#[gestures vaguely at succession] look how they did it!!

[luciddownloading]

Tarot Reading (Pick A Card): What Are Their Current Intentions? 💌

Hey, everyone. I am back for another Tarot reading today. I took some time away from this blog and doing readings because I needed to self-care, to reflect and regroup. But, now I'm back! So, let's get into it.

Today, we are going to be looking at your person's current intentions. Meaning what do they want out of this connection, what do they want to give you and what actions do they plan on taking. Remember that energy can always change. I will give it to you honest, per usual, but try not to either get too frustrated by a reading or overly idealize a situation because of a reading you receive, either. My motto for love readings is "don't stress, don't obsess".

Also, on Patreon, I will be doing an extended reading where we will see what will happen the next time you see your person. So, if you're interested in joining me over there, the link to the extended will be at the end of each pile's reading.

I am also not taking reversals because I tried to earlier and the energy just felt very off. I feel like I have just gotten into such a groove of not taking them that I am probably just not meant to for awhile.

Anyway, choose the image or images below that you are most drawn to. The theme for today: birds. Why? Because a little birdie is going to tell me what your person's intentions are. Lol idk. Sometimes, I just choose what's most aesthetically pleasing to me in the moment.

As always, trust your intuition. It will tell you if you have chosen the right pile or if there are messages here for you. 💚

PILE 1

PILE 2

PILE 3

PILE 4

PILE 1

Knight of Cups

(clarified by: Seven of Swords)

Judgement

(clarified by: The Star)

Three of Pentacles

(clarified by: The Tower)

Queen of Pentacles (back of the deck)

Pile 1, I have the feeling that your person has some explaining to do! I think, in the past, they played around on you quite a bit. This could have been a situationship that never went anywhere, an unfulfilling relationship or even some kind of unrequited love situation. Regardless, there was some sort of major ending. A fall out. A bridge burned, even, for some of you. And I actually think it was good for you. Even though it was painful, ending things with this person was very empowering for you. I am getting that phrase "may the bridges I burn light my way". You kind of feel like you're in unbothered mode, moving on, while this person is still very much hurting over this.

So, what are their current intentions? Well, they want you back. I say that because I am hearing the Nsync song I Want You Back. But, I get the feeling from you that this is vaguely amusing or even hilarious and ridiculous. Even though they are planning on making this romantic gesture, I don't know how successful it will be and they don't either. I guess we will see in the extended! But, the thing I am feeling is that they really did something to disrespect you or take you for granted. They may have even lied in some way. At the very least, they hurt you unnecessarily and it's no one's fault but theirs. You know that and, if it's any comfort, they know it, too.

Tbh, I am definitely getting "third party" energy here. And I feel like this went one of two ways. They may have chose someone else over you and this person turned out to, honestly, be a total nightmare. The connection definitely feels karmic and in that very painful way that karmic relationships can be. They may not have realized what they were signing up for with this person til they were in it. Also, maybe this person isn't overly toxic but the situation is just very unstable. One of the reasons why is... you. Which is funny because you kind of have the energy of the "now why am I in it?" meme. You aren't in this relationship and you aren't pursuing this person. But, this karmic knows how much your person loves you, maybe through suspicion or an intuitive sense. They know they can't compare and it's something that makes them very insecure.

I see you as this Queen of Pentacles to your person. Regardless of your gender, you are a very feminine being who has a stabilizing, nurturing effect on them. In fact, this might become a bit of an issue because they could project their mother complex on to you, sometimes. It's easy for you to fall into that but I think you have been working on it. You have been learning to put yourself and your needs first. You could have birth chart placements in Earth: Taurus, Virgo or Capricorn. As caring and sensitive as you are, you are also very sensible. And that level head has allowed you to set very firm boundaries now with this person.

But, I will say that you don't have to necessarily burn a bridge with this person. And if you have, you can rebuild it. You can be firm and strong yet still kind. There is hope for this connection but it's also up to you and your free will. This person used their free will to choose someone else. So, you can use your free will to choose yourself, if you want. It's funny because I am not getting a lot about THEIR intentions because, in the end, your Guides want you to remember that this is up to you. Even though you feel a powerful connection with this person, even though they want you back, you get to choose what path you want.

I also get the feeling that this person is far from ready. They are trying to get ready. And maybe you don't want to wait around for that. But, they are going through some massive changes and that is destined, whether you end up together or not. You were the catalyst for that. But, they are a little too focused on getting you back, as if you are this goal or prize. And to quote the legendary Princess Jasmine, you are not a prize to be won! It may be especially messy because they might still be with this third party. BUT, I don't think they will come forward to you with this romantic offer until it's done. It may end in a very dramatic fashion, though. Actually, I think it most likely will end that way lol.

