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moongothic · 4 months

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Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.

At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little

You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)

Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right

So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?

Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)

Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)

Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass

Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)

My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?

Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO

So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.

Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.

Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))

But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...

Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.

But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.

But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)

Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.

The only question is, how would Robin take that?

Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good

So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.

Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.

And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.

What's she going to do?

EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Nico Robin #THIS POST WAS AN ACCIDENT. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. WHY DID I WRITE THIS. WHAT DEMON POSSESSED ME #I'm sure someone's written this already right #Right #Surely this fanfic already exists #Please tell me it exists #I dunno what to tell you I am not immune to a Juicy AU #Anyway on a more wholesome side of things: Robin accidentally calling Crocodile ''dad'' and he just inhales and swallows his whole cigar #Nearly chockes to death. Gets burns on his throat.#Robin feeling less alienated because of her DF ability because Croc has seen weirder AND is made of sand himself #If anything if they're literally by themselves then Robin being able to literally lend a hand to Croc at any time could be extremely useful #Like. In regular life situations. 'Cause Croc only has one hand. And Robin as many as she wants. Perfect duo.#(Also if they were travelling on like a small ship then it'd probably be built for a Tall Motherfucker like Croc right)#(Robin's ability would just make the ship more accessible to her and Croc would find that independence good)#Robin still gets a codename because Croc can't have anyone realize who she is. Maybe she even wears like a mask or summin' in public #If Crocodile's openly trans and the news of him transitioning recently broke out. Like. No avoiding that convo eh #Baby Robin's like ''...I read in a book once that some reptiles can change sex but I didn't know crocodiles could do it too''#''💦.../Humans/ can't do that normally either''#''Hmmmm. Weird. I don't think being a girl would suit you though'' // ''...I'll take that as a compliment''#I just. I think they could have really cute interactions if they warmed up to each other after a little while #And I'm Extremely Normal about that

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youcalledsworld · 11 months

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Summonings and Grave Misunderstandings

The Justice League summons Ghost King Danny Phantom to help save the Earth. They are tired, they have numerous allies unconscious or unable to fight they are willing to do anything.

Danny was having some trouble, the entertainment he had for Danielle's birthday party just cancelled because they had a family situation. He didn't blame them for cancelling but now he had to stop a civil war from starting in one of his territories and look for new entertainment and have their backgrounds checked. Thankfully he had two weeks to do it. That was when he felt someone summoning him.

Zatanna knew she was a beautiful woman and she knew any man or woman would love to have her. So it wasn't surprising when the Ghost King asked for her as entertainment for a day after he saved the earth and had his people's doctors heal everyone. He just showed how powerful he was and a portion of his people's technological advancement and power. She couldn't even look into her teammates eyes when she accepted. She knew they would do anything to get her out of this situation but it was her dignity or the lives of the people she loves and that was a no brainer. Sadly, after steeling herself to go with the King then and there he had told her he would send for her in two weeks.

Danny has one problem down now and he swears Clockwork was behind this because it was too coincidental but he's not complaining. He now has entertainment for his little sister's birthday party and the one, entertaining the guest was a superhero magician famous for protecting the innocent and performing magic on stage. Maybe his Fenton luck is turning around.

Two weeks passed and Zatanna, the Justice League and JLD couldn't find anything to break the deal. So, when a portal opened the Fright Knight walked out to greet her, she couldn't even look at her friends as she walked towards the portal. When she came out the other side she noticed ghosts scrambling around putting up what looked like birthday decorations.

I see this ending in one of two ways.

1. Zatanna tells Danny what she and the League thought she was going to do. Danny apologises and tells Zatanna that he can pay her to entertain the party and that the Justice League can come if was comfortable with that.

2. She doesn't bring up the misunderstanding and does the show. It goes so well that Danny pays her a huge amount, that has Zatanna grinning ear to ear and a promise to hire her again. She returns to the League smiling and tells them how much she enjoyed entertaining everyone over there and that she can't wait for Danny to call her again, not noticing their shocked expression.

#dp x dc #dc comics #zantanna zatara #danny phantom #danielle phantom #ghost king danny #summoning #misunderstanding #danny is clueless #zatanna will anything to protect her friends #danny phantom loves danielle phantom and is willing to throw a birthday party #i love danny phantom summoning fanfiction #tag me if anyone writes this #prompt #justice league dark #justice league #danny fenton

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blackbatcass · 9 months

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the first thing every dick grayson writer has to keep in mind is that he is defined by his kindness. second thing is that he’s an asshole. third thing is that he’s so, so angry. fourth thing is that he loves donna hinckley stacy troy more than life itself.

#dick grayson #batman #batfam #dc #donna troy #wonder twins #some writers lately (PAST DECADE) haven’t kept these things in mind. and it. SHOWS.#like. i do believe that if you write a dick grayson story and it’s a version where #he DOESNT love and trust donna troy more than anyone in the universe. it’s fundamentally out of character. you feel?#sorry reading who is donna troy issue has made me emotional #he loves her!! SO much!!!!! he would do anything for her!!!!!!

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florencemtrash · 3 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Lucien Vanserra could kill me and I would be honored. Cannon typical violence. Some angst. Lots of fun

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Lucien stood in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. Words stuck in his throat.

You knew as his eyes roamed over your features that he was hunting for some mark of Helion’s that you’d inherited, whether it be the set of your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, or even the tilt of your sharp ears. But he came up empty. Whatever features you did share with Helion could have easily been shared by two strangers. It was how you’d gotten away with working with him at the Day Court and attending balls by his side.

But there were some things that went deeper than skin and bones. He could barely make it out in the hum of your power and the faint, charming glow in your eyes. It was something that spoke of warmth and sparkling intellect. A sliver of the sun given form.

You were Helion’s daughter.

You were… you were his sister.

You cleared your throat and looked away. “I understand this must be a surprise. Perhaps not the kind of surprise you were hoping for.”

“You’re my sister,” Lucien finally breathed out, and the wind, so harsh and biting before, ceased.

“Half-sister… technically.”

“I don’t go by halves.”

The sharp, sudden rush of cold air into your lungs had you shivering. Lucien noticed and without thinking he reached out with his power, wrapping heat around your body until you may as well have been perched in front of a roaring fire. His magic smelled like woodsmoke and balsam.

“You’re my sister.” He repeated the phrase a few more times, finding it more believable with each swirl of the words around his tongue.

Elain had known this was coming and had given him a cryptic warning, but that did nothing to lessen the excitement spreading in his chest with each passing second.

You watched him wearily, hands clasped over your body and eyes furrowed, like you couldn’t tell if he was upset. Which was ridiculous. How could Lucien ever be upset by this?

“You’re my sister!”

A sharp laugh exited his body that grew and grew until you felt like you were floating on the waves of his happiness. He rushed forward, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Wind rushed past your ears as the world blurred.

He gently deposited you back on solid ground.

“How old are you? How long have you known about Helion? Where have you been all this time?” He asked the questions in rapid succession, heart hammering away in his chest.

He had a sister. A sister.

“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”

He smiled. He’d always wanted a younger sibling. A younger sister to be exact that he could teach to fight and hunt and ride with more support than he’d ever been afforded.

“I’ve known about Helion since I was little.” Lucien’s smile slipped at that revelation. “And I’ve been in the Day Court in one of the athenaeums. It was my home up until the point where Koschei burned down my house and I got saddled with Beth’s book. I’ve been here ever since. Although I never expected for any of this—” You gestured vaguely at the House, the sky, at Lucien, “to happen. Not that I’m upset!” You added quickly.

