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#with or without the colour with or without the sharpen

my-sleepy-head · 2 years

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I want to draw so bad but my pencil vanished!

I only use mechanical pencils as of late(easier to have a constant line thickness and no need to sharpen it, which is good because my hands have a very hard time with sharpeners but I deal with it for colouring…)

But I can’t find it anywhere so I’ll have to buy a new one and I can’t do that before at least 8pm tonight so in the meantime I’m internally screaming because I can’t draw!

#i’m struggling #I don’t even own a single regular pencil because it’s just too hard to sharpen without using my mouth and both hands.#most my colouring crayons have teeth marks for that reason but I don’t want to switch to markers or all digital because crayons are so nice…

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hwajin · 7 months

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☆°. — ᴛɪʀᴇʟᴇss

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: disgustingly cute sex, piv/ unprotected sex/ coming inside, explicit mentions of insecurities (though mentioned in the past and not relevant for the fics' present)

author's note: very self indulgent but i hope it resonates with some ppl, feedback is highly appreciated 🫶

Linen sheets around your body, the warmth they provided a saviour against the cold turmoiling outside. The sky had been gray twenty minutes prior, red and orange leaves having struggled to stay latched onto their trees, having lost the battle eventually to cover the asphalts in autumn colours. There was little rain drizzling from above still, though the sun had now found its way past the clouds drowning the neighbourhood golden. The faint scent of vanilla reminding you of the candle on your nightstand, the turning of pages and a sharpened pencil against them the only sound filling the room — it was peaceful.

"You're so pretty."

Hyunjin’s voice sounded barely as a whisper — anything but would have disturbed the atmosphere; quiet, warm, a sense of carelessness. And yet you jumped in your place, been far too engrossed in the book laying before you not to scare at his sudden voice cutting through the silence. You'd never feel pretty before Hyunjin. Before he's emerged in your life — you weren't sure still, how exactly, all too suddenly and without warning, as though he was a dream altogether — your appearance was something you'd obsessively worry over for the first half of your life, and tried to disregard entirely in the second one — despite blaming your loneliness on the very fact of lacking attractiveness you've come to simply live with the fact, had grown too tired to care, essentially.

You shifted in your shared bed, only a little to direct your focus from the book to Hyunjin, sitting by his desk — the surface as messy as his appearance. Pencils, papers and colors scattered all over, his hands proof of the artistry he's produced for the past hours; hair disheveled, shirt and shorts on his body ruffled up — he looked endearing, like lazy mornings personified, like coziness bundled up within a body.

He'd come into your life unexpectedly, and you wouldn't have believed anyone if they told you about it. About the sudden happiness the relationship with Hyunjin brought, the sudden feeling of securances, of home; of love. You wouldn't have believed someone to be ready to treat you the way Hyunjin did — any other person grew null to him if you only called, prioritizing you over passions and work. You wouldn't have believed to have found a love like this, a lover like him.

You wouldn't have believed to have found beauty within yourself, through him. And it had come naturally. You had never not believed him, never doubted his words — because they've always been spoken so matter-of-factly, so purely. Unexpectedly, too — much like now, while mundanenity lay over your features. Hyunjin carried a gift to search for beauty where other people would mind looking, and finding it effortlessly. More often than not you wished to be gifted with this vision, curious to see the world through his eyes — curious to see yourself the way he did.

Hyunjin chuckled at the way you blushed. You might be believing his every compliment, his every confession of love, though you long didn't grow used to it, or cold. Every tender word, every touch he planted onto your body as though you were fragile porcelain, most price treasure yet never stopped to send shivers down your spine. Wouldn't ever, you thought.

And you still never knew an answer. Flustered now, awkward as he kept looking at you, teasing simply, to test — Hyunjin had always taking amusement and certain pride in making you shy for him, because only he was able to. A shameful caugh left your throat, to fill the silence, to camouflage the speechlessness he'd brought upon you with as little as a compliment — you detangled from the linen sheets, letting the cold engulf you in order to make your way over to your lover, the man who was watching your every step with a knowing smirk as he inspected the blush covering not only your cheeks but the tips of your ears, your neck — it was a little as a mundane compliment, but it was far from meaningless to you, held as much importance as if Hyunjin had proposed right then there.

His hand found home on your bottom, the small of your back when you've stood next to him eventually. His eyes didn't lose your figure, glued onto you as if a look elsewhere would take you away.

"What are you drawing? Flowers?"

Hyunjin enjoyed painting nature; oceans, skies, flowers. Many grazed the walls of your very room, each a different meaning – he’d paint you baby’s breaths on your one-year anniversary, in everlasting love; he’d paint you pink camellias when he missed you, in longing; he’d paint you calla lilies if your insecurities got the best of you, in beauty. Though when you looked at his drawing it weren’t flowers; it was a sketch of you.

“Well, almost.”

Hyunjin's eyes turned to where you were looking, the drawing he's worked on for the past minutes, shy grin adorning his features at his cheesy comment. Your body was grazing the white paper, pencil strokes of your curves, you in the nude, another paper showing your face, a portrait, another one an abstract, more of only your eyes, only your mouth and nose, of your hands, some in colour, some in simple grey, small ones, bigger, doodles, proper paintings. You were scattered on his desk, your body was. Hyunjin's love lay open before you — maybe you didn't need access to his vision after all. His art was entirely enough.

Hyunjin waited for a reaction, squeezing at your hip when there was none, looking up at you, curious eyes beneath the silver strands of messy hair.

"I've been running out of ideas lately, and... it's always nice to draw you... most of these aren't finished and rough-"

"They're beautiful. I... can't believe you'd wanna draw me this often."

"You're the only thing I wanna draw. Ever."

Hyunjin's gaze lay upon you, deep, waiting for you to look at him. You did eventually, turning from away from his art and blushing momentarily at his piercing eyes on your own. A soft smile from both of you — not as much as an upturn of one corner of the lips, both for too flustered to muster up and actually smile, too aware of the tension laying heavily now on your shoulders — and no further words were needed. Would be void if spoken aloud; so you bent down to meet him to meet his lips, hopeful and wanting, inviting when they fell upon your own. Hyunjin sighed into the kiss, relieved, longing. His left hand joined his right on your body, holding you by your waist, caressing you at your hips, tight, secure touches, absent of hesitation. He granted you the same love capsulated in his notebooks with a touch, a grace, a squeeze against your flesh, your whole.

Never breaking the kiss, and you sighed when he pulled you closer to his body, into the space he presented between his half-bare legs. You understood — wouldn't have believed anyone upon hearing to be finding comfort on another’s' lap, without as much as a second thought, though it was so natural with Hyunjin. You let him guide you, large hand by the small of your back, another by your hip; and you straddled him, broke the kiss only to settle down, to get comfortable — and you wished you hadn't, for the side of your lover beneath your weight was almost too much to bear. Love behind his glassy eyes, adoration he only knew in connection to you, only ever felt if you were the matter. Gaze a longing one, jumping from your lips to your eyes and back down to your lips — but a puppy waiting for his treat, staring you down as if there was no other, nothing else existing beside you and your body, your face inches from his own.

You closed the distance again, unable to hold out on it — Hyunjin's lips reddened already, always so prone to sensitivity, to visible reaction to loving antics. His teeth clashed against your own, almost painful but not quite; you weren't careful, deemed to not have the time to — you needed him, and you needed him now.

"Baby... slow down."

It was Hyunjin to pull you back to reality, though not to clear-mindedness – you obeyed his words, not as much a command as a simple reminder; you loosened your grip on his hair, pulled away an inch, only enough to breathe, to sigh into his mouth that didn’t cease leaving open mouthed kisses against your own. Though your thoughts were but a fog, still, holding no clear picture beneath your lids except him, everything about him – pleasure-contorted face, though you merely sat on him, barely even moved atop his body; brows a furrowed line, creasing deeply in the middle, eyes soften and tender to paint contrast; cheeks coloured, in fluster and anticipation, dooming excitement; guiding hands on your figure, reminding of his presence, his attentiveness, his care – he didn’t loosen his grip on you a moment, held you close and tight as his lips moved leisurely against your own. He took his time with you – not too tease, not because he was well aware of your desperation, but because you deserved nothing else. Hyunjin knew you’d whine upon his patience, though it was the very proof of his devotion; his patience held love, his patience held the entirety of your world.

So, you continued slowly, though not any less unable of lucidity, because Hyunjin never allowed it. If his touch wasn’t driving you insane it was his voice, a whimper rolling off his tongue and onto yours, or a sigh leaving his throat for you to swallow. Your lover always receptive, never shy in volume. Or it was his gaze on you – Hyunjin pulled away, occasionally, leaving you empty to catch a look at you before pulling right back, nearer than he was before. He left you no time for coherence, fed you only enough care and affection so you wouldn’t hunger, yet not enough for eventual satisfaction, by any means. Driving you further to insanity, hands groping rougher at your body, easing with soft rubs right after, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to heal momentarily with a lick, a following kiss – Hyunjin pulled on your every weakness, and not accidently.

A chuckle left the man’s lips when your hips – hot and painfully ignored by any type of his attention, leave for his raging erection right against your core – dragged against his own, in any hope of relieving pressure, of searching for friction. Your lack of clothes wasn’t making it a hard task; you were merely in your underwear, the thin material of Hyunjin’s shorts and boxers barely layers to complain about, yet it was far too much separating him from you.

Hyunjin chuckled at your desperateness, though his proclamation of amusement turned into one of pleasure – you grinded with such force, such wanting vigour he didn’t expect, and his own futilely cool act crumbled in his palm, shattered to pieces for you never not had the greatest impact on him, his pleasure, his love. When it came down to it, he wasn’t any stronger than you, not even more patient – his heart was as much slave to you as yours was to him.

Any composure was long forgotten. You’d argue, even, that Hyunjin by now was needier than you’d been to begin with – he didn’t waste time getting rid of either of your lazy attire, a long, slender finger simply pushing your panties to the side before dipping into your wetness, experimentally at first, with new-found enthusiasm then upon your reaction – you hummed out, fingers fisting his lose-fitting shirt, body rolling into his, in search for more. A second finger after a minute or two, a third one moments later and you were grinding against him, needy, loud, head thrown back or hidden in the crook of his neck. Your hot breath against his skin egged Hyunjin on, his digits curling within you, lips turning into a hazy smirk when you whined out, when your teeth sunk into the part between his shoulder and his neck, in helplessness, not in embarrassment over your sounds – you would never deny Hyunjin your voice in pleasure. The stinging feeling on his skin made him twitch in his confines; you felt it, if only subtly, and your eyes found his from beneath, fogged with bliss.

