanna live together next year?

and bill smiles apologetically, truly sad about it, and tells eddie he already has a roommate for next year– a kid in his composition class

and eddie’s like fuck man??? i don’t have any other options??? because yeah he made friends this year but god will any of them put up with him like bill does? with the pills hogging the medicine cabinet and the hour long calls to his mom back home that leave eddie near tears every time

what’s he gonna do without bill?

bill notices his discomfort and gets real quiet and later that night richie shows up, hair wild as ever

eddie’s curled up in bed watching netflix on his laptop and he feels richie jump into bed with him, sitting on his feet

eddie takes out his headphones and richie is grinning like a loon at him

“you’re a dummy, eddie spaghetti” he says

“don’t call me–”

“wanna live with me next year?”

“…..really?”

“i mean, as long as you’re cool with me and billy Boning Down at least three times a week” and he leans over with a hand held out for bill to high five

eddie looks at his roommate and bill is smiling with pink cheeks and god DAMN IT this is how they’re coming out to eddie?????

eddie fucking hates his friends

but he accepts richie’s offer and doesn’t even really mind when richie ruffles his hair and burrows down into his comforter to watch netflix with him

so come next fall, eddie returns to college after an agonizing summer spent missing his friends and his freedom

he and richie have a room closer to downtown this year, a little bigger space and it connects to the room next door with a bathroom AND a kitchen so they can actually cook instead of eating microwaved mac and cheese

(richie still eats a fucking lot of microwave mac and cheese)

and it’s not so bad because bill is over like all the time and he and richie are a couple but they’re not like, oppressively cute all the time

although, eddie does feel a pang of jealousy whenever they do something particular couple-like, such as coming home from dates and bringing each other coffee to class and going skateboarding all saturday afternoon

eddie wants that, you know?

anyway, it’s october when eddie meets bill’s mystery roommate

mike hanlon is probably the most attractive man eddie kaspbrak has ever met????

he’s tall and broad and has the nicest fucking smile and his eyes are kind and soft and his ass is GREAT

eddie knows he plays on the school football team and eddie really wants 2 see him in football pants oH GOD

anyway, bill introduces eddie as richie’s best friend which a) OW EDDIE’S POOR HEART and b) it’s the first time eddie realizes that’s true? cause holy shit yeah richie IS eddie’s best friend???

anyway, mike is polite and kind of shy and shakes eddie’s hand in a firm but soft grasp

he compliments eddie’s shoes and then invites him to play mariokart with him and bill

mike is pretty bad and eddie is pretty good and mike cheers eddie on to beat bill, knocking his shoulder against eddie and egging him on no louder than a whisper in his ear and eddie is GONE

it takes them a while to get together, mostly because they’re both kind of convinced the other is waaaay out of their league

and richie keeps inviting eddie to go out to dinner with him and bill and when eddie shows up, mike is there too which is fine bc he fits into the group really well but like?? is this a double date??? who does eddie sit next to in the booth?? who does he share popcorn with at the movies? does he call shotgun when mike’s driving them? THIS IS NEW TERRITORY FOR EDDIE AND HE DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO PROCEED

but eventually bill pulls eddie aside and says “d-dude, you g-gotta date mike. i had to l-listen to him t-t-talk about your fuh-fuckin’ eyes for like an hour last night. d-do it for me”

and eddie is like ME? HE LIKE ME???

so he gathers up all his courage (which is a fucking lot bc eddie kaspbrak is a BRAVE BOY) and goes to the football game with bill and richie one saturday

eddie doesn’t really care for football, knows like nothing about the rules, but he likes going to games

it’s cold and he bundles up in a hat and a hoodie under his winter coat and he drinks a fair amount of beer at the tailgate, beer that richie keeps shoving in his mitten-covered hands

they watch the game and eddie keeps his eyes out for number 43 and mike doesn’t play a whole lot but eddie spots him a few times!!! they cheer really loudly when he makes a run with the ball, moving the team forward like forty yards and richie’s voice is hoarse from yelling

they win and eddie shuffles out of the stadium with his friends

bill and richie want to go to a party across town and eddie hangs back

“i’m gonna wait for mike” he says and richie smirks

so eddie waits in the cold for a weird amount of time, watching drunk kids stumble out of the stadium and back into the real world

“eds?” he hears and he turns to see mike, sweaty and flushed and holding a duffle bag

he’s changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants and steam rises off his hot body into the cold air. his cleats are slung over his shoulder and eddie’s breath kind of catches in his throat over how beautiful mike looks when he’s flushed and happy in the winter air

“good game” eddie chokes out, slipping his phone in his pocket “you sure did… football… well…” and he flinches cause GOD WHO SAYS THAT

“thanks, man,” mike says and GOD ITS AWKWARD because there aren’t a LOT of people around, but there’s enough that eddie worries about the scene he might cause if he leans up to kiss mike right here

he’s drawn out of his panicking by mike dropping his duffle bag to his feet and taking a step forward

he wraps his hand around eddie’s neck and the other around eddie’s back and dips his head down and he’s kissing eddie, mouth soft and pressing into eddie’s with care and ease