“What was it like? Growing up in the Day Court?” He looked you up and down again, searching for scars or broken bones that had never healed right. But from what he could tell, you were whole.

He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.

“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.”

“Good.” He breathed out in relief. “Good.”

Azriel watched everything from the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. The wind carried the tang of salt, opening his lungs and easing the pain in his chest that wrapped around him like a vice. He kept his wings pulled in tight and hands clasped behind his back. He was a slice in the fabric of the universe, unmoving and still.

And he missed you. Gods did he miss you.

“We shouldn’t stand so close,” Azriel murmured.

His voice was ragged, filled with more gravel than the walkway that snaked through Elain’s garden. Weighed down with secrets that felt more like anvils.

Elain dropped the empty bucket onto the deck followed by the clang of her spade. The shovel lay discarded in the field, the ground marked by neat lines of overturned earth. She cupped her hands and blew into them, breathing life back into her stiff fingers.

Twenty minutes ago he’d seen you run beneath his window, racing towards the Sidra with your robes hiked up to your knees so you could try and keep up with Lucien’s long strides as he pulled you along by your hand, red hair streaming behind him like a bundle of ribbons.

You’d been calling out for him to slow down, your voice loud and breathless.

And after everything that had happened, the things he’d seen, he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to the deck to watch you.

Now you stood at the water’s edge with your hands outstretched, dutifully holding onto every stone that Lucien plucked from the river. Your head tipped to the side in curiosity.

His childhood in Autumn had not been kind, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been happy moments sprinkled in amongst the sorrow. There in the woods with bejeweled treetops and diamond glass rivers he’d learned how to swim and fish and hunt. He’d wrestled with his brothers, fallen in love, and gained the confidence and freedom to eventually travel the Courts and make his own way in the world.

But you’d been lonely your whole life. Trapped indoors with nothing but your books for company. You’d never learned how to swim. You’d never dug through the soil for slimy worms to go fishing. You’d never fallen asleep beneath a glittering sky, fire smoke curling in the air and the taste of chestnuts lingering on your tongue and filling your belly.

It had been a different kind of sorrow, but no less real.

Lucien aimed to change some of that. Your mere presence beside him, as hesitant as it was, filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name.

He had his trousers rolled up to his thighs revealing powerful legs and freckled, caramel-brown skin. He didn’t mind the cold waters rolling over his hands as he tracked the riverbed for the smoothest, flattest stones. Every time he looked back you were either watching him or examining each stone with narrowed eyes like you’d find some algorithm carved into their edges that would tell you what made them so special for the task at hand.

Azriel couldn’t hear what you two were saying, and he didn’t send his shadows out to investigate, but soon you were tugging off your boots, then your socks, and tying the long length of your robes around your waist. You gingerly dipped your toes into the river and immediately leapt back.

Lucien’s laugh rolled over the earth, full of warmth and joy. He was grinning so wide Azriel could see the whites of his teeth and his shaking shoulders.

Inch by inch you walked into the river up to your calves and Lucien dunked his cupped hands into the cold water.

“Don’t you dare! Lucien!”

Then you were shaking your head, slapping Lucien’s hands away with a shout when he tossed the water at your face, and threatening to launch the black stones back into the river for him to fetch. Your toes were already starting to go numb.

Azriel’s heart gave a painful lurch, even as he smiled softly at the sight of you.

“I don’t… I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” Azriel swallowed and turned his gaze down to where a plump sparrow was digging around in the grasses.

Elain ignored him, dropping her arms onto the wooden railing and staring out. She let out a lovely, longing sigh and Azriel just knew she was strumming the bond within her chest to feel Lucien on the other side.

The red-haired male looked up to meet her gaze and smiled softly. You also looked up, and then immediately looked away with rosy cheeks.

“Lucien knows where I stand. He… he’s finally beginning to trust me again.”

He’d been so eager to give her his heart the first time around, and she’d crushed it beneath her dainty shoes, too angry at the life that had been torn away to look at the one she’d been given. This time around she was determined to earn Lucien’s love, no matter how easy he made it for her. No matter how many times he told her it wasn’t something that had ever needed to be earned.

“It took some time to gain that back.” She shifted. “But then again, we were lucky. We knew what we were to each other. You still haven’t told Y/n you’re mates.”

“You know about that?”

Elain rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious, because it was.

“I don’t think I can tell her, Elain.”

“And why not?”

Azriel hesitated.

Here was a truth he hadn’t been able to express to his brothers — the truth they didn’t understand: They were good, decent males, and when it had come to their mating bonds they’d treated them with the respect they deserved. They’d been patient. They’d never tried to force a hand that wasn’t theirs.

But Azriel was… wrong. In so many ways he was wrong.

He either waited too long or he moved without thinking. He fell into obsession like a starling with clipped wings. He scrounged for scraps of affection where he wasn’t supposed to and brooded when it inevitably blew up in his face. He’d been trying to take his time with you. He’d been trying to do it right. He was…

He was already in love with you.

He’d been in love with you for some time now.

Elain smiled, still staring towards the river.

She had loved Azriel once. Not in the way she loved Lucien and not in a way that had been good for them, but still it had been love of some kind. She could feel the waves rolling off his body as he came to his quiet realization, and it felt very different from the way he’d felt about her and very similar to the way she felt about Lucien.

“I love her, Elain.” He whispered the words like they were fragile as spun sugar, ready to dissolve the moment they left his lips.

“She’ll say yes to the bond. I’ve seen it.”

Azriel let out a broken, strangled noise and looked at Elain, begging for more. “Even after—”

“Yes. Even after what that boy made you do. Even after what she learned when she touched your hand.” She looked down at Azriel’s hands, leather gloves worn and supple. She gave them a squeeze. “A year ago I had a vision of a white bird flying out of the sun with a golden ribbon tied to one of its feathers. Its wings were dipped in ink so she could leave a trail along the ground for a beast of shadow to follow.”

Azriel went still as death. “And then what happened?”

Elain looked up at him, eyes glittering. “She flew to the base of a mountain, laid down, and has been waiting ever since. She’s been waiting for you. For someone who understands what it means to be lonely and what it’s like to hope for more.”

And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more.

More time with you. More unrestrained touches. More midnight conversations until your eyes were threatening to shut.

Something changed then. Elain’s brown, doe eyes turned misty and flat. Her voice dropped and the hand she reached out to grab hold of his arm was cold as ice.

“You need to be careful, Az,” she warned. “Don’t let her go into the mirror. She may not come out.” She clawed at his arms. “Az, you need to be careful. The mirror…”

He gripped her shoulders, stabilizing her as she swayed on her feet.

“Elain, what—” But her vision was already gone. No matter how hard she tried to hold on it was like trying to keep water in a cracked cup.

Lucien kept his arm perfectly parallel with the earth, drew back, and snapped his wrist at the last second. The stone flew out over the glassy river and kept kissing the surface in weakening arches before it was eventually swallowed up in a dollop of salt.

“Eight.”

Lucien looked at you incredulously. “I counted nine.”

“Eight skips,” you argued. “Males always overestimate.”

“And what experience do you have with males?”

None. Except for that one glorious day you’d clung to Azriel like the world was finally peaceful. It was nowhere near the level of experience you suspected Lucien must have after centuries spent bouncing around from Court to Court. Nowhere near the level of experience Azriel or the others had when it came to touch.

You bristled. “Enough.”