They still have a lot to learn. They are this Knight of Cups. They want to be emotionally available to you but they are still not quite mature enough yet. They could definitely have Water placements in their chart: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces. Scorpio, most likely, is coming through strongly. (They could also have Aquarius energy or you could) They are highly secretive in a lot of ways and the biggest thing they need to work on is honest, open communication without fear of vulnerability. They are not there yet but they're working in it. When they finally come forward, it will lead to a revelation of their true feelings toward you. But, it's going to take a lot of effort from them.

What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out

EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 1

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PILE 2

The Hierophant

(clarified by: The Empress)

Five of Swords

(clarified by: Knight of Wands)

Five of Wands

(clarified by: The Lovers)

Two of Wands (back of the deck)

Pile 2, your person is feeling this very restless desire to move toward you. This is something that seems to be affecting everything they do. It's like no matter what they do, their attention drifts back to you. But, not really in a daydreamy sort of way. More so in the sense that this person wants to take action toward you and move out of the current place they're in. For some of you, they may actually be thinking about moving to where you are, as this could be long distance. That's how serious they are about you.

That may be pretty shocking to you. I say that because a) this feels like a situation that's in separation and that you haven't spoken to this person in a long time and b) they've never been the serious type before. I see them as this Knight of Wands figure. They could have Aries, Leo or Sagittarius placements in their chart. They are very fiery and more on the masculine side. They were either a major player when you were in their life or they were rather insensitive and self-centered. Somehow, they really hurt you. Maybe treated you like an option, maybe were very reckless with your feelings. They could have even just rejected you or not given you the time of day because they were too busy chasing after other people. This person is very attractive and charismatic and is used to love interests flocking to them. But, in the midst of all that, they failed to appreciate the one who mattered most: you.

I said all of that because I do think this person is constantly thinking back to that period when you were in their life and evaluating their mistakes. I'm hearing, "I was such an asshole". Well, I won't argue there lol. I also think that, at one point, they had a choice between you and someone else. Or something else. Maybe not necessarily a person but a lifestyle or something. Maybe they chose their immaturity and BS over you. Regardless, you walked away from them once it proved to be too much. And I think they are striving very hard to learn from these past mistakes.

There is a lot of fear they harbor over you moving on and finding someone else. Maybe you already have and they know that via word of mouth or social media. Regardless, they want to be better than your other options. Because, let's be real, YOU have plenty of options to choose from and I think this person either forgot that or didn't fully realize that. On some level, they were convinced that they were the prize. Well, I think you've effectively flipped that script on them. Because they are seeing you as The Empress: a very feminine individual who is absolutely gorgeous, from the inside out, and high-value. (You may have Taurus or Libra placements, especially Taurus). They are feeling super-attracted to you and I get the sense that you are deliberating leaning more into your Empress power and they can energetically sense that. And it's making you wildly magnetic to this person, more than ever.

Their intentions are basically to cuff you, to lock you down into a commitment. But, of course, whether or not you say yes to this is up to you. I feel like you actually wanted a real commitment with them at one point and made yourself available and they either rejected you or took you for granted or both. But, now, it's like they are on the same page now that you were then. Does that matter to you now, though? The song Too Little Too Late by Jojo is coming through. Listen to the lyrics. This may either be how you feel or what they fear you're going to tell them. However, I don't think they are willing to give this up without a fight. And they are very intent on showing you how much they want this and how much they will fight for it. How you respond is up to you.

I do think this is a very significant connection and, at one point, you saw this person as "the one". They are definitely a soulmate of some kind. Possibly even that label that rhymes with "schwin schlame", if you ascribe to that. But, just remember that these types of connections do not necessarily have to end up in union. This is more of guidance for you. Trust whatever your heart is telling you, in regards to this situation, and don't be overly attached to an outcome or a preconceived notion of your future with this person.

What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out

EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 2

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PILE 3

Six of Cups

(clarified by: Two of Wands)

The Lovers

(clarified by: Queen of Pentacles)

Three of Cups

(clarified by: Ace of Swords)

King of Wands (back of the deck)

Pile 3, the energy here is so interesting. First of all, I wouldn't be surprised if you were also drawn to Pile 1. But, only check it out if you were truly drawn to it. This is another energy, though. A different person from that pile. It's a new person that you either haven't met yet or you have just recently met. If you haven't met them yet, you will very soon and I also feel as if you FEEL them already. Maybe you're having dreams about them or getting signs or confirmations. Either way, this is definitely someone a part of your soul family. You have had past lives with them and they're a soulmate. Like, a high level soulmate. They are this King of Wands figure: a very masculine individual who has healthy confidence, mature strength and is a leader. They likely have placements in Fire: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.