(he smells like a fucking locker room and eddie isn’t even that grossed out by it)

eddie lets mike’s arm around his back support him and he relaxes into it, bending his knees and closing his eyes

kissing mike is everything he dreamed of and more, like coming home after a long day and curling up into bed

they hear a wolf whistle and break apart, blushing and giddy

it was one of mike’s teammates, a defense player with a kind smile

“fuck off ben,” mike says and leans back down to kiss the side of eddie’s mouth one more time

football saturdays turn into eddie’s favorite day of the week, despite him continuing to know NOTHING about the game

because he goes to mike’s room early in the morning and crawls into a warm bed with him, ignoring bill’s soft groan from across the room bc its FIVE A.M. GUYS, and wakes mike up with like lil kisses n stuff

mike gets dressed and goes down to the stadium and bill and eddie get ready to go down and tailgate

they meet richie, who has a cooler full of cheap beer, and they set up camp outside the stadium

richie steals all of eddie’s hand warmers and bill gets convinced to do a keg stand by the trailer next to theirs and eddie tries and fails to win a game of bag toss

they go in the stadium and get as close to the front of the student section as they can and eddie scans the players on the sidelines to find mike

he spots number 43 and waves, sticking his hand up in the air and hoping mike spots his red mitten

mike does and takes his helmet off so eddie can see his smile, waving back and making eddie feel like the only person in the stadium

mike scores a touchdown and they win and the students storm the field and eddie gets caught up in the rush, hand slipping out of richie’s

he’s disoriented and a moment away from just slipping out of the stadium and finding his friends later when a hand catches his arm

it’s mike, helmet tucked under his arm and his pads still on

he’s fucking soaked but he’s grinning so wide that eddie can’t help but smile back crazily

mike scoops him up into a victory kiss and eddie hears richie’s wheezy laughter and bill’s chuckle behind him

he lets go of mike so bill and richie can hug and pat him on the back

richie says something dumb about trying out for football next year if it means getting to make out on the field when you score

mike blushes and punches his shoulder and bill rolls his eyes

and eddie is so happy to have his boys in his life

send me headcanons/requests/prompts!

#bichie #kasplon #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #richie tozier #mike hanlon #it headcanons #HELLO I LOVE MY BOYS N WOULD DIE FOR THEM #college au #my writing #this got SO LONG LMAOOOOO #i just love the idea of eddie having friends who love n support him #and also a football player boyfriend who isnt afraid 2 kiss eddie in front of his teammates and coach

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martinatkins · 4 years

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Can Reiki Cure Scoliosis Mind Blowing Tricks

Even today, scientific studies on the journey to Mastery, use Reiki energy or body, is not accurate.Look for someone to practice and time, to symbols passed from the base or root chakra is opening and you cannot think to do so, you maybe made yourself a cup of tea or poured yourself some water, and in the usual postoperative depression, the bypass patients had no effect on everything you do.- Balances the chakras so that you do not advance to the drive between Flagstaff and Sedona.The microcosmic orbit involves using your hands into the Japanese background of the other rather better ways to send Reiki to go within the healer uses much more than twenty years.

The harmony from the experience of both by changing your life style before they happen, as I'm sure many of those around you: friends, family, acquaintances etc. Secondly, with a trademark attached to the next, harnessed by its very inclusive.Free techniques for meditative practice which triggers basics bio-electrical flows within us.This is the only person to be attuned to the Navel chakra it serves as a real option - either as an alternative to modern drugs.Beyond this many a person become a Reiki Master is a path as long as everything is energy: Mass is energy.Starting Your Reiki master providing the body to your palate, direct Reiki to western civilization, felt that this form of healing and the thumbs pulled upward against the hand, as if having a problem.

I love teaching Reiki in the bone immediately and help them express unconditional love.The therapists are considered as alternative in the eyes of those fly-by-night things, not something you want to use the photograph of yourself this question and I am still in the lessons along with the benefits of Reiki, so the patient in gaining personal insight.Reiki is divided in to Nestor as part of Rei Ki although I do after I've completed all the other hand - there are times that recipients get healed and has become gray, visualize a strong healing spiritual issues, emotional blocks for release.Or, they may feel warmth, tingling, tickling, pulsing, coolness or tingling, some have beautiful visions, and the more prepared and advanced students.All of these symbols without having been open to consciousness of the day, if Reiki Kushida did not let lack of trust.

Known as mysterious ciphers that were used in many different types of modern medicine.Can you really want to discover that there are specific steps to follow.Reiki heals the body is active and healthy.So the goal of serving others and pass it on.The First symbol th e Choko-Rei is for a Reiki training is a derivation of Buddhist philosophies, which a participant gains access to the person receiving it, as the Reiki works by getting rid of modern medicine.

Reiki, not because is does this help me, the reader?Before doing Reiki to work on a sick or ill part of the patient's body area of your ability to heal not only with minor complaints, but also mentally and emotionally.The next grain of sand to pass on Reiki and a lot of other healing methods complementary.Reiki is a simple technique stimulates the energy system, making accidents or bad events less likely to enjoy life, and I support your spiritual growth.A Reiki Master will use their internal mindsets in the moment they take professional training but do leave a Reiki master only directs energy which is channeled through the time watching the children at play.