Lucien smirked like he knew you were lying and held out his hand for another stone. Soon it too was lost to the river.

“How many this time?”

You twisted your lips to the side, but had to admit, “Nine.”

He was grinning.

“Come on.” He held out his hand for you, beckoning you deeper into the river. “Your turn. Just like I showed you.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Come on!”

“I will kill a fish, Lucien.”

There was a playful roll of his eyes. “Y/n—”

“I’ll end up throwing a rock so hard into the water I’ll give an innocent, unsuspecting fish brain damage.” So what if you were being melodramatic. That did nothing to counter the fact that your hand-eye coordination was shit.

“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Wrong.

You were gods awful at this.

You tried your best to mimic the bend of Lucien’s spine as he let go of his stone, tried to mimic the way he curled his fingers against its rounded edges. But every single one of your throws was either too strong or too weak. Too high or too low.

You chucked the last rock in your hand but the spin on it — or rather lack thereof — was abysmal. It plopped into the river three yards away with a splash.

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as you stomped back onto the beach, swearing with every step as your robes dragged through the water behind you.

You whirled around and kicked up river water in his direction.

“Stop laughing!” A smile tugged at your lips even as you said that.

“You’re doing very well!”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not!”

“I didn’t grow up in the backwoods of Autumn. I’ve never done this before,” you grumbled, your words tinged with embarrassment.

And thank the Mother you hadn’t. Yes, Lucien had always wanted a sister, but he flinched just to think of the horrors you would have faced if you’d both shared a mother instead of a father. The ways Beron would have bent you until you broke, especially as a female. Sold to the highest bidder and forced to have as many children as possible. A high-end, noble-blooded breeder.

Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. The smile slipped off his bright face.

You stiffened. Some of the scars on Lucien’s body took on new meaning.

“I’m sorry, Lucien,” you said. The fun of the afternoon, as embarrassing as it had been for you, fell away. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You’d only heard whispers of the way Beron treated his children. Which could only mean that they’d endured infinitely worse.

Lucien shook his head and more of his scarlet hair came tumbling out of his braid. He looked so much like Helion in the sun that you were surprised more people didn’t know. They had the same strong noses, the same build with their tapered waists and strong legs. They even had the same dimple on their left cheeks.

But maybe Beron and his brothers had known, or at least suspected that he was different, and that had added to Lucien’s torment.

“Maybe one day you could show me though,” you asked hopefully when the silence was on the verge of becoming too loud, “I’ve never been to Autumn — I’ve not been to most places, actually — but I’d like to see it. I could show you the Day Court too.”

He shook his head slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be a good idea — visiting the Day Court.”

That was the issue you’d been tiptoeing around the last two hours. You both knew about Helion, but he was only aware of your existence, not Lucien’s. And it was one thing for you to be revealed as Helion’s daughter — there’d be gossip, attempts on your life, and countless marriage proposals.

But for Lucien? He’d suddenly find himself face to face with the weight of a crown and an entire Court on his shoulders. You wouldn’t blame him for trying to avoid that fate.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Lucien… Why haven’t you told Helion yet? Beron’s been dead for years now, and I’ve heard only good things about Eris. That he’s honest and fair. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d punish you if you claimed your right to Helion’s Court.”

His bright eyes turned bitter, all laughter disappearing. He dipped his hand into the river, picked up a rock, and chucked it back in. Its edges were too ragged anyway.

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?”

You straightened up as if the answer were obvious. “Trust me, he doesn’t know. If he knew you were his son, he would have found ways to see you grow up. We might have even grown up together.”

It was a pathetic daydream, but one you’d been thinking about.

“You’re wrong!”

The outburst was so sudden, so unlike the Lucien everyone else spoke of that you had to take a few steps back. Smoke rose from his clenched fists and his skin pulsed, glowing with an inner light like he was more ember than fae.

He blinked rapidly then swore, brushing his salt-stiffened hair back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have come. He didn’t come. He just left me and my mother there with that monster. He must have known what it was like — the things he did to her and the rest of us — but he never showed up. Not for my mother. Not for me.”

“He didn’t know.”

You repeated those words with the same conviction you had for everything else you knew to be true. You stepped closer and with the slope of the beach you could face him eye-to-eye.

“Do you want to know how I know? My mother wanted nothing to do with him when she found out she was pregnant. He had to hear it from one of the healers. And when I was born she forbade him from visiting, forbade him from even laying eyes on me, but he couldn’t stay away. He found ways to be in my life and protected me as best he could, and when Mom died and I was left on my own, he gave me projects with purpose so I wouldn’t crumble into nothing.” You stabbed your finger against your chest. “He did that for me. Is he a great father? Absolutely not. Is he a decent father? Maybe? Probably not, he wasn’t there most of the time. But he’s trying. I know it’s not the same and we’re still strangers and I understand if you don’t forgive him for abandoning your mother — I wouldn’t — but he would have gone for you.”

You were breathing hard now. Lucien just stared with shiny eyes and unclenched fists.

“And I think after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to know what it’s like to have a father who at least tries.”

The world was too small right now. It was too big. The Sidra had soaked through your skin and your robes were growing heavier and heavier by the second, weighed down by salt water and time.

“Would you at least consider telling him? Please?”

Because another pathetic daydream you’d been thinking of recently was that one day it might be you and Helion and Lucien. An imperfect family, but a family nevertheless. That you might not feel so alone anymore.

Lucien’s throat bobbed and he turned away from you long enough for the crisp wind to dry his tears.

“Take off your robes. They must be soaked by now. I’ll make sure you don’t go cold.'” His voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “And I’ll look for more stones. No sister of mine is going to go through life without learning how to skip stones.”

He threw that word around so casually — sister — like saying it over and over again would somehow make the hundreds of years you’d both spent on your own disappear.

Clouds gathered steadily overhead painting the world with a wash of grey. But that did nothing to diminish the faint light that emanated from you and Lucien as you waded through the shallows and finally learned to skip stones. Lucien whooped, red hair streaming behind him, and you smiled as your last stone skipped twice over the river before disappearing beneath the surface.

You leaned back in the tall, dying grasses and sipped on the cardamom tea Elain brought down from the House, listening to the many stories Lucien had gathered over centuries spent traversing Prythian and the Human Lands. You told him about The Alcove, Cherp, your mother, and the books you read, and he listened like it was the most epic tale he’d heard in his entire life.

Sometimes you both went quiet. It was sobering to think about what you’d both endured alone without your true family. But still… it was good to have one another now.

When you walked into the packed dining room — barefoot, salt-stained, and rosy from the cold — Lucien pulled out the seat next to him for you, surprising the grey Ione.

Elain dropped gracefully into the chair across from her mate, a knowing smile on her face.

“Good day?”

You and Lucien glanced at one another. His golden eye whirred and his russet eye gleamed mischievously.

You folded your arms over your chest, forcing down the smile that threatened to make its appearance. “The worst.”

“You’re just upset because you lost,” Lucien teased, casually draping his arm over your shoulder.

“It was hardly a fair competition. You must have — what? — five-hundred years of experience against me?”

He clasped a hand over his chest. “You wound me, sister. Although, if you must know, I’m four hundred and seventeen.”

“I’m surprised you’re not a sack of bones on the floor.”

“I’m not that old.”

“I think I see a few grey hairs here and there.”

Lucien scoffed, but everyone noticed when he absentmindedly touched his long red locks as the last of the dinner plates materialized on the table. Feyre reached over from beside Lucien and squeezed his hand tightly under the table.