Keep in mind that readings can be futuristic, on occasion, or tell us how a connection will play out in the near future. So, if you haven't met this person yet, they will feel this way about you soon after. Maybe they already do, to some extent, because they already have their eye on you or just sense you subconsciously. But, if you have recently met them, this is how they are feeling now and what their intentions are now. If neither of this situations apply, this may not be your pile. Because I am getting this new and fresh kind of energy from them. It doesn't feel like anyone from the past.

Anyway, with that in mind, their intentions are pretty simple. Powerful but simple. They just want you to be with them. This is someone who knows what they want. I say that because two songs came through just now: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys and I Wanna Get To Know You by G Unit. So, yeah, very straightforward! Lol and that will be the refreshing thing about this person. They will be that healthy masculine counterpart who knows how to go after what they want and put in effort consistently. And I get the feeling that most of you are not used to such behavior from the masculines you've been with in the past.

The Queen of Pentacles also came up in Pile 1. And this is you, regardless of if you're male or female. You are a very feminine being who has a very grounded, comforting, and abundant energy. You could have personal placements in Earth: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn. They see you in this way. They see your beauty and your value. However, they aren't just going to think this or say this. They want to SHOW you how much they value you. They want you to feel chosen and appreciated. They intend to show you that you're their top priority.

It's like they have always known you existed and always knew you were out there. Like their heart was holding out for someone like you, throughout all their disappointing romantic experiences, and that belief in love kept them going. For a select number of you, this is someone you knew while growing up or in high school or college who you are reconnecting with. And maybe you didn't see each other in a romantic light then but you can see it now. Kind of like Simba and Nala in The Lion King. Something about lions or Africa could be significant. One or both of you could have Leo energy or be of African descent. I am also getting that this could have been a friend or a sibling in a past life that you're coming together with romantically in this life. Don't let the latter possibility freak you out. Relationships can shift like that on the soul's journey.

Also, this person is a lot of fun. They may see you as a blast, too, and want to be very social with you. I can really see you on their arm at social events. This person is very attractive, very charming and they have lots of admirers, platonically and romantically. And they are going to want to show you off because they see you as an equal match. I also think they know that people will love you and will find you as funny and smart and fascinating as they do. You will meet a lot of new people through this individual.

In my reading in Your Future Romantic Partner, there was a pile about you being with someone in the public eye, in some capacity. If you picked that pile, this is probably that person. They really have that it factor! And, in terms of their relationship with you, they really want to be the best partner they can be for you. This will be a very harmonious and fulfilling union, if you choose it. That doesn't mean it will be perfect or that they're perfect, though. And things going so well may trigger your "flight response" because you're so used to being let down. You're not used to being appreciated this much and treated this well. But, you deserve it! So, don't run from it. If those fears or insecurities rise up, just deal with them and let them go. You don't want to miss out in something great just because it's foreign territory. (Speaking of which, they also may be of a different nationality than you or live in another country and have a different accent than you)

What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out

EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 3

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PILE 4

Ten of Wands

(clarified by: Nine of Pentacles)

Nine of Wands

(clarified by: Ace of Swords)

Five of Cups

(clarified by: Judgement)

Eight of Pentacles (back of the deck)

Pile 4, it feels like your person is hanging on by a thread. They are going through a highly stressful time and it feels like much of this stressed is self-induced. They have been putting way too much on their plate and they are reaching a point of burnout. This is someone who is a hard worker, to the point of being a workaholic, and they are learning that they can't just bury themselves in work to avoid their problems. Because, you know, that only makes your problems worse. And I think they have done this in order to avoid thinking about you, even though they have strong feelings for you.

Something happened here that made you guys fall out of touch. Maybe you had a falling out or you just lost touch. I feel like there was some sort of big misunderstanding that caused this or there was a sense that things that were left unsaid. It's really interesting because the energy here is kind of... vague. I think this is maybe someone who never expressed their feelings or romantic interest to you whatsoever. And for a long time, you had no idea that they felt that way toward you. Maybe until you chose this pile lol. Or probably sometime recently. You might have learned it from another Tarot reading or just a sudden epiphany/download. Take it as it resonates. But, when I am doing these readings, I usually get a sense of the "story" involved. Here, it doesn't feel like that because I think you spent a lot of time very unaware of this person's feelings for you and how that was driving their actions and decisions.

So, yeah, this definitely feels like a former friend or co-worker who was a secret admirer. For most of you, they're not in your life anymore. And if they are, you are at a distance and not really communicating. But, either way, they really want that line of communication to open again. And they also have this strong desire to be with you. Or, at least, to confess their feelings to you. It is this burden that is weighing on them very heavily. That is actually a part of their stress. They aren't able to get those feelings off their chest and that's very burdensome. They are looking at you as the Nine of Pentacles, so you may have Earth placements (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) in your chart. (A very Earthy reading today) They are kind of putting you on a pedestal and idealizing you as this really beautiful, really valuable being that they want but can't have.