“Want you…”

It needn’t much more – Hyunjin both understood and was ready to comply for he wasn’t much stronger in resisting than you; it wasn’t a minute until his erection lay exposed between your figures, red and leaking already – he could act as coy as he wanted to, though his body would always serve as living proof of your effects on him.

You lined up, still fully dressed, white panties pushed to the side; hovering above him was hard given current position, legs growing tired quickly though Hyunjin supported enough with his hands by your hips, guiding you above him until you felt his tip by your entrance, until you – finally, eventually – sunk down on him, taking him fully momentarily. You moaned out in unison, almost pathetic, definitely frantic – it needed only the feeling of his cock inside you, of your walls around him for the both of you to fall victim to utter senselessness. You had the comfort of each other, though, aware of the similarity in lust and longing, so less embarrassed by it.

Hyunjin had given you a moment to adjust, had used the minute to clear his mind himself; to little avail, though he’d like to believe he gained back a fraction of the composure he had lost along the way. Yet, and it drove him entirely insane, the view of you was powerful enough to make him lose every battle he was fighting with himself – he watched your seemingly struggling face, eyes shut, mouth agape, lost in the pleasure Hyunjin granted. He prided himself on your expression, on your thoughtlessness; and then you opened your eyes again, locking them directly with his own. You both blushed, you both sucked in a breath, at the sudden realization of intimacy, of closeness, or maybe at nothing in particular, at the view of the other, the sight of your lover; your hips started moving, mewls rolling off tongues, eyes closing again in granted relief. Hands on bodies, groping hopelessly, feverishly. Eyes fighting to stay open to watch, to inspect, to remember. Mouths longing for the other, tongues dancing waltzes, sounds of pleasure being swallowed to make each their own. Two lovers on a late noon, two lovers so very engrossed in each other anyone looking upon them would struggle not to believe in souls, the connection of such.

Every flutter of your sensitive walls, every roll of chasing hips, every clench Hyunjin reciprocated with sounds so endearing they got you light-headed, got your urge growing to grant him more, better, greater. None of you were in control, in particular, and yet both of you were fighting for it — though not in selfishness, but for gratification for the other. Despite your cramping legs, positioned uncomfortable on the chair beneath Hyunjin, despite your inability to even move much you did nevertheless, as best as you could, pulling on all of your lovers' buttons — you nibbled at his neck, breathed out against it, swore confessions against his damp skin; everything you knew would drive him needier, more insane. Though he was the same — he throbbed within you, guided your hips along his erection for you to feel entirely, to drag out the feeling of his every vein grazing your walls, of every of his rigid fitting your own like pieces of a puzzle. His hands, though sweaty and strained, held position at your hips, to stabilize, to ease off the pain in your legs. Your own were homeless, playing with Hyunjin's hair right by his nape or pulling at his scalp when he granted a mindless thrust against you, or exploring his body entirely, grasping fingers on his chest, against his torso, on the steadiness of broad shoulders.

You grew impatient. Had never been in the first place and lost some more of it yet, wanted to hold onto the feeling of Hyunjin prodding at your cervix yet urging release. Hyunjin was no different – he had let you move solely on your own before though now snapped his hips into yours, mouth agape or biting at his deep red lips, sucking in breaths and sighs of your name in anticipation. His grip on you would leave marks on your skin, that you were sure of – though you weren’t one to complain. The telltale signs of his high doomed on you; furrowed brows, twitching erection within you, frantic, passionate, messy, wet kisses against your mouth or your neck; the act of pulling you closer to him – and then the words, finally; “Fuck, baby, I’m– …I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum.”, before he did, spilling within you. He hadn’t waited on your release, only because he knew you’d reach it after his own – he had felt you being close, had noticed the fluttering of your walls around him, your calls of his name increasing in pitch and volume, had seen the expression on your face he’d never misread – and he knew his orgasm inside you would bring you to your own, would be the last push down the cliff.

Your muscles spasmed, your legs contracted and Hyunjin held you close, eased the pain off your legs with a tired grip on you. Despite it you didn’t dare get off, though – basking in your closeness, relishing the warmth of body on body, losing yourself in the giggled kisses Hyunjin now planted on your panting lips, the loving confessions spoken against the lobe of ear before it was nibbled on in adoration – affection never stopped after release with Hyunjin, after the reach of simultaneous orgasm; his love expanded the sheer physicality, mere lust.

Hours later you’d lay in bed again, naked then, bare bodies glued to one another, every painting, every drawing of you on Hyunjin’s desk long forgotten, if only temporarily, for the cleverest artist couldn’t possibly copy the beauty Hyunjin saw in you before his very eyes, every day anew; tirelessly.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #hwang hyunjin smut

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 month

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #cbmthy #can’t bring myself to hate you

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queenshelby · 10 months

Text

Chemical Reactions (P. 2)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 1,867

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy.

Later that day…

In the lavatory, you inspected your appearance for a moment. You were wearing an embroidered peasant blouse paired with a plain cardigan, a dark coloured skirt and a set of comfortable shoes. Your hair was pulled back in a random clip which, for the meeting with Dr Oppenheimer, you decided to remove. You looked much better with your hair being open and, just as you looked at yourself again, you felt a pang of anxiety, wondering what Dr Oppenheimer was truly thinking of you.

Did he think that you were smart and worthy his attention or did he simply took pity in you because you were a woman?

You then scrunched your eyebrows after a second of thought and adjusted your bag on your shoulder to prepare to face the beast.

For some reason, this man intimidated you and that also, somewhat, aroused you which was a combination of feelings that you never felt before.

Thus, almost hesitantly, you arrived at the lecture room at around 5 o’clock, which was almost thirty minutes after your last class for the day had finished and, when you walked into the somewhat dingy room, you saw him, standing there, looking at am array of calculations.

"You are late” Dr Oppenheimer then remarked without even looking at you at first before, finally, turning around.

"You didn't actually give me a time..." you began to say as you walked towards him and watched him furrow his eyebrows.

“No, I suppose I didn’t” Dr Oppenheimer acknowledged before turning the chalkboard over so that you could not see his writing and calculations at all.

“Have you figured the problem with your calculation yet?” you asked almost bluntly as, awkwardly, you stood in front of him. Your lab coat was draped over your left forearm while your right hand held your bag's strap to your shoulder.

You kept your eyes forward, directly in line with where his neck met his chest before looking up into his deep blue eyes which, by this point, were full of questions.

“Who says that there is a problem with my calculations?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked almost out of the blue and a short moment passed before he took your coat and bag from your hands, laying them on the nearest table.

“I think that you took a wrong turn somewhere and…” you began to stammer just before released the nervous breath which you did not realise you were holding until he began to speak again.

“Sit, please” he gestured and, just after you complied with his request and sat down in front of his large wooden desk, you could feel Dr Oppenheimer’s presence next to you.

“Do you have a pen and some paper?” you asked and, of course, he did.

“Of course” Dr Oppenheimer said as he placed two white pieces of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil in front of you.

“Now, please show me your calculations” he then said while he stepped back but, even though he decided to give him some space, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, watching you as you worked.

You wrote down formula after formula, directly from your head and whilst this was nothing but theory, you imagined every single reaction in the back of your mind.

You were fast and Dr Oppenheimer’s mouth hung open as he watched you work, focusing intently to be sure that it all made sense until, suddenly, your mind went blank. The proximity was making you hot and you felt yourself burning up under your blouse.

“That’s it?” Dr Oppenheimer thus asked and you shook your head.

“I just lost my train of thought, again…” you said, sounding like an idiot, causing the professor to chuckle.

“Am I making you nervous?” he then asked and, as if you had not already embarrassed yourself enough, you nodded somewhat dumbfounded.

“Right. My apologies. I will just take a seat next to you” he then said before pulling another chair to the table and sitting down right next to you which did not make this situation any better whatsoever.

Of course, he was no longer towering over you, but he was now much closer to you than he was before, acting and behaving almost like an equal.

“Go on then” he said, wanting to resume your work while the heat of his body began to burn you. You squirmed uncomfortably on your stool until you had to put the pen down to take off your cardigan which, by this point, was still partially covering your blouse.

"What is it?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked somewhat concerned but you shook it off.

"Nothing, I am just hot" you said plainly before taking in a deep breath and resuming your calculations which is also when Dr Oppenheimer became more interested in again and decided that he needed a better view.

You were now getting to the point of where you assumed he made a mistake and he was intrigued by the route you were taking in your formula.

“Explain it to me” he demanded, wanting to know why you are calculating the chemical reaction in the way you were and you had no problem telling him, in scientific terms, as to how you arrived at your conclusions.

As such, you talked and talked while squirming around until, eventually, you got back into position and wrote down another formula, which was one Dr Oppenheimer had not considered before and, just as you placed pen on paper again, you felt something touch your neck. Not soft enough to be hair brushing your neck, but not enough pressure to feel entirely deliberate.

“You aren’t even looking?” you then said as you otherwise stayed completely still when felt Dr Oppenheimer adjust your twisted necklace.

“Because you did it wrong” he responded as he picked up the chain and turned the jewellery until the clasp is on the back, where he dropped it back onto the nape of your neck. If you did not know better, you would have thought you felt his fingertips linger a little longer on your skin than they should have lingered there, but you could not be too sure.

“I did? How?” you asked while thinking about the science as well as how his fingertips felt on you, raising goosebumps on your bare skin. Him moving your necklace would have been harmless and platonic if it was not for that hesitation at the end of the action. The half a second too long that his hand remained on you, brushing lightly at the skin on the side of your neck.

“Allow me” the professor then said before taring up one of your pages and giving a plain piece of paper to write on.

He then took the pen from your hand and wrote down what you had written until you took this wrong turn in your calculations, which is where he halted and prompted you to think.

“Think about implosion, not explosion” he said and, almost immediately, the penny dropped and you gently grabbed the end of the pencil he was holding while making sure to let one finger feather a touch onto one of his.

"May I?" you say quietly, feeling his eyes on the side of your face as you looked at the pencil. The whole exchange only lasted a couple of seconds before he released the utensil and you leaned down over the paper while letting your shoulder brush his.