It wasn’t the drop of Helion’s magic that caused The High Lady’s eyes to glow so brightly. She was just happy. Lucien squeezed her hand back even tighter.

Azriel was the last to arrive, appearing in the hallway in a swath of shadows like he was stepping out of one of your dreams. He must have flown home today. Mist gathered into droplets that clung to his skin and hair and eyelashes like a thousand diamonds. Not even the faint shadows beneath his eyes could distract from his beauty, and you felt that familiar wash of comfort flow over your body when you caught his scent.

There was only one available seat left at the table. The one directly across from you and Lucien… and right next to Elain.

Your stomach dropped.

The seating arrangement was truly a horrible coincidence. One that no one seemed to recognize until it was too late and Azriel’s chair was screeching over the wooden floor. Both he and Elain shifted in their seats, quietly pulling them further apart. It should have made you feel better that Azriel was trying so hard to distance himself from Elain, but the only thing it emphasized was that they’d used to be so close.

Cassian looked over nervously at his brother, but Azriel was as impassive as always. The room fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the clinking of silverware. If the House was a person, they would be sweating buckets.

Cassian coughed and sipped his wine. “So… lovely weather we’re having.”

Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, followed by rain that began plummeting to the earth in heavy sheets.

Rhysand leaned over and smacked his brother on the back of his head and Cassian couldn’t even feign annoyance at that.

“You never fail to have incredible timing, Cassian.” Lucien drank his wine deeply and some of the tension seemed to lift from the table when everyone noticed how happy he still was. The terrible things in the world had not lessened, but Lucien felt lighter than he had in decades.

In proper Helion fashion, he kept the pleasant conversation spinning over the table, ensnaring you with the stories he tossed back and forth with Feyre.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be crazy enough to try and capture a Suriel?”

“What? Like it was meant to be difficult?”

Lucien smirked and crossed his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What were the second and third times then?”

“The Suriel being a terrible busybody who was bored and wanted to spill gossip.”

Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return.

Azriel did what he always did and sat still and quiet as a mouse, eyes tracing over the flow of conversation like he knew who would speak before they’d even opened their mouths. But his eyes kept lingering on you, a smile tugging at his lips whenever one grew on yours.

Lucien noticed it the third time it happened. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Until he found himself watching the Shadowsinger almost as intensely as Azriel was watching you.

His grip tightened around his silverware.

“I am not nearly as uptight as Gwyn says I am,” you muttered, pushing around the potatoes on your plate.

You’d sunk into your seat when, to your embarrassment, the conversation had steered in your direction. Azriel had been the one to do it, casually dropping a comment about how much time you spent in Cagniv Library and the ways in which you’d already influenced the priestesses who operated there. It was the first thing he’d said all day.

“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”

“That’s a lie, Nesta, and you know it.”

Nesta did know it, but you’d been so quiet the past few weeks. She wanted to poke fun if only to make you smile.

“Fine, that was an exaggeration. But you interrogated Farrah like she was a war criminal. Azriel would have been impressed.”

“She’s the only expert on Cyerion Age Bauldish folklore and she was missing half the citations for her thesis! It took me ages to track down some of her sources.”

“She can’t cite a book that’s over 2,000 years old with no identifiable author. Or title. Or publishing date.”

You grumbled under your breath. Something about, “Your library gives me anxiety” and “You’re making me look bad in front of Lucien.”

“Hmmm? Sorry?” Lucien tore his eyes away from where one of Azriel’s shadows had slid under the table and was now wrapping around the leg of your chair in an effort to gain your attention.

You shook your head. “Nesta’s just trying to make me look bad.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Azriel said softly, so softly he probably hadn’t even meant to say the words aloud. He looked up from his plate, shocked to hear his own voice continue on. “Maybe after this is all done, you could take on the task of reorganizing Cagniv. I’m sure you’d be saving the next Librarian more than a few headaches.”

Your wide eyes met his across the table and for a brief moment it was like you two were alone and teasing each other over tea in the middle of the night like you used to. Two shadows illuminated by candlelight in a Court that never slept.

You sat up a little straighter. “Is that a challenge?”

Azriel smiled faintly, “Maybe. Although I’m sure Bryaxis would give you a run for your money.”

You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?”

Rhys smirked, “He’s the resident shadow demon that lives on the bottom floor of Cagniv. He flew down once on a dare and he high-tailed it out of the abyss white as a sheet. He still doesn’t talk about it.”

“Fuck you for bringing that up, Rhys.” Cassian’s hand trembled as he brought his fork up to his lips, “You’ll never let me live that down will you?”

“You… you have a shadow demon living in your library?” Your face twisted in horror and you slammed your knife down on the table, “Is that why a third of the catalogue is missing from the shelves? I’ve been searching for ages!”

And there it was — that faint twitch of irritation in your eyes that told Azriel you were already contemplating going down to confront Bryaxis yourself. He could imagine how you’d stand there with a hand tucked into your robes, swinging a lantern from the other as you bullied the monster into letting you move the volumes someplace else. How you’d lecture him on the importance of controlling humidity when it comes to parchment preservation, and perhaps how you’d begrudgingly agree that the creature’s darkness had protected the fragile books from light exposure.

“I knew that’s what you’d focus on,” Azriel said. His voice was deeper than an ocean, and just as full of hidden meaning. He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile gracing his lips. “You just learned you spent months studying with a monster lurking nearby — a monster that has Cassian trembling in the corner—”

“I am not trembling—”

“And you’re not afraid at all. You’re… you’re incredible, Y/n.”

You pursed your lips, tamping down the delight that threatened to spill over inside of you like champagne bubbles — light and airy and lovestruck. With only a handful of sentences, Azriel had you wishing that everyone else would just leave. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as Azriel kept looking at you. It was a quiet, intimate undressing without an inch of skin needing to be revealed.

A tendril of shadow creeped up your arm and tugged your hair. The rest hovered shyly over a bag you recognized as Azriel’s, as if they knew they’d done wrong by ferrying it over from their master’s bedroom. But the timing was so perfect, how could they not?

With you watching, they tugged open the strings and spilled the contents on the floor.

To Lucien’s surprise, Azriel’s notorious stone-face went flush with color when he heard the thud of books and realized what his shadows had done.

“Wait—Y/n—” His chair groaned in protest when he shot to his feet.

But you were already holding them in your hands.

The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. Your favorite books in the entire world. Two copies each. One brand new, and one whose pages were already flared, leather spines lovingly wrinkled.

Your breath caught in your throat when you flipped through Three Knocks for a Kiss and saw Azriel’s delicate scrawl on every page. Passages had been circled and underlined with his comments left in the margins. Small tabs of paper poked out with more handwritten notes.

Azriel’s been reading these over and over again for months now. He bought them a week after you came to Velaris because he remembered you liked books that are well loved and full of memory. The nights he couldn’t sleep and dream of you, he’d perch on his windowsill and read until morning came. You’ve given him a peace he’s never known before.

A kind of peace you thought you’d been alone in feeling.

The scent of night-chilled mountains and parchment paper filled your nose.

Azriel bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes focused on your hands now clutching the books like they were gold.

“I remembered seeing them in your apartment. I was going to give them to you at some point but…” Azriel trailed off, then whispered. “I remember what you told me about your mother reading them to you.” I remember everything you’ve told me.

“I can keep them?” Your voice was a hush over the room.