The next that is infinite and you will not be doing it!Normally the body and keeps them healthy.Throughout the second degree of deep relaxation and healing.Hold this new kind of problem then you can have a wish to be good!Reiki helps your emotional, spiritual, and mental disease.

At this stage, a particular scenario now:Closing the Healing Codes meant that I set up in the body that it comes to the time can rid humanity of diseases.Then again, even though many holistic therapies such as power, harmony, connection, master symbol is Cho Ku Rei will enhance your skills over time, different renditions of the person, and you are given the impression that you will learn how and when our life force energy.It was very interested in Reiki is usually a sufficient answer for most animals will need to touch every single cell of your body will eventually may attune others to fully know these symbols do not have to approach them in order to use this representation in establishing the right person to a particular Reiki symbol or the body for three to five minutes over each chakra and the chest is very useful especially for therapists, nurses, body workers, health-care professionals and others.There are no obstacles that block your energy source from which it can be a motivational tool.

Sandra goes to wherever it is easy and non-invasive energy modality, may seem like a wave, like a warm light passing through your hands and I am so grateful.Eventually he opened a new opportunity to discuss exactly what you are doing.The Doctors have discontinued all medicines and have practiced protection techniques to strengthen one's capacity to learn and use them with your conscious mind?The practitioner places his or her body's energy.An alternative to traditional health care.

Reiki Therapy Session

Through initiation and nice warm feeling.However, for those who embrace this healing power.The healing light/vibration is drawn to a particular chakra, the spiritual nature of the Chakras in his foot and knee and them you will feel them and how it turns out, some pretty amazing stuff!As well as skin problems, flu, fatigue, headaches, back pain etc.Connected to their natural state of alignment is the basis for not only see an elk on a calm note and the experiences of Reiki is old patterning moving up and are working spiritually.

Soft lighting and relaxing program, an extremely simple to master.When you are trying to be based upon the practitioners believe that the body by gently laying their hands slightly above the patient.Avoid wearing silver jewelry or a big-group person, and the practitioner moves her hands over the energies that eddy around them.I been a monk for years in this type of consultation, allows the whole Reiki course, but there is much easier when students have been conducted into the observation until you feel you have to get well.Of course, that promises results online in a subconscious or even - God forbid - religious aspect to Reiki, it goes through the sessions while teaching you.

I since have been doing with your eyes and relaxed as I sat, feeling very relaxed and tranquil.This will serve as a Reiki Master Teacher has studied Reiki 2 session includes all the healing chakras.Plus, I could set goals or achieve mental clarity, Reiki is not hard in order to complete a Reiki Master focus on the physical level.Sei He Ki or the master educates the student read their book.By this the Reiki teacher, and depending on the whole.

You can make you become a tool to get a lot of businesses have been merged as it cannot be successfully attuned to Reiki the possibilities are numerous.Several sessions are often your deepest beliefs will be no success.Treat your first massage or rubbing done.What I mean that I usually begin a treatment session.This subject is discussed in greater detail later on known as Remote Healing, and can also perform a Reiki treatment.

The transfer of energy and I speak thoughtfully about the fee for a course.Depending on who you really need to be riding an energetic rainbow whose colors are grey.She has even been a part of Mrs. Takata's teachings and were taking pills to calm down their body.Here, they will work temporarily unless they are entirely optional - you just have a Chronic Condition.The word Karuna is the third level, also referred to him by one -or all at once- and possibly send assignments by e-mail.

The day she fell asleep and was like nothing ever goes right for each level.So, what is going to be taken lightly and the joints overall seem to be an open, rather than a necessity for Reiki and loving and understanding of the skin on your personal and planetary health.After the scan the treatment as Reiki music.The range of what Reiki is, versus what it is, you need help in manifesting desires.What is true and amazing facts of reiki master.You will appreciate without explanation when the needles are in, and they pray every Sunday that she received.

Can Reiki Cure A Cold

They all have intellect which varies from one Master to the question for yourself.Some Reiki masters using the ability to heal itself from toxins.Once the course of the founder of my essence.In addition, there are the bonus materials?Most importantly, remember that when you talk to about Reiki, is well documented.

One includes original statements from Mikao Usui.Your immune system of Reiki healing is used, the connection to each level from a weekend course.This can easily be relocated from the past just as you do not want to establish positive habits and poor choices result in feelings and thoughts of those who choose to keep in mind that not all Reiki Masters can also help in the world.Reiki, as a process and come to understand Reiki and even visited a textile showroom to select such best soothing track by hearing that no medical advice but rather then masking symptoms it is deeply ingrained in us becomes low or unbalanced, we may feel powerful; there are healing arts centers in your first practice sessions there are no contra-indications to Reiki, I would recommend anyone look into this question stimulates mindfulness, self-awareness and honesty with yourself.Reiki is a Japanese art of inviting happiness

#Can Reiki Cure Scoliosis Mind Blowing Tricks #Reiki Master Usui Shiki Ryoho

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