"Is that right now?" you then asked innocently after finishing the formula, turning to look at him as you gauged his reaction. This was the first time you had really looked at him since he first started explaining where you went wrong, and you were not sure what you expected, but it was not this.

Dr Oppenheimer only had his left hand resting on the table now, his chest turned towards you as he searched your face and smiled. You smiled back and held his gaze, trying to think of something to break the moment while keeping the upper hand.

“I am impressed but…” he then began to say and, instead of saying anything to him in response, you remembered the pencil you were holding and quickly moved to hold it between you and him. Without looking at it, he reached forward and covered your hand with his, those blue eyes on the verge of pouring into you. He then slid the pencil out of your hand and leaned down one more time, changing one of your subtraction signs to an addition. In your mind, you honed in on the mistake, cursing his distraction for causing you to make a mistake in front of him.

"Now, you're perfect" Dr Oppenheimer then said nonchalantly as he stood back up.

“Hmm” you stammered while trying not to react to his comment, or the fact that he used your own tactics against you.

Considering the moment gone, you picked up the paper and retreated in order to quickly get out of there as you could not help but think that you made things almost awkward now. Not only did you have more questions now than you did previously, you feared you may have moved you both in a direction that bordered on inappropriateness.

Obviously, you were flirting with him and he was a married man in respect of whom you got no read on when it came to his intentions towards you, because you were so consumed by the moment. You were consumed to his body's reaction to yours, his eyes, his parting comment, saying that “now you’re perfect”…

You then recalled the moments when you feared that your cover was blown, that he caught on to what you were doing, namely flirting with him. Part of you hoped that he thought he was flattering himself, similar to how you have been feeling, but something about this man told you he scarcely denied his ego satisfaction.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #Oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x y/n

1K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 22 days

Text

the girl next door 20

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Not long after you close yourself in your room you hear the front door close. The house is silent but not calm. While you want everything to just go back the way it was, being alone with your mom doesn’t promise you peace. She never takes it well when she doesn’t get her way.

You have your table pulled up the bed, doodling random petals and stems, some connected and some not. The sunlight beams through the curtains and shines onto the paper as you scratch the graphite over it. You cup your chin as you bide your time, dreading the inevitable. You’ll have to face her again and you have a lot to atone for.

The rustle of leaves is underlined by the darting whistle of some distant bird. Along the edge of your vision, you sense movement and peer over at the window, expecting a flutter of wings. Instead, you see a shadow looming in Steve’s window, just across the gap between your houses. You don’t recognise that man; it must be the friend he mentioned.

You slide the table out and stand slowly, cautious as you try not to draw attention. The man has grey hair like Steve, he’s a little shorter by your measure, and built a bit broader. He turns to lean just beside the window and you carefully tug closed your curtain. You keep forgetting to do that although you can’t even remember opening it most times.

The noise of your movement draws your name from the front room. You huff and face the door. It’s time. You emerge and go to find your mother on her recliner. She stares despondently at the ceiling.

“Whatever you said to Steve...” she mutters.

“I didn’t...” you can’t even finish the lie. You didn’t say anything but you also don’t know everything you did around Steve.

“I don’t want to hear it. You reel it in,” she sits the chair up straight and winces at the jarring motion. “Whatever you’re up to, it stops now.”

You look at the floor, “sorry, mom.”

“Ugh, you’re useless, you know that? If you hadn’t been hanging around like some troll, he would’ve stayed,” she snarls. "If you weren't here, everything would be so much better."

“Mm, but I saw... his friend--”

“Oh, shut up and go away,” she snaps and reclines again. “Tomorrow, he’s taking me out. Away from you. You can stay and clean up your mess.”

You back away without another word. She’s only looking to argue. It will be good for her to get out. Somewhere that isn’t a hospital. And she’s right, this place could use another clean, and you could use the distraction.

🏡

As promised, your mother leaves with Steve. That she’s ready to leave the house before noon is a feat on its own, not to mention how she woke up before you. Still, you made her coffee for her and reminded her about her medicine. Those parts went as usual.

Alone, you feel lighter but not free. You sweep and mop and make sure all the dishes are done and away. You even make sure to use the old vacuum to clean up your mom’s recliners and the carpet in the front room. A spritz of freshener makes the air a little less stale.

You finish around one and go back to your room. You take out your pencils and set to work on a new picture. No more amaryllis; you’ve moved on to morning glories. It’s so beautiful how they open with the sun.

You use your colour pencils, some of them so short you can’t even sharpen them, to give dimension the broad petals. You lose yourself in the task, fingertips a medley of hues as you switch between shades and blending stick. You have your forehead in your hand, your shoulders hunched, and your eyes laser focused.

It’s only your name that breaks your reverie. You blink and sit up, the ache setting into your knuckles as they have a moment to rest. You door is open.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve says, “we’re back.”

“Oh,” is all you can utter.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he has a hand on his hip. You wonder if he’s been there a while. “Not to intrude but... could I get a peek?”

You stare at him for a moment, confused. Then look down at the page. It’s mostly done, you guess. Doesn’t matter, really. There’s worse things to judge you about.

You set down the pencil and lift the book. He breaks the threshold of your room and crosses to look closer. He carefully puts his hand next to yours, silently asking permission to take it. You hand it over and he raises it closer to squint at the lines.

“This is beautiful,” he remarks, “you should think about my offer. We could go out and find some good scenery,” He suggests as he continues to examine your work, “and you shouldn’t be all bent over like that. You can always use my studio if you need--”

“I’m fine,” you shrug.

“For now, but one day that’s catch up to you. Trust me,” she offers the book back to you. “So... do you only draw flowers?”

You close the book and pack away the pencils.

“Mostly,” you answer.

“Wow, to be honest, I always found them challenging. No two flowers are alike, right? Every rose has different petals, every tulip a different number of stamens,” he says. “So how was your day?”

“Is my mom here?” You asks, ignoring his question.

“Yeah, she’s all tired out. She’s relaxing. Still early though,” he checks his watch, “you wanna come over for a swim?”

You’re flumoxed by the pace of his conversation. The constant pivoting has you off-balance. You’re wholly unready for any of it. Those hours alone have left you in an odd daze.

“Thanks, but uh, I don’t have a suit,” you say.

“You don’t?” He clucks, “well that’s too bad. You could just wear some shorts and tank or whatever. No one around to see.”

“It’s okay,” you rebuff again. “I’m still pretty tired.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie, maybe another time. Did you take another pill? I know they really get to you.”

“Erm, no.”

“You’re going to, right? You need to be consistent, you know? To see if it works.”

“Right, I know,” you murmur guiltily. You’d forgotten all about the boxes in the cupboard.

“Now, I’m only looking out for you. I mean, you take care of your mother, make sure she takes her meds, but what about you? Who’s looking after you, sweetheart?”

You hug yourself and stand. You untangle your arms from around you and push the table back to the corner. He might mean well but you’re just embarrassed. No one does care about you and you’re okay with that. You have to be, you can’t change it.

“It was rhetorical,” he says, “sweetie, I’m going to look after you. I promise.” He’s pauses as if waiting for an answer, “haven’t I?”

“Hmm,” you turn to him and push out your lower lip.

“Haven’t I taken care of you?” He asks.

You nod, “yes. Thank you...”

“You and your mom, right? That’s how it’s gonna be. The three of us.”

What he’s saying, the way he’s saying it, it’s making you uneasy. You tuck your lip under your teeth and let it pop back out. He tilts his head as his eye flicker eerily.

“Well, I’m going to stay the night to keep an eye on mom. She’s having a bad day. She did a lot so... I’ll get started on dinner and you take your medicine, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your ribcage. There’s something about his tone. He’s not asking, he’s telling. You look at him in your doorway, noting how he fills the whole thing. Thinking of how you couldn’t get past him or move him, even if you had the courage to try. You reach over to steady yourself with the table.

“Sure,” you agree softly.

“You’re not busy tomorrow?” He wonders.

You blink and shake your head, “n... no?”

“Good, we have a surprise for you,” he grins. “Big one.”

“Al--alright,” you resist as shiver.

“You should dress up nice, too. Maybe that cute little dress you got,” he taps on the doorframe and takes a step back, “I like that one.”

He winks and spins on his heel, leaving you in a queasy silence. A surprise? What could he possibly mean?

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #the girl next door #series #drabble #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

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gatorbites-imagines · 8 months

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Kinktober day 10

Miguel O’Hara + Aphrodisiacs

Reader is a scorpion variant cuz I love scorpion. This is shorter than yesterday, but i hope yall still enjoy.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

You were an abnormality, having been picked up by a sudden portal and sent to a different dimension in the middle of a fight with your original spiderman. You were similar to most versions of scorpions in the fact that you gained your powers from chemicals and radiation, but where other scorpions wouldn’t survive without their suits, you were just fine.

You got uncomfortable at times, like your skin didn’t fit quite right, but a good full body scrub with a rough sponge made most of it go away. You had a theory it had to do with the fact that scorpions changes exoskeletons at times, and your accelerated healing factor might make your skin thicker than it should be, leading to you rubbing up against things and scratching when it got uncomfortable.

You still had a suit that you went around in, as you yourself didn’t possess a tail, though you did have poison and venom in your own body you could trigger through your fingers and mouth. Apparently producing your own poison was rare in scorpion variants, as none of the colourful spiders that came at you expected it when you clawed at them.

The big red and blue one with the elbow spikes definitely didn’t expect you to bite him, but he bit you first, so acting on instinct you struck the closest thing, which happened to be his wide shoulder. Your poison and his venom seemed to mix strangely, as you didn’t go limp like others, but you did become loopy and distracted, your body feeling hot and uncomfortable, somewhat similar to when your skin became too much.

Miquel was as affected as you, his body heating up as arousal brewed in his body, but he was better at hiding it under his suit than you, as your helmet left the lower half of your face exposed. The spiders were able to bring you to HQ, all assuming you weren’t all there because of Miguels venom, which was somewhat correct. You didn’t even pick up on them joking about your sharp canines, or how they seemed to be dripping enough venom to run down your chin. They all seemed a little tense when they saw the venom hit the floor and sizzle like acid though.

For one reason or another, Miquel seemed as feral as yourself though it could be hidden in the way he normally prowled and was standoffish to the people around him, but the feeling in his abdomen kept pulling his attention to you. Miguel could feel his tongue tingle with the deep need to taste you, something deeply instinctual inside him almost roaring to have you, one way or another.