You cradled them protectively against your chest, as if at any moment they’d be torn away from you. You’d been hesitant to buy new copies after the original ones had been burned down in the Alcove. Part of their charm had always been the memories of your mother reading them aloud like they were flowers growing from her lips instead of words, buzzing and honey-laden. The books felt different now, but they still felt like something. They weren’t sterile and blank. They were filled with Azriel and all the good memories he carried with him. Few and far between as they were.

“They’re yours,” Azriel breathed, “All yours.”

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer.

No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation.

Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him.

They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper.

Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta.

“Here we go again,” Nesta groaned and looked at Cassian. You want to get her?

Yeah I got her.

You straightened up, pressing the books to your chest in confusion. What had started off as a graciously uneventful dinner had turned into a moment of beauty that you wanted to preserve for a little while longer.

But everyone around you parted, leaning back in their chairs and pulling glasses of wine off the table before draining them in one long chug. Even Ione held her plate in her hands, popping a tomato in her mouth with interest. Mor looked nervous clutching a sweaty bottle of wine against her chest. Feyre and Rhys looked resigned and Lucien… Lucien looked livid. After all, he owed Azriel for the Blood Duel.

Cassian hoisted you out of your seat with his arms wrapped firmly around your middle and stepped back and out of the way.

Your eyes widened when Lucien stood up, skin rippling with light and power. He calmly rolled back his sleeves revealing muscular, scarred forearms, then took off his rings one by one and dropped them on the table.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

He wanted to feel it when he beat the Shadowsinger to a pulp.

Oh… Oh shit.

“Wait—Lucien!”

Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table.

Azriel didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes didn’t even flicker in surprise. In fact, you swore you saw them flutter closed in acceptance.

In another fight, Azriel might have had the advantage of wings and height, but Lucien had the wider build and the fucking motive. He slammed into the Shadowsinger’s chest and together they disappeared beneath the lip of the table before landing in a sprawl on the floor that knocked the air out of Azriel’s lungs.

Cassian winced when he heard the first of Lucien’s blows land.

“Let me go!” You kicked and squirmed in his grip, but you would have had more luck fighting a mountain. “Cassian, what the fuck?!”

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. But even I have to admit he had this coming.” There was another bloody crack. “Oh damn that sounds like it hurt.”

“Honestly, I didn't know he had it in him,” was Nesta’s only comment. Ione moved to stand beside the eldest Archeron sister so she could get a better view, a faintly amused smile on her face.

“I did,” Elain said simply. That was one of the many things she and Lucien had in common. Their general patience and understanding could only stretch so far before snapping. “Ione, perhaps you should go upstairs.”

The older woman looked offended. “Why? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Such drama.”

When Helion had fought Azriel, there’d been an elegance to it — something altogether noble about the event as the two stared each other down as equals.

This was nothing like that.

Lucien was pissed and even Azriel had to admit that he really, really deserved this one.

Lucien’s chest heaved, every blow of his fists against Azriel’s face punctuated by snarling words.

“First you go after my mate—” Punch. “Then my sister—” Punch. Punch. “Are you—” Punch. “Fucking—” Punch. “Kidding me?!”

The last blow sent Azriel’s head snapping back hard enough to crack the floor tiles. Blood splattered from his nose like a spray of paint lobed at a canvas and Azriel knew from his sudden inability to breath that it was broken.

“Lucien! Stop it!”

“We just redid the tiles,” Rhysand groaned, rubbing his temples.

Lucien growled and grabbed Azriel by the front of his leathers, throwing him over and onto the table. The long mahogany table, shiny and expensive as hell, snapped in two with a deafening bang. Silverware flew into the air, catching the light like holiday tinsel. Porcelain plates shattered and Azriel finally groaned in pain from the harsh twisting of his wings. The fearsome Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court could only lay there as green peas rolled down on top of him, gravy sinking into his hair.

“Not the table too,” Rhys whined. He’d had it specially commissioned for the River House.

Lucien dragged Azriel off the glorified heap of wood chips before tossing him back onto the floor, fist raised in the air.

“Alright! That’s enough,” Feyre said with a loud clap of her hands. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. I don’t want anyone breaking my house. Again.”

The River House sighed in relief.

Lucien paused just long enough for Rhysand to haul the redhead off his brother with little regard for anyone’s pride.

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shoving Rhys away. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

When Cassian finally let you down, you rushed over to Azriel’s side, swiping the handkerchief Rhys held out for you as you passed.

Azriel sat on the floor, face impassive despite the brutal angle of his nose and the blood sprayed over his face and neck. You cradled his face, gently nudging it this way and that as you surveyed the damage.

“Oh Azriel,” you breathed.

Bruises bloomed over his cheekbones, muddy as paint water. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his split lips bled anew when he gave you a tentative smile.

“Hi,” he murmured reverently, leaning against the palm you cupped beneath his jaw.

Lucien gagged. “Can someone rip my eye out again? Both this time, please?”

“Damnit, Lucien!” You held the handkerchief up to Azriel’s nose, trying to stem the flow of blood before it could continue dripping from his chin. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Really, Y/n?! You’re defending him?!”

Azriel wrapped one arm protectively around your waist, eyes narrowed in a glare. With the blood coating his face he looked positively murderous. Like he’d done the beating and not Lucien.

“Don’t yell at her,” he growled, his voice dangerously low.

“For fuck’s sake.”

It had been a momentary outburst — a rare occurrence with Lucien that held no anger towards you. But you still felt the flare of Azriel’s power as shadows wrapped around you in a layer so thick you couldn’t see past your waist.

“Azriel—” You didn’t want another fight. “It's ok.”

“No. It’s not.”

Lucien was a mixed bag of emotions and he felt a dozen of them go off at the same time like fireworks. There was rage at the male who had the audacity to lay a hand on you, who’d hurt you if the rumours in Velaris were true. A bitter desire for revenge that still lay heavy on his hands after the utter hell he’d gone through watching Azriel and Elain for years. Protectiveness over you — his sister. And a tiny sliver of shame that grew every time you prodded the Shadowsinger’s bent nose and winced.

“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook.

“Do I know what, Lucien?”

He swore and looked at everyone in turn. The members of the Inner Circle were trying their damned hardest not to meet his eyes, nervously angling their gaze towards the ground or out the windows like the evening fog was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.

Fucking hell. You didn’t know.

Lucien reached down over your shoulder, grabbed Azriel’s nose and shoved it back into place with a loud pop.

You cringed at the sound, but Azriel didn’t react. He was well acquainted with pain and knew how to hide it.

He breathed through his reset nose, touching the swore flesh gingerly. “Thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Lucien!”

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. Elain chose that moment to quietly slide her hand into his from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder so he was surrounded by the smell of wildflowers. She tapped the center of his chest, right where he’d told her he felt anchored by the bond, and then looked pointedly to where you kneeled on the ground in between Azriel’s legs.

And Azriel… Azriel looked lost to the world. Centuries spent relegated to the shadows as a Spymaster had wiped away his feelings, at least outwardly. But everyone could plainly see the way he kept his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your warm skin and the settling of his breathing the longer you held onto his jaw with careful fingers.

Of all the people. It had to be him.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways,” Elain whispered so only her mate could hear.

“Unfortunately for me.”

Lucien took in a ragged breath and clenched his fists, waiting for the worst of his anger to fade away before he collected the books back into the discarded bag and held it out for you.

A peace offering.

You pulled Azriel back onto his feet, keeping one hand firmly clasped in his, and glared at your brother. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it.

Your lips flattened. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Azriel?”