Something about pursuing you would have been "wrong", in their mind. For many of you, this is someone who is married or in a serious relationship. It also could have been a co-worker or someone at your job who didn't want to cross professional lines with you. But, whatever the case, they really regret not going for it. If they're with someone else, I don't think it's a happy situation. In fact, I think it's very codependent and a public show of happiness instead of something genuine. They definitely could be one of those couples who are always posting pics together on Instagram but are actually disconnected and miserable together in real life. But, it's all a part of this image of a perfectly successful life this person has always strived for. And they are starting to see how hollow that can be.

So, I am not getting a lot about intentions toward you. Like, yes, they want you but they are not ready to do anything any time soon. They have a lot they need to release to do so. I think this person will undergo some massive shifts in the near future, whether that's totally changing careers or leaving their current partner. They are in resistance mode still, though, too afraid of change. I am hearing Let It Happen by Tame Impala. They need to just let go and stop trying to control everything in their life. They have all these preconceived notions about the life that they "should" be leading and that has always hele them back.

They are also thinking frequently about you because they admire how you live your life. While they seem like the codependent type in relationships, you are much more independent. You also don't care much about others' approval in the way that they do. They would love some of that to rub off on them. Even though they want to be with you, a part of them also wants to be you. Like I said, the energy here is very different. I can't even gauge much about how you feel about them because I just don't think this is something at the forefront of your mind. But, maybe it will take you by surprise. Sometimes, great connections can happen out of the blue with the people we least expect.

What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out

EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 4

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Thanks for stopping by! You can check out my other readings and posts here:

MASTER LIST

#tarot #tarot reading #channeled message #astrology observations #channeled song #tarot love reading #twin flame reading #twin flame #divine counterpart #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #soulmate reading

[robobee]

if trc was a visual medium and I was a tiktoker i would go insane talking about quiet luxury and how Declan and Adam both fall into this position of people with OBJECTIVELY less money compared to their peers and how both of them are trying to replicate luxury (ie: clothing=persona/identity) to varying levels of success. adam wears old gifts from the ganseys and declan is very clearly called out by other characters to be overcompensating. neither are fully seamless and even though thats not an overt plot point it is DEFINITELY very significant since plenty of their story beats echo each other down to their relationship with ronan, who is a different fashion debate (eg. how punk can you get off of a bank account you dont need to look at and a shaved head which needs to be constantly maintained and a BMW you stole w no repurcussion). again I DO think stief implies fascinating plot points that she doesn't focus on but her display of class and economic variation is very very cool & obviously people w more context of specific USAmerican culture can have this debate better than I can

editing to link the video that finally helped me put this thought into words

#since we don't have a visual representation yet & i refuse to acknowledge stief's art I'm just gonna mention some hcs #i think all of us are pretty set on what gansey looks/wears #my interest comes from declan. i dont believe his suits are made to fit. theyre tailored MAYBE but not made for him #and visually putting him in these political spaces where the suit has such value is. Gahhh #[gestures vaguely at succession] look how they did it!! #this gorg author i saw said that the working class cant attain quiet luxury bc we dont have the Breeding for it #and declan exists as a first generation very new money individual as compared to gansey or even henry #(on that note gansey and henry have different kinds of wealth but frankly i believe there IS a millions/billions differential there) #but again. not enough information to yap #but. Very cool #trc

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

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

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

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

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

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

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

You were Helion’s daughter. 

You were… you were his sister.

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

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

“Half-sister… technically.” 

“I don’t go by halves.” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re my sister!” 

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

He gently deposited you back on solid ground.

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

He had a sister. A sister. 

“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”

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

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

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

He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.

“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.” 

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

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

And he missed you. Gods did he miss you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare! Lucien!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know about that?”

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

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

“And why not?” 

Azriel hesitated. 

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

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

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

He was already in love with you. 

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

Elain smiled, still staring towards the river. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eight.” 

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

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

“And what experience do you have with males?”

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

You bristled. “Enough.” 

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

“How many this time?” 

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

He was grinning. 

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

“This is a terrible idea.” 

“Come on!”

“I will kill a fish, Lucien.” 

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

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

“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.” 

Wrong.

You were gods awful at this. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doing very well!” 

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re wrong!” 

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

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

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

“He didn’t know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good day?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not that old.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach dropped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What were the second and third times then?” 

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

Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return. 

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

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

His grip tightened around his silverware. 

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

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

“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not trembling—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were already holding them in your hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah I got her.