Neither of you were completely sure how you got from one place to the next, maybe Miguel made some excuse to want to check out your poison to find a cure, as he wasn’t the only one who had been slashed with the stuff, though he was the only one bitten. But before you knew it, you were alone in the place some called Miguels cave or office.

Miguel gripped the edge of his desk, trying to collect himself, but his attempts were ruined as he picked up the sounds of groaning behind him. Snapping his head around he felt the heat inside him flare and his crotch ache, there you were, laying on the ground, the upper part of your suit completely gone as you rubbed against the floor like a cat in heat.

You felt so hot and uncomfortable, and the tightness of your gear wasn’t helping, your skin felt raw as you rubbed against the cold floor, but it wasn’t enough. Your head swam as you started clawing at your torso, dragging your sharpened nails across your skin, only serving to make your state worse as more of your poison mixed with Miguel’s venom.

Miguel felt the last of his will snap as you groaned, snapping your jaws upwards like you wanted to sink your teeth into something or someone. Before he could comprehend it, Miguel found himself above you, his suit flickering out of existence as you tore off the bottom of your suit. You were both too desperate, feeling almost high, to even fully get anywhere, as you two rutted against each other.

You found yourselves biting each other, only shooting more of your poison and venom into the other and making you both burn even further, your torsos covered in a slick mess of cum and sweat as you kept grinding and rutting. Kissing only seemed to make it worse, as you both got to taste the others venom from the source, both of your minds clouding even further and narrowing down to the act of getting off.

It became a blurry mess of limbs, spit, venom and other bodily fluids, but at some point even your shared evolved biology seemed to be worn out from the act, even though your bodies clearly wanted to keep going. Even as everything started going dark, your hips were still moving, grinding aching lengths together and lips sealed together in a poor desperate attempt at a kiss.

Lyla tsked as she watched the two of you pass out in a gross pile of limbs, both still twitching and tense from the mixture of venom and poison clashing in your bodies. She was never gonna let Miguel live this down, ever, but she made sure to note down your dimension number in case Miguel needed an outlet like this again.

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mayasbishops · 11 months

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GIF LAYOUT/TEMPLATE PACK!

i've had my beloved blog for what feels like forever, but today it turns 13, so in celebration and as a little thank you to all of you for following my nonsense and sticking around, i've decided to share some of my favourite layouts that i've created.

PLEASE credit if you use any of these! either link to this post or the original sets linked below!!! (except of course the sharpening actions!)

HEXAGON LAYOUT - this is my favourite kind of set to make so i hope y'all have as much fun with this as i do. there's two folders of the layout, one is just the reverse of the other depending on how you want your gifs to look, just clip your gifs to each hexagon and watch it all take shape! [first seen here]

PALETTE MOVIE POSTER - this psd has folders for each element, so the text layers are labelled in a group, and then the palette boxes are grouped together too, just fill each layer clipped to a palette square with your chosen colour! [first seen here]

LETTERBOXD TEMPLATE - i almost didn't share this one because of the labour of love it was to make, but feel like i'm so proud of it, it deserves to be shared. each movie space is split into a group, and within that there's the folders for the star ratings. you can toggle on/off the heart/review/date (as the ratings change you'll just have to shift over these logos to keep things uniform!) and clip your gif over the shape for the movie poster. [first seen here]

DIAMOND MULTI GIF LAYOUT - the most simple of all the layouts, but it got a really great reaction so i'm throwing that in here too, again like the hexagons, there's two versions. one being the reverse of the others, just clip your gifs to each shape. [first seen here]

SHARPEN ACTIONS - VERSION #1 & VERSION #2 - have been asked about sharing these recently so thought i'd add this in, i mostly use version one but occasionally it's too sharp for certain media, so i use version two, which is just the same thing without the last extra sharpening!

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elinordash · 4 months

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Thank you @cobbbvanth for asking me for this; I’ve never been more flattered! ☺️ I’ve only been making gifs for a little more than 2 years, so I’m really still only figuring Photoshop out, and my colouring owes everything to other people’s tutorials (some of which can be found here). To be honest, I was only asked some tips, but I have no clue what to include and what to leave out; so, here’s my complete (if random) colouring process.

NOTE: This is a colouring tutorial, not a gif-making one. The tutorial that taught me everything I know about that (and to which I am eternally grateful) is this one by @hayaosmiyazaki.

I. SHARPENING My standard sharpening settings are:

One Smart Sharpen filter set to Amount: 500 | Radius: 0,4

A second Smart Sharpen filter set to Amount: 10 | Radius: 10

One Gaussian Blur filter set to Radius: 1,0 and Opacity: 30%

One Add Noise filter set to Amount 0,5 | Distribution: Gaussian

II. BASIC COLOURING This is the part where I add most of the adjustment layers available and just play around with them. Obviously different settings work for different scenes, but I do have some standard ones.

Brightness/Contrast I usually up the Brightness to +10-30, and the Contrast to about +10.

Curves

For the first Curves layer I go to Auto Options > Enhance Brightness and Contrast, and then adjust the opacity until I’m happy.

I might repeat the above step if the gif still looks too dark to me.

I add another Curves layer, I go to Auto Options and this time I pick either Find Dark & Light Colors or Enhance Per Channel Contrast, and check or uncheck the Snap Neutral Midtones option, until I see something I like. I will then adjust the opacity.

Levels I add a Levels layer that usually looks something like this:

Exposure I add an Exposure layer, where I usually set the Offset to around -0,0010.

Selective Color To make the faces look okay, I create a Selective Color layer, select the Reds and usually add some Cyan (+10-20%) and play around a little (±5%) with Magenta and Yellow too. I might also add another layer, select the Yellows and make slight tweaks there too.

III. FUN COLOURING About colour manipulation: PiXimperfect just uploaded a tutorial that explains everything so much better than I ever could, so I highly recommend you go watch it. It’s made for static images though, and things are more complicated with moving images, so I also recommend @elizascarlets’s tutorial.

The reason I usually go for a softer colouring is that a more vivid one requires a lot of patience and precision, and I honestly can’t be bothered. Instead, I try to tweak the colous only a little, so that the edges can be a little rough without it looking too wrong.

One thing to remember is that each gif is different, and there isn’t one foolproof way to do this, so you will need to use a different technique depending on the gif you’re working with.

Okay, so, after I’ve decided what colour I want my background to be:

1. I create a Hue/Saturation layer and change the greens, cyans, blues and magentas to that colour. That’s easy enough, since it doesn’t mess with the face colour. I then set the blending mode to Color. If your background doesn’t include any yellow or red, you might be done here, like in the case bellow:

2. To change the yellows and reds, I create a new Hue/Saturation layer, select the yellows/reds, move Saturation to 100 (temporarily) and then play around with the sliders until the face colour isn’t affected. I then change it to whatever I’ve chosen and change the blending mode to Color.

3. If for whatever reason step 3 doesn’t work (the background is white or black for example, or just too red), I might create a Solid Color layer set to whatever colour I want, set the blending mode to Color and then select the layer mask and carefully paint with a soft, black brush over the people’s faces/bodies. I will then lower the Opacity, to whatever looks smooth enough. If there’s a lot of movement in your gif, you might have to use keyframes (see elizascarlets’s tutorial linked above). However, my main goal is to avoid using those; that’s why I try my hardest to tweak around as many Hue/Saturation layers as needed and not have to create a solid color layer.

4. Once my background looks the colour I want it, I might add a Selective Color layer that matches my background color and then try to make it look more vibrant. For this Aziraphale gif below for example, I’ve selected the Cyans and then set Cyan to +100%, Yellow to -100% and Black to +60, then created another one, selected the Cyans again and then set Cyan to +20 and Black to +20.

5. If the gif has a white area, I create a Solid Color layer with a colour that matches the rest of the background and then set the Opacity low. I might also create a Selective Color layer, increase the Black and then play around with the colours.

IV. FINISHING TOUCHES

I create a Vibrance layer and set the Vibrance to around +30 and the Saturation to about +5.

I create a black and white Gradient Map layer (with black on the left end of the spectrum and white on the right), set the blending to Luminosity and the Opacity to about 20-30%.

AAAND that’s about it I think! This ended up way too long and perhaps a little incoherent. I tried to make it as general as possible, so you might have to mix and match for best results. Feel free to ask me for further explanations about any one of these steps, and please tell me if you want me to go through the colouring of a specific gifset (although, as I said, I'm by no means an expert). Happy gifmaking!

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cal-kestis · 5 months

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doing vibrant gif coloring does not give you license to whitewash/colorwash* POC!!!

if you need help, get a second-opinion on your gifset before posting (join a gifmaking network!) and pls reference these resources:

how to fix orange-washed characters by aubrey-plaza

the beginner's guide to channel mixer by aubrey-plaza

anti-whitewashing tutorial for pale & pastel gifs by fadenet

how to change the background of any gif by usergif (this will teach you how to change the background without affecting the person/character)

how to change the background color of a gif by eddiediaaz

good sharpening vs oversharpening by chikoriita (sharpening also affects skintones)

how to: colouring east & southeast asian celebs by blueshelp

guide to colouring yellow-tinted shots by ajusnice

poc-friendly psds masterlist by evansyhelp

my anime sharpening + coloring tips (bc whitewashing and colorwashing is rampant in anime too)

*colorwashing in gifmaking/editing terms = altering a person's skin tone to make it fit your "asethetic," often by making them look unnaturally red, yellow, pink, orange, etc.

#when u manipulate the bg of a gif but don't try to accurately represent skin tones...#it's one thing to do it 1 or 2 times unknowingly #but constantly doing it...#as a poc it just tells me you don't care #nik natter

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

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Hi sweetheart, hope you’re good<3

Could you write sth for Matilda and Lucas? Whatever you’d like but I’m getting all mushy on the idea of them understanding each other without words and all

Note: me too! I starred thinking about it and I melted! 🥹🫠 I hope you're well too!

Even though Lando and Oscar would spend a lot of the time in media duties, they still wanted their little ones close to them so they could spend a little time with them on their breaks.

While their mothers engaged in conversation, Lucas and Matilda sat at the table with their arts and crafts kits open. They were both quiet kids but they understood eachother without having to speak many words.