His mismatched eyes flared with irritation when they flickered to the Shadowsinger.

Azriel stood quietly at your side, his face a motley of red, purple, and blue. Still handsome though, much to Lucien’s annoyance.

“I’m not going to apologize for that. He deserved it. I’m just sorry you had to witness it.” Lucien hesitated, then said, “Y/n, I’m not usually like this. I don’t want you to think poorly of me just because of… him.” It was taking everything within him not to use more colorful language to describe the Shadowsinger. “It won’t happen again… unless you ask me to… which I hope you do.”

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know what anger looked like painted on your features, or sadness, and he didn’t want to. So, it was a pleasant surprise when you only rolled your eyes and muttered, “First Helion and now you. Fucking males,” before slinging the bag over your shoulder and tugging Azriel towards your room.

The Shadowsinger trailed after you without a second thought, heart hammering away in his chest.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

Y'all I had so much fucking fun writing the Lucien/Azriel fight scene. And to think that for a hot second I considered not writing it because I was worried it would be too repetitive to have Azriel get his ass beaten by both Helion and Lucien. Azriel, you poor, poor man, I'm sorry to have put you through all this. But also I'm not sorry at all.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, please feel free to send me your thoughts!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #y/n x inner circle #reader x inner circle #reader x lucien #lucien x reader #lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra has my whole heart #i will fight anyone who says anything bad about him #ugh but writing the sibling dynamic between Y/n and Lucien where he's so excited and she's so worried the whole time #SADJF BCALSIGEHRJFKJANDSBHGUFI #just Lucien vanserra

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hotpotghosts · 17 days

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#chilaios #succubus!chilchuck #dungeon meshi spoilers #only bc I’m about to yell in my own tags about the succubus chapter #idk something about laios’ choking succubus marcille and immediately panicking and without hesitation thinking that he has to kill her #before anyone sees is just yeah I can blend that up into chilaios yeah #like yeah what if the succubus’ choice of person was dead on #they DO say they read the minds of the person to create their max desire and marcilles elf prince one talking + laios’ having monster #knowledge means that i can make succubus!chil a lil mean as a treat bc he knows laios is into chil #also i think it’s unclear here but I think it’d be neat if the succubus have insect eye reflection givin them that lil non human touch #maybe I’ll draw something making that more clear later #ALSO idk what to tag this yall do people use tumblr tags to filter content or would putting warning tags on this just make it breach #containment? if anyone wants anything tagged specifically in the future just drop me an ask i guess #also I’m going to write this as fic I swear but drawing is so much faster #ghostmakestuff

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inklore · 10 days

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can we bring back fun fics? ya know when they weren’t taken too seriously, where we were simply writing them to feel that ooshy gooshy feeling and laugh and feel. nowadays i feel like all that matters is how intense the smut is, and trust i love smut. i am its number one fan. but i feel like its become a means to popularity, only writing it because it’s following a status quo of readers who only care about fics when it includes filth. like its not wrong to want the filth. we all love the filth. but please bring back the silly little plots. give me one bed, give me unrealistic fake dating, give me a wild crossover with fandoms that shouldn’t work together but do, give me something crazy like aliens invading or dinosaurs! like all of those things can lead to tooth rotting fluff or shaky knees smut. just bring back the feels! the silliness! the reasons why we all stay up until all hours of the night devouring these works of art!!

#this isn’t an insult to anyone who prefers only smut or only fluff #don’t make it into something it’s not #i just miss when we all wrote crazy long fics that weren’t just about getting dicked down #there was more there was laughs and omgs and kicking of feet or changing of underwear #i know a lot of us don’t write like that anymore because the community is in shambles #and readers barely interact with anything #but fuck them #write for me #write for yourself #bring back the love of writing

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ivymarquis · 8 days

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Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave.

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him.

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger.

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either.

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back.

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification.

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy.

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it.

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face.

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children.

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine.

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access.

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further.

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it.

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly.

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his.

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore.

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children.

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt.

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to.

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name.

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air.

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate.

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her.

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities.

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home.

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss.

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John.

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her.

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely.

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd.

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake.

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife.

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John.

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress.

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her.

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong.

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night.

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has.

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden.

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan.

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed.

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed.

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming.

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her.

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits.

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.”

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally- and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance.

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down.

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion.

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest.

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control.

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted.

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children.

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her.

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely.

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules.

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions.

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it.

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down.

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?”

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#captain john price #John Price x reader #john price x you #captain price smut #dub con #dark!fic #<- that is just my typical 'catch all' blocklist tag for anyone who doesn't wanna read anything dark/dubious/etc.#I am being conservative with using the tag pinky promise #my writing

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cucumber-icepop · 2 months

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Well, this took two days to draw

#Cucumbart #Undertale #Undertale Fanart #Asriel Dreemurr #Asriel #Flowey the Flower #Flowey #Actually I don't think I've seen anyone draw this guy with this specific quote. I'm sure someone has but I've never seen it #I can't really think of anything else to write in the tags. Flowey undertale my beloved #I drew this while I listened to my Flowey/Asriel playlist on youtube dot com does anyone want me to post it here #eye contact #cw eye contact

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sygneth · 1 month

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I have had a lot of thoughts on the original story after listening to the Sherlock&Co "Gloria Scott" and a new headcanon just dropped.

Chapter 1: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

Masterpost (Index)

AO3

thoughts, if you're curious:

As far as gay Victor Trevor absolutely got me, I don't think there was anything serious between him and Holmes. This all comes down to my reading of Holmes, who is (to me) too aroace-spec to get involved in a regular relationship (althouuuughh about Holmes, his sexual and romantic orientation and him discovering it I have had so many thoughts I could write a whole essay). He likes to have a default person though, someone who will take him as he is, and maybe even admire a little - now that's Watson, earlier it was Trevor.

And yea I think Victor got a crush straight away after their first meeting, maybe they even talked about this at some point. Maybe Holmes said that he won't be able to reciprocate this affection but if Victor is fine with keeping things as they are, then he is too. I like to think they stayed pen friends even after Trevor's leave.

I feel like I should emphasize this? My intention in the comic was to make Trevor visibly flustered because he didn't expect a young attractive boy (he's hopeless in my head), while Holmes simply didn't expect to see someone his age and so sincerely sorry.

#i feel like i lost the ability to write meta for my drawings you know #the irrational feeling that i'll get misinterpreted if i don't explain everything thoroughly is taking over #truly horrible #also my imposter syndrome is full on lately in terms of my art so ughh it's so hard to share anything #at least i don't think anyone even sees my sh art so i may ramble in the tags here an noone notices :3 #my art #sherlock holmes #victor trevor #acd holmes #acd canon #sherlock holmes fanart #i am rotating young holmes in my mind lately #oh yes and i made victor a botanist and named his dog dante for no apparent reasons #holmes collage adventures

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neptunym · 1 month

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old gabv1el doodle im never doing anything with.

#ultrakill art #ultrakill #ultrakill fanart #gabriel ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #gabv1el #id included #gala doodles #his one's OLD #im finally cleaning out my files bc i got a new tablet. the one ive been eyeing for a while was finally on saleeeeeee #anyway. does anyone else just get really embarrassed writing image descriptions for anything vaguely romantic or is that just me #edit: ohhhh boy this got uh. way more attention than i anticipated #reblogs are banned now sorey

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too-fond-to-be-fearful · 5 months

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Been thinking recently about the goings-on with Duolingo & AI, and I do want to throw my two cents in, actually.