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

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

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

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

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

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

Oh… Oh shit. 

“Wait—Lucien!”

Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was nothing like that. 

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

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

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

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

“Lucien! Stop it!”

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

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

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

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

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

The River House sighed in relief. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh Azriel,” you breathed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For fuck’s sake.” 

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

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

“No. It’s not.” 

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

“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook. 

“Do I know what, Lucien?” 

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

Fucking hell. You didn’t know.

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Lucien!” 

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

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

Of all the people. It had to be him. 

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

“Unfortunately for me.” 

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

A peace offering. 

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

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

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

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

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

[theresawritesstuff]

MidgeLenny: “Less apologizing. More kissing.”

(this one got steamy)

New Year's Eve 1960

She slipped quietly up to the open bar, her sights set more on the familiar figure standing there than they were on procuring herself a cocktail.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She smirked to herself at the surprise on his face as Lenny turned around, her sneak attack successful.

Still, she kept her tone casual. "Would have thought you'd be ringing in the new year on a beach somewhere instead of back in another blizzard."

Lenny chuckled, waving the bartender over for her. "Beaches are overrated."

She arched a curious brow at him, waiting to see if he felt like giving her any further explanation.

He smiled sheepishly, continuing, "Gordon invited all the guests of the show that were on this past year. My manager thought it would be a good idea. Try to play nice and all that."

"I see," she replied, accepting her martini from the bartender.

He leaned an elbow on the bar, coming in a little closer. "The real question is what brings you here? Because I am quite certain I would have remembered seeing you next to that desk."

She took a swig from her glass. "I work here."

"No kidding."

"Yep. Gordon's resident lady writer as of about a month ago."

His brow quirked, considering his reply.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"So we should look forward to seeing you take your rightful place in the guest chair in the coming new year," he surmised.

Midge let out a humorless chuckle. "That was the idea the way Susie pitched it. Unfortunately, it would seem my comedy was not the set Gordon was interested in when he hired me."

Lenny hummed a monosyllabic reply into his drink.

A brief note conveying so much. Disapproval of her boss being a slime ball, understanding why he was, and how much it must suck for her to deal with day to day…

Honestly she was used to having to make men take her seriously for more than her looks. She'd been doing it her whole life.

She just hadn't realized how much worse it would feel, how much lonelier she would feel facing it after having someone see her, value her, adore her for all that she was like Lenny had…

"Speak of the devil…" Lenny murmured, noting Gordon approaching from across the room.

"Ah fuck." Midge downed the rest of her martini, bracing herself.

His brow lifted almost imperceptibly at the sudden shift in her posture.

She glanced up at him tentatively. "Know any good excuses a gal can use to get out of dancing with her boss?"

He exhaled thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder to gauge Gordon's arrival.

"I might know one," he replied. "But you'll have to trust me."

"I always have."

He looked into her eyes then, struck by how immediate and decisive her answer had come.

He didn't have the chance to comment.

"Lenny! Good to see you again," her boss greeted warmly, an empty champagne glass in his hand.

"Gordon." Lenny nodded curtly into his whiskey.

"I see you've met our latest addition to the writers room," Gordon commented.

Lenny smirked, setting his glass aside. "Well I generally try to seek out the funniest person in the room at these shindigs for the sake of my sanity."

His arm wrapped around her, hand settling on her hip in a gesture that skirted the line between friendly and just a little bit possessive.

She was more than happy to let him, already feeling that much safer.

"Lenny's an old friend," she explained vaguely, drifting comfortably closer to further illustrate the point.

God he smelled good…

Gordon blinked. "I didn't realize you two were acquainted."

Lenny fought back what she knew to be a very bad smile. "You could say that."

"Uh-huh…" Gordon set his glass on the bar, obviously having a hard time reconciling this fact. "How exactly did you two meet?" 

"Hebrew school," Midge replied brightly, placing a hand along Lenny's back.

Lenny almost broke but covered his laughter by clearing his throat.

Just then the band picked back up, playing the strains of a familiar tune.

"'Scuse us," Lenny smirked, taking the excuse to lead her away out onto the makeshift dance floor.

"There. Consider your dance card full," he drawled.

Midge shook her head, smiling as her hand found its familiar hold at the back of his neck.

"That was your plan. 'I asked her first'?" she laughed.

"I did ask you first," he reminded her. "Back in Miami."

"Ah yes, when I had a hair out of place. You didn't ask, by the way. Just told me that we were going to after a lot of staring."

"The question was implied," he chuckled at her ribbing. "Either way, it worked."

"Yes it did."

All too well she was afraid to admit.

"How am I doing now? I haven't lost a step, have I?"

His tone was playful but she could tell what he was really asking. 