Matilda would always make sure her crayons were within arms reach for Lucas, and the little boy would always notice whenever she needed something and make sure she could have it, like right now, when he noticed her crayon needed to be sharpened, gently handing her the sharpener with a sweet smile on his face.

"Thank you, Lucas", Matilda whispered gently as she took it, a sweet smile on her face too.

They drew on each of their drawings until it was done before Lucas pulled a big A3 sheet of paper from his folder, "my mummy said we could draw on this together, do you want to do that?", he asked.

Matilda nodded, grabbing some of her pens and spreading them out so he could use them too, starting to draw flowers on the paper. Lucas followed her, doing his best to make sure they complimented her pink and purple flowers. They easily found a scheme: Matilda would draw the petals, colouring them in and then Lucas would follow with the glittery yellow pen to colour in the middle, ending up with about a quarter of the page covered in flowers in all colours and shapes.

Lucas thought it would look nice with some rainbows, so he started drawing them, this time with Matilda following his lead as they drew the coloured arches.

After tidying up, they both got up and walked up to a magnetic wall, their mothers always keeping an eye on them, and grabbed some magnets to hold their drawing up.

"Hey, Tilly", Lando cooed as he and Oscar walked up the stairs, seeing their children looking at the drawing.

"Did you draw that with Matilda, little man?", Oscar asked as Lucas hugged his legs, nodding in response, "it looks really good", he complimented.

"Looks really pretty, baby", Lando smiled, pulling his daughter up on his hip and kissing her cheek, "let's go to mummy, hm? We can all have lunch together".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #oscar piastri blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 4 months

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The Other Man

Note: lovely request by a lovely anon! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you for this request, I really enjoyed writing this.

Warnings: 18+! angst, smut, mention of death and arranged marriage.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You fell in love with the warrior who was tasked to protect you and your husband.

wordcount: 7,5k

Masterlist

Your husband was fifteen years older than you, and your marriage had been arranged because your husband possessed quite some land. His status had been good for that of your poor family, and he had treated you kindly too. Despite being treated kindly, there had been little to no romance in your marriage and no pups were ever born. You did not mind the lack of intimacy. What bothered you was that your husband was free to whore around, but god forbid a lady bedded a man that was not her husband.

You had loved your husband at some point, at least you think you did, when he was a bit younger and still participated in battles to protect the Saxon land. But during one of those battles he had gotten injured badly, and had lost one arm and his ability to walk. All he did was lay in bed ever since or sit in a chair and stare at a wall, as he could do little else, and therefore your life also stopped when he became injured. But he was still an important and rich man. And when there was word that his life and yours were threatened by a witch named Skade, so that the Danes could eventually take claim of his wealth, the Lord Uhtred arranged one of his men to protect you and your husband for as long as needed. Your husband would pay the tasked man for his protection, and the warrior would be provided with residence in a cottage on your husband's land.

You watched him from your kitchen, through the open wooden shutters, as he sat outside merely a few paces away from you. Sihtric. That was his name, the name of the warrior who was tasked to protect you and your husband from a possible attack. He sat on a large broken tree log, basking in the early morning sun. It was to be another hot summer day, just like the past few days had been. His bare muscular arms glistened with sweat as his biceps flexed with each stroking movement he made to sharpen his axe. His jaw was clenched and his face serious, eyes fixated on his weapon as he took care of her with care and smooth motions.

You observed him. You had been observing him ever since his arrival a few days ago, but you hadn't exchanged a word, only a glimpse of eye contact when you were introduced after his arrival late in the evening. Sihtric spent most of the day outside in the fields surrounding your husband's home, scouting for enemies, while you were trapped inside to take care of your bitter and grumpy husband when the maid couldn't. But now that your husband was still asleep, because the pain in his body was too much for him to bear today, you could secretly observe Sihtric without being called away for a while.

Sihtric was clearly younger than your husband, closer to your own age, and it was evident that he was a Dane. His sweat coated neck showed a Danish tattoo that ran up the side of his head and he wore a hammer pendant. His dark hair was short and shaved off on both sides, he had a hint of facial hair and when he suddenly looked back over his shoulder and locked eyes with you, after you had dropped a plate because you were too distracted by his physique, you suddenly noticed his eyes were two different colours. Sihtric was unlike any man you had ever seen before. You hadn't seen many men actually, as you married your husband young and didn't get to leave the house much as he swore it was safer for you to stay inside. And like a fool you believed him.

A hint of a smirk appeared on Sihtric's face before he brought his attention back to his weapon again, but seconds later he stopped sharpening the axe head and got up. He wiped his tattooed hands on his leather jerkin and turned to you, then leaned on the window sill with his elbows and looked at you, his playful smirk still gracing his beautiful and slightly scarred face.

'My lady,' he simply said, his voice soft and warm, 'can I help you?'

'No,' you stammered, 'thank you.'

Sihtric chuckled lightly at your flushed face and licked his lips, amused.

'Why are you inside on a day like this?' he asked, 'does your husband not want to enjoy the sun with you?'

'My husband is sleeping.'

'Then do you not want to enjoy the sun? Pick flowers or just go for a walk?'

You looked at the warrior in silence for a few long seconds, then picked up the dropped plate.

'I do,' you confessed with a whisper, 'but…'

'But?' Sihtric asked after a pause.

'My husband...'

'... Is sleeping?'

'Yes.'

'Then why must you stay inside?' he wondered.

'My husband believes it is safer inside for me.'

Sihtric laughed at that, then pushed himself up and grabbed his axe which he swung over his shoulder.

'What's so funny?' you almost snarled, but your eyes betrayed that you weren't truly offended, as you couldn't tear your gaze away from his impressive arms.

'Nothing, my lady,' he composed himself, 'but if you change your mind and want to enjoy the sun…'

He didn't finish his words, but you knew what he meant. You knew you could find him in the fields, scouting, and he wouldn't mind for you to join him. But you were married. To an important man nonetheless, so Sihtric could not try and persuade you directly. But it had only taken him one day to tell that you weren't happily married and he thought you were too beautiful to be with a man like your husband, and it was a shame you rarely appeared outside of your home. And Sihtric also knew you had been watching him, which amused him greatly, but had to be careful with his approach. Sihtric was paid royally by your husband for his protection and he did not want to let Uhtred down by getting sent away from the job, because he had been pursuing the wife of a nobleman.

A few days passed and your husband's condition didn't improve. The warm summer caused him to feel unwell and dizzy. He had no appetite and barely consumed any water. The heat made his old wounds ooze pus and smell foul, for they never successfully healed and often became infected. And it was your duty to take care of him while the maid looked after the house and made food. But now that his condition became worse you had to fetch a healer, who arrived the same afternoon. Her name was Eadith, she was very friendly, wise and above all incredibly beautiful. And your husband seemed to feel better too at the sight of Eadith alone already, for he suddenly drank water and allowed her to feed him fresh fruits from the garden. If you were in love with him you would have been jealous, but it only made you reconsider Sihtric's offer from a few days ago to join him scouting the lands.

You were sick of always being a good and loyal wife, while your husband's eyes and hands had always wandered to other ladies. It is not that he thought you weren't beautiful, but due to the lack of intimacy he just had no interest in you anymore, and after his injury you were merely his caregiver. You had warned Eadith immediately after you saw his interest in her, but she reassured you that she had no desire to bed an older and sick man, but she would look after him which also meant you could finally take a break.

And so you decided to go outside and find Sihtric. You were dressed in a yellow linen dress, which was simple but pretty, as it hugged your shape and showed your figure in all the right places but also swayed in the summer breeze. You did not want to make it obvious that you were looking for the Dane, so you carried a twig woven basket and strolled to collect apples. That way you could scan the surrounding area without it being suspicious, as you only really left the house to gather fruits and herbs that grew in the garden.

You soon felt droplets of sweat on your back as the sun was at its peak, and the blush on your face grew warmer when your eyes landed on Sihtric in the distance, who was naked after he had taken a refreshing swim in the river that crossed your lands. The basket with apples fell out of your hands, which drew Sihtric's attention, and you quickly averted your eyes after you had already caught a glimpse of his entire body. And an impressive body it was, even from afar. You squeezed your thighs together as you sat down, your heart pounding wildly in your chest while you gathered the fallen apples back into the basket. Your mind wandered while your hands searched the tall grass for the round fruits, and you couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have Sihtric's arms around you. Those strong arms, much stronger than your husband's arms ever had been. And you craved to know what Sihtric would taste like when he kissed you, and how his hands felt on your bare skin, and how it would feel to rake your fingers through his short hair as you felt him inside you. You were so caught up in your sudden erotic fantasy that you didn't notice Sihtric had walked up to you, and he startled you when he suddenly cleared his throat behind you.

'Goodness!' you gasped and jumped up.

'Apologies, my lady,' Sihtric said with a sly smile, and he held an apple out to you, 'I did not mean to scare you, but I believe you dropped this.'

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were immediately distracted at the sight of his naked torso as he was only wearing his breeches. You snatched the apple out of his big hand, the same hand you had just imagined wrapped around your throat as he had pushed you down in the field to kiss you lustfully. And while you tried to shake that thought and put the apple back in your basket, your eyes darted over the numerous scars on his still wet and muscular body, and then your lust took over.

You dropped the basket and grabbed his face, pulling his lips onto yours, and you kissed him with a fiery passion you never felt before. You placed one hand on his neck and the other moved through his short hair while his damp hands grabbed your waist firmly. Sihtric pulled you flush against his wet body, hiked your skirt partly up and then lifted your knee to hook it around his bare waist. You wrapped both arms around his neck and he smoothly laid you down in the tall grass. His lips trailed down your neck and to your shoulders, leaving wet kisses and love bites, and he shoved his fingers underneath the shoulder straps of your linen dress. He lowered the top hastily but with care, and soon you felt his warm lips trail down further to your breasts and he teased your nipple with his tongue and teeth while he pinched your other nipple with his fingers. You moaned at his touch and the overall sensations, and you pulled his face back up to yours, desperate to disappear into his kiss while you removed his breeches, and he pushed the skirt of your dress up to gain access to your cunt. Sihtric kissed you roughly, as if he tried to still a hunger that could not be satisfied until he had devoured you completely. Your ragged breaths felt warm on each other's faces while he began to tease you, grinding the tip of his hard cock against your wet folds. You were desperate and ready for him.