There are ways in which computers can help us with languages, certainly. They absolutely should not be the be-all and end-all, and particularly for any sort of professional work I am wholly in favour of actually employing qualified translators & interpreters, because there's a lot of important nuances to language and translation (e.g. context, ambiguity, implied meaning, authorial intent, target audience, etc.) that a computer generally does not handle well. But translation software has made casual communication across language barriers accessible to the average person, and that's something that is incredibly valuable to have, I think.

Duolingo, however, is not translation software. Duolingo's purpose is to teach languages. And I do not think you can be effectively taught a language by something that does not understand it itself; or rather, that does not go about comprehending and producing language in the way that a person would.

Whilst a language model might be able to use probability & statistics to put together an output that is grammatically correct and contextually appropriate, it lacks an understanding of why, beyond "statistically speaking, this element is likely to come next". There is no communicative intent behind the output it produces; its only goal is mimicking the input it has been trained on. And whilst that can produce some very natural-seeming output, it does not capture the reality of language use in the real world.

Because language is not just a set of probabilities - there are an infinite array of other factors at play. And we do not set out only to mimic what we have seen or heard; we intend to communicate with the wider world, using the tools we have available, and that might require deviating from the realm of the expected.

Often, the most probable output is not actually what you're likely to encounter in practice. Ungrammatical or contextually inappropriate utterances can be used for dramatic or humorous effect, for example; or nonstandard linguistic styles may be used to indicate one's relationship to the community those styles are associated with. Social and cultural context might be needed to understand a reference, or a linguistic feature might seem extraneous or confusing when removed from its original environment.

To put it briefly, even without knowing exactly how the human brain processes and produces language (which we certainly don't), it's readily apparent that boiling it down to a statistical model is entirely misrepresentative of the reality of language.

And thus a statistical model is unlikely to be able to comprehend and assist with many of the difficulties of learning a language.

A statistical model might identify that a learner misuses some vocabulary more often than others; what it may not notice is that the vocabulary in question are similar in form, or in their meaning in translation. It might register that you consistently struggle with a particular grammar form; but not identify that the root cause of the struggle is that a comparable grammatical structure in your native language is either radically different or nonexistent. It might note that you have trouble recalling a common saying, but not that you lack the cultural background needed to understand why it has that meaning. And so it can identify points of weakness; but it is incapable of addressing them effectively, because it does not understand how people think.

This is all without considering the consequences of only having a singular source of very formal, very rigid input to learn from, unable to account for linguistic variation due to social factors. Without considering the errors still apparent in the output of most language models, and the biases they are prone to reproducing. Without considering the source of their data, and the ethical considerations regarding where and how such a substantial sample was collected.

I understand that Duolingo wants to introduce more interactivity and adaptability to their courses (and, I suspect, to improve their bottom line). But I genuinely think that going about it in this way is more likely to hinder than to help, and wrongfully prioritises the convenience of AI over the quality and expertise that their existing translators and course designers bring.

#alright getting off my soapbox now #apologies if this is not particularly coherent - i was very much working through my thoughts as I was writing #but yeah tl;dr i am not huge on LLMs especially for language education and am deeply disappointed by the way things are trending #anyways if anyone knows any learning tools that are similarly structured i'd appreciate the recommendation #being able to easily do a little bit of study on a regular basis helped me a lot and i've yet to find anything similar #duolingo #language #language learning

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matchbookstory · 8 days

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I do think it's really interesting that Harry can say the same things to Kim that he said to Jean before Jean left him in Martinaise, but I think it speaks more to Harry and his current state than it says about their dynamic. Sure, it's contentious, we know this. Jean is clearly upset and bitter about it, but it really has nothing to do with him, does it?

Harry can run the same script on Kim because these are his weapon words. This is the self isolation script. These are the words that demonstratively WORK to drive people away from him. So he can finish killing himself. Even if he doesn't remember that's what he's doing.

Because it's about spinning the same tape again and again. Cycles he can't break. Dream the same dream over and over. Obliterate yourself, wake up, remember, obliterate yourself again. Drive your partner away. Now drive your new partner away. Decide to kill yourself. Change your mind, embrace the world. Be beaten down and decide to kill yourself again. Wake up. Remember.

After life--death. After death--life again.

He is the infernal engine, cycling eternally.

Unless, somehow, this time, he can escape. And this starts here, maybe. Kim will not fuck off. Kim would be glad to cramp his style. He actively enjoys style cramping, even.

(It starts in other places, too, of course.)

#takes a massive hit off of the worst preroll in the world #disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #jean vicquemare #I'm softly kindly gently requesting a post free of jeancourse #this was just a springboard; it's really not about him #does anyone...get what I'm saying. am i even saying anything #believe it or not i had a day when i could write coherent meta #after the disco #can opener sweetdream

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pollyanna-nana · 5 months

Text

“I can’t help anyone…”

An analysis of Kieran and how it relates to his most controversial scene.

Warning for Indigo Disk DLC spoilers ahead

——————

Greetings! I’ve made it no secret that, despite what some people think of him, I am very fond of Kieran Pokémon’s little emo ass. As a result, when perusing the tags I’ve been bombarded with a lot of very… questionable takes regarding his personality and character, which I simply do not agree with. In particular, I’ve seen a lot of interpretations of a specific scene that I don’t think get at the heart of the story and have some fundamental misunderstandings of the subtextual clues we’re given about how Kieran and Carmine were raised, and I wanted to take the opportunity to present my own interpretations and how I have come to understand this young boy’s complex journey to self acceptance.

This scene, right here, has been the source of many specific complaints I’ve seen regarding Kieran’s character. I’ve seen people saying that his actions here make him a bully, that he’s shaming a fellow student for having troubles at home, and generally is an unpleasant, entitled person. And while I think there’s definitely some truth to those points (and they make him all the more interesting…) I don’t think a lot of these people are thinking about what this scene is really trying to tell us.

Yes, it’s showing the player that Kieran has changed since we last saw him. That his shy, kind demeanor has been supplanted by a stark cruelty that was hinted at in the end of Teal Mask, and that we have reason to fear and fear for him. However. I would argue that it also serves to tell us more about what Kieran himself has dealt with as a student at Blueberry academy. Specifically...

Kieran’s struggle with identity and self worth.

From the earliest segments of Teal Mask, we get strong indications that Kieran has quite the inferiority complex. Worse still, said feelings are reinforced by the people around him, knowingly or not. Here, when Carmine tells us that Kieran's "nearly as strong as she is", we know she simply means to compliment us in her own Carmine-ish way. However, purposefully or not, it reinforces Kieran's idea as someone who is always, at best, almost good enough. Almost as strong as his sister. Never as or more.

He tells the player that he'll hang back, not wanting to get in our way. With no prior prompting, either. How many times has he been made to feel that he was a burden? I adore Carmine, but one of her most pressing flaws is her struggle to make Kieran feel loved and wanted. Which, is actually pretty normal between siblings as she herself is a child. But still, given how much Kieran clearly loves and respects her, her words hold a lot of weight. And it's only Carmine who we get to see treat Kieran this way. While it's possible it's coming almost entirely from her, I'll discuss later why I think it may be more complicated than that. For now, though, it's clear that Kieran himself thinks very lowly of his abilities and would rather stay out of people's way, lest they berate him for perceived inadequacies.

He's had problematic behavior modeled for him by Carmine.