Were they okay now? Or has things at Carnegie ruined his chances with her?

"Oh I think you'll pass," she assured him. "Only way to find out is to keep dancing, though."

"That worried Gordon would try to cut in?" he chuckled, holding her a little tighter.

"Not really. I just…"

A blush crept into her cheeks as she considered the feeling of her hand in his.

"It's nice dancing with you again," she admitted.

"I concur."

He brought her arm up gently, holding it steady just as he had before.

He swayed her quietly for a while before commenting, "You know, we never did find out when they scheduled the ritual sacrifices, did we."

She let out a laugh, resting her head against his collarbone as she recovered. "No I suppose we didn't."

"Something to keep us awake at night," he mused.

As if they needed any more of that.

She looked up to study his face. 

He looked good. Healthy. A little more color to his face than when she'd seen him last. But there was a look behind his eyes she knew all too well. 

"How are you really doing, Lenny?"

He smirked, shrugging in her arms. "Oh you know…Trying to balance work and being a parent, constantly hearing my mother criticize my choices in both."

"I know the feeling…" she murmured.

"It's good though. Or it will be, I think. Eventually. Except..."

He let out a sigh, suddenly looking self conscious.

"Sometimes I still find myself missing the snow. I've grown sort of fond of it."

She smiled softly, looking out at the eddies swirling past the windows. 

"Me too."

One dance led into another.

They talked about their kids, about work, about life, and sometimes not at all if only just to enjoy not having anything funny to say, until the hours on the clock dwindled away.

She'd missed him. God had she missed him.

Judging by the way his hands never left her, she had a feeling he'd missed her too.

A few more songs and another trip to the bar had her cuddled against his shoulder along the outskirts of the party, melting into his embrace, feeling content and safe and just this side of impulsive as the clock counted down.

She looked up into his eyes, fingertips trailing lazy patterns along the nape of his neck, itching to feel the soft curls just above it.

His gaze drifted to her lips and suddenly she barely registered the din of the crowded room just beyond them. 

"Five…Four…three…two…one!"

Her lips found his like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if midnight was theirs alone to share.

She felt his hand tangle in her hair and it was all she could do not to come undone.

He broke away breathlessly, his forehead resting against hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I'm not," she replied, pulling him back in hungrily.

He moaned against her lips, gripping her closer until his willpower won out and he pulled away again, just enough to speak, shaking his head. "I meant for before. How we left things. I should have called. I should have–"

“Lenny. Less apologizing. More kissing," she insisted.

He nodded, shutting up in favor of letting her nibble on his lower lip, pressing her against the wall.

A chorus of auld langs ide reminded them belatedly that they were not in fact entirely alone.

"I don't suppose you know somewhere a little more private we could go…" he ventured.

Midge bit back a smirk, slipping her hand into his as she led him out the door and out into the hall.

His lips were on hers in an instant, following blindly as they retreated, eventually finding their way into an unlocked office.

They tumbled down onto the soft leather couch, hands roaming in search of skin.

"Missed you," she whispered between kisses as she straddled his lap. "Missed this."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as his hand teased its way up her thigh. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

She was just about to get to work on his belt buckle when the door to the office clicked open.

Mike blinked at them from the doorway, wobbling slightly on his feet.

"Midge?"

She didn't think to move. It was all she could do not to break into a fit of giggles. 

Gordon had sprung for the good champagne.

"Yeah?"

"What're you doing in George's office?" the booker asked.

Lenny cleared his throat.

"Me, I believe was the intent," he quipped, still pinned beneath her, looking rather disheveled and happy for her efforts.

Mike craned his neck slightly, squinting into the dimly lit room. "Oh, hey Lenny."

"Thanks for the invite."

"What are you doing in George's office, Mike?" Midge wondered, hoping it would be enough to distract him away from having a word with human resources when he sobered up.

"I was gonna throw up in his desk," he admitted without remorse.

Midge let out a laugh. "Okay then."

She got to her feet, righting the hem of her dress before helping Lenny to his feet.

"You want us to stick around to hold your hair back? Get you some water or anything like that?" she asked.

Mike had become somewhat of a begrudging friend since she was hired. Sort of a grumpy adopted older brother figure.

He was a good guy.

She figured it was the least she could do to offer.

The fact that it made it less likely that he'd rat her and Lenny out was beside the point.

"Nah," Mike waved her off. "You kids have fun…Just not here."

Lenny gave the other man a lazy salute, taking Midge by the hand. 

"So… Where to now?" he asked once they were out in the hall.

Midge smiled, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. "That depends. Are you going to run away again if I bring you back to the upper west side?"

He shook his head, grinning as he tucked a loose strand of hair back in place behind her ear.

"Not a chance."