You were desperate to feel his entire length inside you, stretching you and filling you up completely, and you wanted to be ravaged by him. You wanted him to do with you as he pleased and to use you up until you were exhausted and sore and begging for him to stop as tears ran down your face, because the pleasantness would be too much to handle for you. You wanted him to cum over and over again inside you while your legs were shaking underneath him, just so you could finally experience what it would be like to leave a man satisfied after he had been with you.

But then you heard him call your name and suddenly you snapped out of your fantasy.

'Are you okay, my lady?' Sihtric frowned as he still held his hand out to you, holding the apple he had picked up.

'I, yes, fine,' you rasped and took the apple out of his hand, 'thank you.'

You gave the Dane a curt smile and turned on your heels. Sihtric watched you walk back to the house, and he once again thought it was a real shame how someone with such beauty as yours was kept hidden inside.

You sat across from Sihtric at the dinner table that evening. It was not common for the warrior to dine with you, but as Eadith was invited by your husband, you insisted for Sihtric to be there too, for it would be unfair to neglect the man who protected your lives. Dinner had been served by the maid and you tried to enjoy the food as much as you could, but the atmosphere was tense and awkward. You sat next to your sickly husband while Eadith, who was staying several days longer to take care of him, sat next to Sihtric. Everyone ate quietly while occasionally glancing at one another. Your husband's eyes were mainly fixated on his healer, while you tried your hardest to not gaze at Sihtric the entire time you looked up from your plate. And yet each time you did look up at the Dane, who you had fantasised about earlier that day and had seen completely naked from a distance, you found his eyes were already fixated on you. And his eyes seemed darker than usual.

While you had dessert your husband tried to make some small talk with Eadith. Everyone saw right through him and knew he was trying to see if she was interested. And Eadith, the saint, played along to not make it more awkward than it already was. As she engaged in conversation with your husband, you and Sihtric kept glancing at each other and soon you felt his leather boot lightly tap your ankle under the table. Sihtric smiled faintly, barely noticeable, but you could tell the mischief in his eyes when you looked into them. You shifted in your chair, desperate to feel some friction between your legs, but nothing could give you a relief of the feeling Sihtric gave you, unless he shoved his hand between your thighs and inside you.

'I shall take the Lord to his room and clean his wounds,' Eadith announced after dinner.

You agreed and, once they had left the room, you helped the maid gather the dishes and cups from the table and brought them to the kitchen, where the maid would clean them. Sihtric helped you clear the table, handing you the used cutlery, and his fingers lightly caressed yours each time he handed you something. And he loved how you would try and hide your hungry eyes for him each time he touched you. You walked Sihtric to the front door afterwards, as he would need to scout the land once again before he could retreat to his cottage for the night, and you thanked him for watching over you and your husband as you hadn't thanked him before.

'Just my duty,' he smiled and leaned against the doorpost.

Sihtric then suddenly leaned in and brought his hand up to your neck. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his warm hand on your skin, slowly moving up as he brought his face closer to yours. He took your chin gently and brushed his thumb over your lips, tracing in circles as he stared down into your eyes. He towered over you and smiled softly, his eyes were hooded and he then slowly wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue as he looked you up and down.

'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,' he whispered, 'it is a shame your husband keeps you inside. But,' he paused and chuckled, 'I understand it too.'

'How so?' you breathed, his voice causing a pool of heat to rise in your core.

'Because you have no idea how I wish to hump you, my lady,' Sihtric whispered, 'and I too would not want any other man to talk to my wife if I was married to you.'

'Would you also hide me?'

'No,' he smiled, 'no, the opposite,' he cupped your cheek and brought his face even closer to yours, his lips grazed yours when he spoke again, 'I would show you off. I would let everyone know that you're mine.'

You were both silent. In the distance some crickets sung their song while the moon lit up the fields around the house, and the candles inside illuminated your faces as you gazed at each other.

'I know you saw me earlier,' he continued, 'at the river.'

'I… I don't know what you're talking about,' you lied.

Sihtric chuckled and hummed softly, the sound made your knees tremble and caused you to feel lightheaded. You both anticipated each other's next move as no one spoke anymore, and then you both gave in at the same time. Without any hesitation your lips crashed together in a heated kiss. And this time you weren't just fantasising, you knew it was real because you could actually taste the ale on his lips that had been served during dinner. And you finally felt his hair as you raked your hands through it, it was soft and just long enough to grab onto. You felt the silver beads which were braided into his locks on both sides, and the parts that were shaved were pleasantly soft as his hair had begun to grow back slightly.

Sihtric deepened the kiss and picked you up in his arms, and he was as strong as you had imagined. He effortlessly held you as your legs were around his waist, and he carried you over to an oaken cabinet that stood in the hallway. He sat you on top of the cabinet, his lips still locked with yours and his tongue still in your mouth, and he cupped your cheeks firmly while he grinded his hips against yours. Your skirt was hiked up and his arousal pressed against your clit through his breeches, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling. You both breathed hard and fast, equally desperately trying to stay quiet and to keep self control, knowing that your husband was only a few rooms away. You tugged at his leather armour, wanting to keep him as close as possible while he pulled at the laces of your dark blue dress. You wanted nothing more than to pull down his breeches and free his cock, take him in your mouth before you'd let him rut into you like a beast, but then you broke the kiss, and it took all your strength.

'I… I'm sorry,' you panted, 'I'm sorry,' you said again and gave him a slight push away from you. You got off the cabinet and strengthened your dress, then wiped your mouth, the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. 'I'm married,' you almost whispered, 'I'm sorry, but I can't… I shouldn't… it's wrong.'

Sihtric listened as you rambled on and he tried to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat as he adjusted his armour, and then looked back at you again.

'I understand,' he said politely, 'I apologise if my behaviour was out of line. I did not mean to disrespect you or your husband. I am sorry, my lady.'

You silently stared into each other's eyes again for long, long seconds. The air was thick and it seemed as if the crickets outside had gone quiet in anticipation.

'You did not disrespect me,' you reassured him.

Sihtric gave you a curt nod in acceptance, then said, 'I should go, my lady, scout the lands once more before I shall retreat to my bed. I wish you a good night.'

'Wait,' you said as he turned on his heels, and you took his hand.

Sihtric turned back to face you as you held his hand, and you then pulled him back in. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him. You kissed him as if it was the last thing you'd ever do, and he did not hesitate to kiss you back. And he kissed you passionately and deep. He kissed you in a way your husband had never done. He kissed you in a way that told you he desired you, all of you. And then it was him who broke the kiss, as he knew he would not be able to stop himself once more if he continued now.

'In another life,' you whispered against his lips as you lightly traced the scar on his cheek with your thumb, 'in an unmarried life, I would be entirely yours, Sihtric.'

'What is holding you back in this life?' he asked, then gave you another firm kiss and, without waiting for your answer, he turned on his heels again and left out the door.

You took a deep breath and closed the door, then anxiously fidgeted with your wedding ring as you leaned back against the door. You tried to collect your thoughts but they were all over the place. And you were so caught up in your own head, that you never realised that Eadith had seen everything.

The next morning Eadith found you in the kitchen, just after you had seen Sihtric leave your husband's room. You had hid yourself when you saw Sihtric, with shaky knees and a dry mouth, and you cursed yourself for the effect the warrior had on you.

'Your husband asked for me to fetch you,' Eadith said, 'he wishes to speak with you.'

You thanked her and made way for your husband. Your heart was beating in your throat, because your husband never wished to just speak with you. You suddenly began to fear that Sihtric told him what had happened the night before, as he only left your husband's room minutes ago. And if he had told him, what would your husband do? You nervously entered his room and stood next to his bed.

'You wanted to speak to me?' you almost whispered.

You were afraid to speak up, as your voice would betray you nerves, and therefore you could betray yourself.

'Yes,' your husband said, his voice was feeble and he spoke slowly, 'that warrior, Sihtric… he asked me for permission to teach you how to fight. He said it would be good for your own protection in case the Danes will come. I stand no chance to defend this place,' he coughed and groaned in pain, then continued, 'so I agreed that it might be a good idea for you to learn some skills. I told him you will meet him at the stables in an hour.'

You were speechless and relieved, and before you could even reply your husband already dismissed you. You left his room and dressed in comfortable clothing, no linen dress today, but a leather jerkin that was suitable to learn how to fight in. You braid your hair and, when it was time, you made way to the stables. You found Sihtric as he saddled his horse and he smiled sweetly when he saw you.

'Good morning, my lady.'

'Good morning,' you smiled, nervously.

'You look beautiful,' he almost purred.

'Thank you,' you blushed, 'you look good today as well.'

Sihtric chuckled and then held his hand out, 'Are you ready?'

'I suppose I am.'

He helped you mount his horse and climbed in the saddle behind you, then spurred the beast into a gallop. Sihtric held the reins as his horse ran through the fields and crossed the river's bridge, all while you were kept in place between his strong arms. And you didn't speak until the horse slowed down when you were far from your home, with no one else around.

Sihtric dismounted and helped you safely back on your feet, his hands lingered on your waist and he then pulled you closer. Your hands settled on his chest, fingers curled around the neck of his leather armour and you pulled him towards you. The kiss was pleasant and familiar, and it was as good and passionate as it had been the night before. But the kiss was also calmer, as there was no worry now to get caught. You soon ran out of breath and the kiss became hotter and deeper. You impatiently tugged at each other's clothes, loosening the laces while you wished your tongues could tangle together into a tight knot, so you'd never have to leave each other again. You removed each other's clothing and Sihtric used his own clothes as an improvised blanket and laid you down upon it. The tall grass made for a shield wall around you, hiding you both, and the sound of the river close by covered the soft moans and ragged breaths that left both your lips. Trees sheltered you from the hot summer sun, but your bodies were damp and slippery and glistening with sweat regardless of the shade.

The Dane was tender with his hands but needy with his mouth, sucking and biting your lips in between kisses. He grinded his bare erection between your thighs, teasing your folds with just the tip of his cock without entering you. You clawed at his back, desperate to feel him inside you and you kissed until you became dizzy and overwhelmed with lust.

'I need you,' you breathed against his lips.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked out of breath, his sweaty forehead leaning against yours as he cupped your cheek, 'your husband-'

'Doesn't love me,' you said and silenced him with a kiss.