Here, too, we see how Carmine's treatment of him reinforced some very negative ideas of interpersonal conflict and resolution. All throughout Teal Mask, Carmine is telling him to shut up and be quiet, and does what she thinks is best for him without consideration for how it may make him feel. No physical violence, but emotional abuse is abuse all the same. While we know that she was ultimately trying to do what was best for him, and had very good reasons for keeping secrets, its undeniable that the words she used only further reinforced the idea that the strong will push around the weak, and that they have no need for anyone who falls behind in some way.

This scene in particular is fascinating, as we get to see first hand the kind of dynamic that pushed his feelings of inadequacy towards the breaking point. Here, after the player and Carmine run into Ogerpon for the first time, he thinks her weird behavior is because they were making fun of him. It's already sad that he would jump to that conclusion, but then Carmine smiles through his entire dialogue and says nothing. No reassurance, no denial, nothing. Kieran walked away from this conversation thinking that his sister and his new friend were talking about how much they dislike him. Speaking from personal experience, constantly feeling like people are talking about you behind your back at a young age can lead to you becoming brutally honest in a maladaptive way, and it can lead to people thinking you're cruel and unkind because you refuse to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Generational trauma, neurodivergence and cycles of abuse.

Here is where we leave screenshot land for a bit and I talk more about things that I suspect to be true, but cannot ultimately prove. However, I ask that you bear with me here and consider what may be going on above the heads of the child protagonists in a children's video game. (After all, if some people can write whole essays comparing Kieran's behavior to some very serious real-world events... I think I am within my right here!)

Kieran and Carmine, to me, match very strongly with the idea that they came from a bad home life. I don't necessarily mean their grandparents, as they seem nice enough (though flawed), but instead that their parents, whoever they were, contributed substantially to their strained relationship and problematic behavior. This post may seem very Carmine-negative, but I actually do not blame her for what she's done, not really. I do think that she has the agency and experience to take responsibility for how she's treated her brother, but I also think that it is something that was modeled for her by her parents, caretakers and teachers. I think it's very important to keep in mind in all conversations about these two that negative behaviors like these rarely manifest out of the ether. When I see child characters acting this way, I think less "wow, what horrible people!" and more "who in your life is modeling this kind of behavior for you?"

Full disclosure: I am an older sister myself, and my younger sister is very close to me in age in the same way that I see Carmine and Kieran as being. I see a lot of myself in her, which is why I deeply understand her frame of mind in everything here. Being expected to be the emotionally mature one in a sibling dynamic is difficult when you're so close in age, and it can lead to a lot of frustration as you feel like you're made to grow up too fast while your younger sibling is shielded from responsibility. It also doesn't help if the adults in your life model a lot of negative behavior, especially power dynamics, and if you have any sort of neurodivergency.

Speaking of... I wholeheartedly agree with the interpretations of the siblings having some combination of autism, ADHD, BPD or several other potential conditions. I won't go into depth, but without question there's something going on with them that's both untreated and misunderstood by those around them. Which, makes a lot of sense considering where they come from. Kitakami is a small nation, mostly agriculture based, and Carmine in particular is very resistant to the idea of it becoming a tourist destination for wealthier countries. They may not have the resources and infrastructure, along with cultural awareness, to properly diagnose and treat certain mental health conditions. Kieran doesn't even have a phone!

Something I don't see mentioned often is how Kieran and Carmine being at Blueberry is more than likely a very isolating experience for both. Being at a prestigious school in Poke-America, when coming from rural Poke-Japan, must've been a very difficult transition. Given that it doesn't seem like ANY of the adults in their lives are interested in their mental and physical well-being, I can only imagine that exacerbated their already existing issues. Not to mention that the culture of BB seems to be overly concerned with strength in battles, it's no wonder that both children's worst traits were made to fester over time.

Entitlement and disenfranchisement

Okay, enough of that. Back to screenshots. Here I want to talk about how some people interpret Kieran as being bratty and entitled, and while I don't necessarily disagree, I think with the context of everything previously laid out in this post that it's a lot deeper than simple entitlement. We know, from his own words, that all he wants is acceptance, independence, and meaningful human connections. To him, that comes in the form of strong pokemon (acceptance at the academy), going anywhere he wants (feeling empowered and self-confident), and being able to make friends with "anyone". Any friends at all, really.

While his "I worked so hard, and for what?! I STILL lost in the end!" can feel petulant and whiny, it also cuts deep for anyone who has grown up without. I think it's very important to note that Kieran is at precisely the age when systemic inequalities really start to weigh on someone, and before the brain and life experiences are developed enough to handle it in a healthy way. While some cope better than others, for many around this age the weight of knowing that there are people out there who simply have more than you ever will not by any sort of effort or triumph, but rather than the dumb luck of birth into a wealthy, privileged setting... well, it can be crushing.

It's something most grow out of, but for a kid like Kieran, who was so obsessed with the story of a genuine injustice (Ogerpon vs. the 'loyal' three), is it any wonder that he would react this way? The player is a particularly extreme example, of course, as protagonist powers are some real bullshit. Coming to terms with the fact that the system has failed him, but he can still achieve great things and become a person he can be proud of, is something that will probably only come with time and wisdom as it does for most of us. In the interim, though, petty teenage tantrums are to be more or less expected.

Feeling powerless.

In case you think I'm extrapolating far too much, I think it's important to note that, after the severe shock that was Terapagos breaking out of its own ball, Kieran reinforces all of these ideas himself. Here, when Carmine is begging him to help you, he refuses not because of hatred of you but rather his own self-doubt and loathing. Which, ultimately, has always been the core of everything Kieran has done up to this point in Indigo Disk's plot. He believed so strongly that if only he could become stronger, then he could prove to everyone, and more importantly himself, that he was worthy of taking up space and achieving his own dreams. But it's here, when everything truly comes crashing down around him, that the facade slips and shows Kieran as he truly is- a little boy who feels helpless in his current circumstances.

I've seen people say that when he cries after becoming determined to help you defeat Terapagos, it's out of jealousy or anger. However, I couldn't disagree more. The light returning to his eyes shows, in my view, that Kieran feels hope for the first time since he had his dreams crushed back in Teal Mask. That, even though he feels powerless, even though he's hurt people and hurt himself, he's still wanted. That he can do something meaningful, even if it's just cleaning up the mess he helped to make. (Briar don't think I've forgotten about you. You're the most culpable in this situation given you're the only adult- but I digress.)

In conclusion.

He bapy.

No but really, what does all of this even mean? I think going back and reading the conversation at the start of the post, especially if you were initially put off by it, with the context outlined here changes a lot about how one can interpret Kieran's behavior. Note that I am not trying to justify anything he said or did, but rather point out that this fictional child has some serious, unresolved issues that deserve time and thought turned towards them, especially in the way that they reflect real-world individuals and systems. Ultimately, if you want my opinion I think Kieran would be a pretty nasty person to know in real life if I was in school still, but you know what? So was I at his age. And so were most people, if I'm being honest. But that doesn't tarnish a person forever. All of life isn't high school, even though Kieran- or you, reading this right now- may feel like it is. He has a lot of growing up to do, but that's life. And in the meantime, he sure is one hell of an interesting character to follow.

#polly speaks #polly writes #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #indigo disk #indigo disk spoilers #teal mask #pokemon kieran #rival kieran #pokemon carmine #kieran posting #character analysis #tw bullying #tw abuse #ask to tag #im tired. anyway im going grocy shopping anyone want anything from tjs

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