#Midgelenny #midge x lenny #tmmm fic #Woke up early this morning and finally broke out of my writing funk

[btwn2lungs]

"I'm home", Kazuki calls out as he steps into the apartment, a sleeping Miri cradled carefully against his chest.

She had a long day full of running and laughing at the annual fair the elementary school held. Hell, Kazuki had a long day too considering he planned, organised, and baked fifteen different pastries for the damn thing. Really the whole month had been long but he expected as much, what with being head of the Parent Teacher Association and all. But he was happy to be busy and more than willing to be present for any and all of Miri´s school events. He had more time now.

They had more time.

And thank God for Rei, Kazuki thought to himself as he gently laid Miri on the couch, pulling a blanket over her. He sank down onto the couch beside her and closed his eyes, happy to finally rest his back after running around all day.

If it wasn't for Rei´s help this past month, Kazuki is sure he would have pulled his hair out or worse: get premature grey hair. Kazuki liked to plan but between the event, taking care of Miri, and the usual household chores, it was a lot to take on by himself. He was thankful he didn't have to.

Despite his initial eagerness and the overwhelming satisfaction of another successful day, Kazuki was glad the day was finally over. He had woken up before the sun rose to finish some last minute baking and his phone had been ringing nonstop since 7:00am with last minute preparation questions from the moms. If it wasn't for Rei´s help with getting Miri up and dressed, preparing her breakfast and entertaining her with a few rounds of Morio Kart while Kazuki rushed around the house in a frenzy, he's sure he would have been late.

Kazuki barely had time to brush his teeth and put on clean clothes let alone clean up the monstrous mess he had made in the kitchen. Kazuki was a "clean as you go" type of guy but this morning proved to be quite the exception.

"Fuck," Kazuki groans under his breath. "The kitchen."

Visions of the catastrophe he had left behind had been plaguing him all morning but they were soon replaced with the present chaos that was decorations, tables and chairs, children and parents alike milling around like ants through the school grounds.

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments longer, bracing himself for the disaster only a few meters away from him. When he finally stood up and faced the kitchen, he was convinced he was hallucinating. How he hadn't noticed before was beyond him.

There was no mess in the kitchen. In fact, the kitchen, and the living room too he now realised, having whipped his head around so fast he felt dizzy, were arguably cleaner than they had been all month (hey, between this shit, a kid, and Rei having recently started his physical therapy, some things had to be deprioritised. Sue him).

He turns back around to the kitchen (slowly this time) and notices that not only is it spotless, but the dining table is set for three, a bouquet of roses in the middle, and a white envelop placed on his side of the table.

Kazuki had never been so confused in his life. Was this an early sign of dementia? He needed to sit down.

As he was about to do just that, Rei walks in the front door with a box of pizza under his left arm.

"Oh, you got here before me", Rei says, toeing his shoes off at the door.

"Uh," was all Kazuki could manage to respond. He gestures vaguely around the apartment. "What happened here?"

Rei places the pizza on the dining table and shrugs nonchalantly but there's a hint of mirth in his eyes that Kazuki doesn't quite understand.

"I cleaned", Rei says casually. And while Rei has been helping out significantly more in the past couple of years, he cant help the look of disbelief that crosses his face.

"You," Kazuki starts and then stops. "How did you....When did you," he glances quickly at Rei´s right arm, newly freed from its splint, and back up to Rei who is now standing over Miri with a soft look in his eyes.

"You had physical therapy today," Kazuki tries again.

It was still early in his sessions. 90 minutes a day, three times a week. Usually Kazuki drove Rei to and from therapy, more at his own insistence than Rei´s but Kazuki had reluctantly agreed to let Rei manage his appointments for the month. Just for this month, Kazuki had insisted.

It was the reason Rei couldn't join them at the fair today.

"I did," Rei says, looking at Kazuki from the side of the couch with that same amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I had some time."

Kazuki narrows his eyes at him, knowing that couldn't possibly be true let alone physically possibly at this stage in Rei´s recovery but he doesn't push the point.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth as they say.

"That still doesn't explain the flowers or the card or the pizza. I thought we agreed to save pizza for the weekends. I could have cooked us something."

Ah, apparently he will look that gift horse in the mouth after all.

The amusement in Rei´s eyes doesn't lessen, if anything it grows brighter and Kazuki is getting a little frustrated at feeling like a joke is being played on him, at the thought of Rei exhausting himself over Kazuki's mess.

"Do you know what today is?," Rei asks carefully. And Kazuki really doesn't understand what he's getting at. Of course he knows what day it is.

"Its Wednesday. Physical Therapy day, School Fair day, trash day," Kazuki replies matter-of-factly. His eyes have been glued to his calendar since the start of the school year, keeping close tabs on Miri´s school events and extracurriculars and Rei´s physical therapy and doctor appointments.