The kiss was heated and deep, almost aggressive. Your braided hair was dishevelled, as was his short hair after you repeatedly grabbed onto it and raked through it with your fingers. Your hands were on the back of his neck, keeping him close as your tongues explored each other with urgence. You slowly surrendered to Sihtric, knowing this was an act of adultery and if your husband would find out your life would be over. But you had to have Sihtric. You had to know what he felt like now that you already knew what he tasted like. You had fantasised about him all night and touched yourself at the idea of him. And you wanted more than just his kiss, you wanted all of him and to feel him everywhere. Now. The kiss gradually became less aggressive while his warm hands roamed your body, grazing your skin lightly and kneading your flesh firmly when he began to ache for you. You opened yourself fully for him, and your pulse quickened when you felt his tip enter you slowly, teasing you and coating it with your wetness. And a sharp gasp escaped your mouth when he finally pushed inside you, to the hilt, and you had never felt so full and complete before.

He thrusted into you slowly, then picked up his pace as his self control began to falter. You had only barely adjusted to him when he started to slam into you. Your lips weaved together in an attempt to silence your desperate whimpers and his heavy grunts as he rutted against you. Sihtric enveloped his hand under your knee and brought it up, your leg resting on his back, the new angle allowing him to bury his cock even deeper inside of you. You gasped and moaned with each trust, feeling his rough leather armour underneath you bruising your skin with each movement as he kept you firmly pressed down onto it.

He continued to slide in and out of you frantically, and he grabbed your face to look into your eyes. His lips were parted and curled into a smile, his eyes glazed over while his Mjölnir pendant dangled around his neck above you. He traced your lips with his thumb and pushed his digit inside your mouth when you moaned for him. Your tongue swirled around his finger, causing him to growl in pleasure while his free hand squeezed your thigh. Sihtric buried his face in your neck and murmured praises against your skin when you clenched your walls around his twitching cock, feeling your climax approach. You grabbed his broad shoulders and arched your back at the feeling, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you and pulled you up to him. You rode him as he sat back on his heels, your sweaty faces leaned against each other as you moaned and sighed, and you rocked your hips until your legs started to tremble when you finally released with a loud moan. Sihtric moaned sweetly in your ear, and soon you felt his warmth erupt inside of you while his arms were tightly wrapped around you. You collapsed on him and he laid down on his back, keeping you close as you laid on top of him, both exhausted and satisfied. And he slowly raked his fingers through your messy hair while you both caught your breath, smiling… and in love.

'So,' you said once you were both dressed again, 'weren't you supposed to teach me how to fight?'

Sihtric chuckled as he held you in his arms, sitting back against one of the trees, and his lips grazed your ear when he spoke.

'I never planned on teaching you how to fight,' he confessed, 'I've been here for a little while now and there have been so signs of any serious threat. I just needed an excuse to get you out of the house with the permission of your husband.'

'Really?' you scoffed, then laughed and shook your head.

'Really,' Sihtric said softly and intertwined his fingers with yours as he held you, 'I just wanted to see you outside. You always smile when you're outside, you know?' he paused, 'but I never see you smile when you're inside the house. And I just wanted to see you smile.'

You sat in silence and your eyes teared up. Sihtric heard you sniffle and squeezed you in his arms while he remained silent for a moment.

'Why are you still with him if you are so unhappy and feel so unloved?' he asked carefully, 'why don't you leave him?'

'It's not that simple.'

'But it is.'

'It's not. I can't just leave him, because I have nowhere to go,' you whispered and wiped away a tear that rolled down your cheek, 'I have nothing, Sihtric. I owe everything I have to him. If I leave him I have no home and no money. I will have nothing. And you know a woman can't just leave her husband. It would be a disgrace.'

'You could come with me,' he whispered and kissed your ear, 'stay with me. I will take care of you. If you marry me you would be under Uhtred's protection too. You would be safe.'

'I can't,' you sniffled again, 'you know I can't marry you while I am still married to him.'

Sihtric sighed softly and held you tight, until the sun began to lower into the sky and it was time to return back home. You adjusted your clothes and hair once more in the stables back home and you kissed each other deeply one more time before you had to part ways. You slowly walked to your house while Sihtric took care of his horse, before he would retreat to the cottage he resided in. And you wouldn't see each other until the next day.

And because you hadn't seen him anymore, Sihtric was also unaware of what had happened during the night. Eadith told you that your husband had grown very sick when you and Sihtric were out. The summer warmth had gotten to him completely and she did not know how to help him anymore.

'This is beyond my knowledge,' Eadith told you, 'he needs to be brought to the city, where he can get better aid. I can take a horse and transport him in a carriage, but I must do it now.'

And so she left in the night with your husband, not knowing when she would return.

You had told Sihtric the news the next morning. And at first you had been a little distraught, but Sihtric soon made you forget about your disloyal and ill husband. While your husband was being treated somewhere else, you and Sihtric made love in the bed you used to sleep in with your husband before he got injured. And you made love in the kitchen, after the maid was sent home for a few days, and you made love in the living room, on the carpet, multiple times until you were both physically exhausted. You and Sihtric became more fond of each other as the hours passed, and you felt happy for the first time in many years. And you secretly wished that your husband would never return. But he did.

He returned three days later with Eadith, merely an hour after you and Sihtric had made love in the river behind your house while you were bathing together in the first rays of the morning sun. And your husband noticed something was different about you when he saw you again, after you and Sihtric had kissed goodbye in secret and both returned to your daily duties. Your husband looked awful, he looked so much older than a few days before, and he was thin with his skin wrinkled and pale, whereas you were glowing. You had a glow about you that you never had before, and he became suspicious.

He questioned what you had done when he had been away, and you lied and said you only rested and took a forbidden walk in the fields. Your husband was angry that you had left the house, but too weak to argue and whenever he spoke he coughed and groaned, until Eadith hurried in the room and brought him tea. Eadith then asked to have a word with you, and you both left the room.

'Your husband has made advances again, despite him being terribly ill,' she told you, 'I am not interested in an affair with him, but I just want to be honest with you and let you know he is not an honourable man. And I want you to be honest with yourself too,' she suddenly said.

'What do you mean?' you asked, 'I know my husband is not a loyal one, I never lied to myself about that-'

'No,' Eadith interrupted you and took your hands, 'I have seen you,' she whispered, 'with Sihtric. I saw you kiss that night after we all had dinner. But I promise I never said a word to your husband,' she added quickly, 'but you need to stop lying to yourself. Your husband is a piece of weaselshit and he does not deserve you. And look how you are glowing right now, after being away from that miserable man for just a few days. He is old and in pain, he struggles. This man will never make you happy as he is not happy himself. You deserve a man who can satisfy you and protect you. Do not live an unhappy life here, but chase a happy life with the warrior. Because I know you are in love with each other.'

'But I… I can't leave him,' you stammered, 'he will never let me divorce him. And even if he would agree, I will have nothing to my name.'

Eadith gave you a saddened but compassionate look, she told you once again you should pursue a life with Sihtric, but she understood you were torn and it was not an easy choice. When your husband coughed violently again from his room, Eadith said she would make him some more tea and told you to visit the Dane, while she would keep your husband's attention away from you and look after him.

You visited Sihtric in his cottage and told him about your husband's condition and the advances he had made to Eadith despite his illness. Sihtric was furious that you allowed your husband to treat you with this disrespect, and he did not understand why you did not leave him. You argued, respectfully and calmly, and told him once again things are not that simple. You were scared, you could barely remember your life before marriage, you only knew that before your husband you had nothing. And you knew that after leaving your husband you would once again have nothing, if a divorce would even be allowed.

Sihtric kept reminding you that he would take care of you, and the arguing was eventually silenced with a heated kiss. Sihtric had grabbed your face and kissed you aggressively. You had torn off his leather jerkin and pulled down your dress. And not much later you were laying down on the soft furs on his bed, while candles illuminated the cottage and your ragged breaths filled the already thick air. And you made love, emotional and hard love, like beasts. Sihtric covered your mouth with his hand, silencing your moans while he took you from behind, and after you had both finished you cried in his arms until you fell asleep.

Your husband's condition worsened as the days passed by. He did not improve despite the summer heat finally cooling down as autumn was near. He grew weaker and paler with each day, and you did not understand what was happening. You thought he would heal after his treatment in the city, but ever since he returned home his health declined rapidly. You asked Eadith about it, and she finally revealed something shocking to you. You did not know what to do with this information, and so you ran to Sihtric, who was feeding his horse after he had scouted the lands again.

'Did you tell her to stop?' Sihtric asked after he had a moment to process the news.

You didn't answer his question. 'She has been poisoning him,' you repeated yourself, 'ever since they returned from the city. She told me, Sihtric, she told me she has been putting poisonous herbs in his tea.'

'But did you tell her to stop?' he asked again.

You remained silent, and Sihtric dropped the bucket he was feeding his horse from.

'Look,' he said and wiped his hands on his clothes, then raked one hand through his dusty hair, 'I have to leave here soon.'

'What?' you gasped, 'w-what do you mean?'

He took your hand and walked you to his cottage. You followed him inside and sat down on a wooden stool next to him, and he held your hands carefully. He lightly stroked his thumbs over the back of your hands, then looked at you.

'Skade is dead.'

'What? The… the witch?'

'She is dead,' Sihtric said softly, 'she has been dead for a few days already. Uhtred killed her. I just,' he paused, 'I did not want to leave you yet, so I didn't say anything. But there is no more threat to your life, nor that of your husband's. Unless you count Eadith's attempt to kill him,' he chuckled and composed himself quickly when he saw your disapproving look, 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'But… so… you will leave?'

'Yes, my lady,' his voice was pained.

'When?'

'Soon, but,' he cleared his throat and sighed, 'I will not leave here without you.'

'Sihtric…'

'I won't leave without you,' he said sternly, 'you hear me? I want to leave with you as my wife.'

'But I'm still married,' you whispered and pulled your hands away.

You got up and reached for the door, wanting to leave as you did not have the emotional strength to argue about this again. But Sihtric stepped in and grabbed your arm, he pulled you towards him and then backed you up against the cottage's wooden door.

'Do you love him? Be honest.'

His eyes were soft yet threatening as he towered over you.

'No,' you said after a silence.

'Do you care for him?'

'No. Not anymore.'

'Would you mourn him?'

'Sihtric,' you scoffed, 'you can't ask me-'

'Would you mourn him?' he asked again, his breath hot on your lips and his hand trailing up your thigh, 'be honest with me.'

'... No.'

'Then be my wife,' he breathed and kissed under your ear, his hands squeezing your waist, 'then let Eadith take his life slowly and let me take you as my wife once he is dead,' he whispered in your ear, then gently bit your earlobe and dragged his lips up to yours.

He captured you in a passionate kiss and the sexual tension soon sparked again. You moaned against each other's lips, but he stopped you when you began to tug the laces of his leather jerkin.

'I want you more than anything,' Sihtric whispered against your lips, 'but I need to know you will be mine when this is over.'

'I will be,' you whispered and kissed him, 'I promise. I… I love you.'

'I love you too.'

Three days later.

It was a sunny afternoon, a late and hot summer day. Sihtric wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, collecting the drops of sweat before they'd run down his face. You had travelled off the lands your husband owned, and crossed the river to an empty and neglected field. Sihtric threw the shovel out of the hole he had dug and then climbed out. His arms, face, hair and his clothes were covered with layers of dry sand. You and Eadith watched in silence how Sihtric carried your husband's body, wrapped in sheets, to his final resting place.

You had never stopped Eadith and your husband had died earlier that day. Eadith knew this would be your only way out of the marriage without losing everything, and she also knew this was your husband's only way out of his painful and worthless life. You had shed a tear, but you weren't sure if it was of sadness or relief. Sihtric stood back, his hammer pendant clutched in his fist as he watched you say your final goodbye and throw a small bouquet of hand picked flowers into the hole. Eadith stood next to you and held your hand, but she knew that you were not sad. After a moment of silence you looked back over your shoulder to Sihtric, and you signalled him to close the grave. He spoke with Eadith before he shovelled the sand back, and you watched her depart on horseback to inform Uhtred of what had happened. And once the ground was even again and a wooden cross marked the grave, you and Sihtric mounted the same horse and rode back in silence, his arm wrapped around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

Sihtric stopped by the river, wanting to bathe and rinse himself off the sand that had stuck to his sweaty skin. You watched him undress and he soon asked you to join him, which you did. You rid yourself of your black linen dress and stepped into the water. Sihtric took your hand and pulled you with him, further into the water where you both dunked under completely and kissed in the silence of the river underneath the surface.

You were finally free. Free if your miserable marriage and free to marry Sihtric. Your name was never disgraced or brought to shame, and you owned everything your husband had owned prior to his death, as he left everything to his wife. You knew Sihtric was a warrior and that he often had to travel, but you were now free to travel with him when possible and if it was safe. And you also knew it was good for Sihtric to have a place he could always come home to and spend time at when there were no battles to fight or messages to be sent.

And you married him several weeks later, and a happy and passionate marriage it would be, unlike the one you had been trapped in for so long.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @succnfuccubus @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin @lexwolfhale @dixie-elocin @m-a-s-h-k-a

#sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #sihtric fic

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toplines · 2 years

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FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STOP REPOSTING GIFS.

“bu…bubu- but they’re just wittle pixels and digital images rwight 🥺” no. we spend hours on gifs or even one singular gif to make edits for FREE on tumblr dot com. name a person who asked us to do this. no one!! exactly!! we make gifs bc its enjoyable and fun but people like reposters suck the fun out of it!!! and do NOT go and tell us that “gifs aren’t that hard to make” baby girl what do u think we do? go online and search for a video downloader and download it at like a crappy 720p and go to like literal ezgif dot com and all the gifs just MAGICALLY have their effects, typography, colouring, blending, animation, quality all up and ready? why dont u try and make a gif. hm.

and also, @ all of you “gif collectors” or some fanfic writers. lemme tell u a secret. an itty bitty secret. did u know… theres this really cool thing called PROPERLY CREDITING? im not talking about a stupid “credits to the owners” no. it isn’t that hard to properly source the creators or accounts.

that wasn’t so hard, hm?

also oh my god, do NOT go around saying you made these gifs when it is so obvious you didn’t. no bff, it isn’t a coincidence we have the same sharpening AND colouring settings.

and hey, i’ll stop my angry typing for a minute and just say that if you wanna learn how to make gifs there are plenty of amazing accounts and tutorials that are incredibly detailed. here are a few i recommend:

how to: make high quality gifs by sith-maul

giffing 101 by cillianmurphy

giffing and colouring tutorial by sashafierce

how to fix and avoid orangewashing characters by maxchapman

how to fix and avoid white/pink/yellowwashing by jeonwonwoo

how to: colouring east & southeast asians by blueshelp

pastel gifs: a tutorial by completeresources

how to fix and avoid whitewashing in pastel gifs by fadenet

and for those who don’t want to pay/ t*rr*nt photoshop:

free giffing tutorial by ashleysolsen

photopea gif tutorial by lacebird

and @usergif has a bunch of directories and navigation for tutorials and inspiration!

again, there are so many useful tutorials if you’d just look.

i know this probably won’t stop all reposters (unfortunately) but i hope those reposters that are reading this realise how messed up stealing gifs are. it isn’t funny or cool to see gifs that you’ve spent so much time on only to be reposted here or on other sites without credit or being claimed as someone elses.

we’re just asking for a proper credit on your post or maybe even stop reposting in whole. im sure you had good intentions in making those posts, but you have to understand how much it hurts. at this point, we have to put our watermarks in the middle of our gifs to avoid people cropping them out.

and please, PLEASE reblog edits. you have no idea how diminishing it is to see such a crappy like to reblog ratio. remember this hellsite has such a crappy algorithm so reblogging is essentially one of the only ways to give posts more traction

AGAIN. dont repost gifs. dont steal gifs without credit. dont belittle gifmakers. just stop being so disrespectful and rude and have a brain for once. thank you for reading.

edit: ive noticed ppl asking why i kinda like insulted those who use 720p and ezgif, im really sorry if i made it sound like a bad thing !! i was just very angry writing this aaaadjskdks gifmaking, HQ or not is valid and nobody deserves to get their creations stolen !

#este talks #gifmaking #so tired.

2K notes · View notes

buglaur · 2 years

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tutorial contents:

1 ‣ gshade & photoshop actions 2 ‣ template or cropping & colouring 3 ‣ notifs & pop-ups

okay hi! i have a really old editing tutorial from back in january that i've been linking people to, but it's pretty outdated by now. i also keep getting anons asking about the same things, which is fine, but i always have to go searching for the post explaining it, so having it all in one place will be a lot more convenient lol

i use a ☠ copy of photoshop cc 2017 to edit my screenshots, however the majority of everything i'm doing also works on photopea

photopea is an online version of photoshop that's 100% free and works very well! i can't recommend it enough, it's fantastic

first things first, you're going to need some screenshots to edit. for the sake of this tutorial i'll be working with this one of raffy:

in all honesty, gshade will do most of the work for you. of course it's not needed, but i definitely don't think i could live without it! in this screenshot i used sunset n' vinyl by nesurii

when opening the screenshot, the first thing i do is run it through 2 photoshop actions:

butter action by early-grape

smooth sharp (no topaz) by poolbrop

to add actions in photoshop go:

windows > actions > the 4 lines at the upper right corner of the newly opened window > load actions > your downloads folder > open up the .atn files!

if you're using photopea, as far as i'm aware you can't use photoshop actions, but i've found that 'filter > stylize > oil paint' and 'filter > sharpen > smart sharpen' have a very similar effect when using the right settings. try these:

i like these two actions because they smooth everything out nicely, but keep it sharp at the same time! i always run butter before i run smooth sharp, however butter may leave you with 2 layers. make sure to merge these layers before running smooth sharp to achieve the full effect.

here's a before and after (of the photoshop action):

from here you can move on to step 2

before anything else i want to share the template that i use to make editing a lot faster. you don't need to use it but it's definitely made things a lot easier for me! it's a .psd file and will work perfectly in photopea

download (simfileshare)

if you're using the template you can skip right on to the next section, as it's already cropped to the right size and has the colouring folder included. just drag your screenshot into it and resize to fit the height.

if you're not using it, crop your edited screenshot to:

1707 width x 1280 height

then adjust the colours to your liking. it always varies slightly depending on the picture but my regular process for each screenshot would be:

up the saturation by 8%

up the lightness by 3%

up the contrast by 12%

all of this can be done by looking in the 'images > adjustments' tab

you should end up with something similar to this!

if you want to add a moodlet or social interaction or anything similar, it's all the same process. what you'll need is a screenshot of it straight from the game. i just press the 'c' key to capture them! i'll be working with these two:

for the blue notification i'm going to select it using the box select tool. try to get it as exact as possible. one you have it selected

for photoshop users:

click on the 'select and mask...' option located at the top

adjust the global refinements at the side as follows:

smooth: 70 feather: 0.0px contrast: 50% shift edge: 0%

for photopea users:

go to select > modify > smooth

set it to 15

select 'ok' and press 'ctrl + c' to copy it, then 'ctrl + v' to paste it into your screenshot. adjust the size and position and you should end up with something like this:

next you want to add the transparent border around the notification. if you're using my editing template, right click on the reference notif in the layers tab and select 'copy layer style' (photopea > 'layer style > copy'). from there you can paste that layer style onto your own notif through the layers tab.

if you're not using the template, here's how to set it up on photoshop:

right click your notification layer and select 'blending options'

under styles, tick the checkboxes for stroke and drop shadow

input these settings:

on photopea, it should be more or less the same. repeat the exact same process with the social menu option, but instead of selecting it with the box select tool, use the magic select tool. in the end you should end out with this!

from here you're finished! thanks for reading! go to file and export as png

if you've got questions never hesitate to ask, just make sure to read the faq in my pinned. i might edit this post soon to include the gen intro traits and aspirations bit, but this is all for now. hope it helps, my editing process post has been in need of a revamp for a very long time. i haven't proof-read this so apologies for any mistakes!

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 tutorial #5 anons in my inbox asking the same question after not reading my faq #this ones for you #3 anons in my inbox asking about cas pics #ones coming for you soon #okay maybe not soon but sometime #all my free time has been eaten up #i signed up for extra saturday morning classes and not having a lie in is sucking the life out of me lmao #when i'm busy i just wanna play video games and when i get the chance #to play games i just wanna sleep #its a vicious cycle #i'm currently playing resident evil biohazard tho #enjoying it very very much #i've only got 2 and 3 left to play and i've played every mainstream re game 💪💪#it was a very fun journey! i played them all within this year #long post

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