Hell at this point he probably didn't need the calendar anymore, each event, day and time, so vividly burned into the front his mind.

Of course he knows what fucking day it is, what kind of question —

"Its our anniversary."

And holy shit, maybe Kazuki needed his calendar more than he thought. Anniversary? Of all the things, how could Kazuki forget something as significant as their first anniversary? He felt dizzy again. Had he been standing this whole time?

Rei must notice the internal reprimand Kazuki is giving himself because he walks over to Kazuki and gingerly walks him over to the dinner table, pulling out a chair for him to sit down.

"Rei, I am so sorry. I—," Kazuki tries to explain but stops at the feeling a feather light kiss at the top of his head. Kazuki had been spluttering all night, but that got him to finally shut up. That seemed to be Rei´s intention if the smug look on his face was anything to go by.

"You had a busy day. I wanted to do something for you." Rei takes his hand as he sits across from him at the table. Rei was generally soft spoken but he always seemed to lower his voice in moments like this, barely a whisper; eyes focused intently on their clasped hands above the table. "You deserve nice things, Kazuki."

Kazuki is really at a loss of words now. He did not think he deserved nice things, could barely believe he had any nice things at all: a roof over his head, a family, love. He especially didn't feel deserving of nice things after forgetting one of the most important days of his life. And we wanted to argue that point but the sound of Miri´s voice made the words die on his tongue.

"Pizza!" She squeals running excitedly up to the box that sat at the opposite end of where Kazuki and Rei sat at the table.

"Lets wash our hands first Miri," Rei says as he begins to stand, taking his hand away from Kazuki´s. Kazuki frowns slightly at the loss.

Miri giggles as she runs into the bathroom to wash her hands.

"I got your favourite," Rei offers as he goes to join Miri in the bathroom. "But only on half because pineapple on pizza is gross."

And Kazuki laughs so hard that he starts crying. Of course it's those words that make Kazuki burst into tears.

Maybe for today, just for today, he can believe he was worthy of nice things.

------------

Nobody asked for this but @girlboyssing said "Kazurei" and "anniversary" and I became possessed. I hope you like it :)

#I offer you these words at 2:42am #more or less this was written in one go but I also felt like it was getting too long so sorry that its a mess lol #I just had to write SOMETHING FINALLY #I drank caffeine at 11pm because I was determined to work on my thesis lmfao anyways #apologising in advance for British English #buddy daddies #kazurei

[sunshineyoujustwait]

seventeen million years late to this, as usual, but now that I have five minutes to spare- better late than never!

Tag Game:

tagged by the wonderful, talented and gorgeous @cupidskissx ily and apologies this took 5 business days to respond to

rule(s): post a snippet (however long or short or longish or shortish) from a wip !!

this is a longer snippet from a work I started ages ago and completely forgot about, I may return to it now that I remembered it exists lmao

“Do you ever wonder, like, is there supposed to be something more than this?”

Charles rolls his eyes, glancing over to where Max is laid out on his balcony, beer dangling precariously from one hand. “Max, it’s the new year, not the end of the world.” Max huffs at him, takes another sip of his beer. “That’s not what I mean, it’s just- what’s next, you know?” Charles glances longingly at the glass double doors leading back into the apartment, wonders if Max would notice if he just dipped from this entire conversation. Lando and Carlos are playing beer pong, and it’s suddenly looking very appealing.  He sighs, turning back to the blonde beside him. “What’s next for you is probably more race wins, maybe a third championship.” Charles tries not to sound bitter, he’s not sure how successful he is.  “Sorry,” Max winces a little. “I know you should probably hate me right now.” I’m trying to, Charles thinks, but I can’t. It’s an unfair thought really, none of this is Max’s fault. There’s plenty of blame to go around for the mess that was last season and Max doesn’t deserve any of it. Still, it feels like it would be easier to hate him, if that was something he was capable of doing.  Max rolls over onto his stomach, narrowly avoiding falling off the hammock he’s curled himself into. “Winning is great and all, and I love racing, but it just feels a little hollow or something, lately. We fly across the world, we race, we come home, rinse and repeat, same thing every week.” Charles glances at Max where he’s sprawled out across the hammock. He looks fine, a little drunk maybe, but not like someone on the verge of an existential crisis. His hair is flopping into his eyes and Charles’ hands twitch with a sudden desire to run his fingers through the errant strands. It’s not a new feeling, exactly, it’s just that sometimes when he looks at Max under the lights like this, soft and relaxed, it makes his breath catch in his throat and his stomach whirl with an as of yet unnamed feeling.  Other times, he just wants to strangle him. “Must be nice,” he mutters, “getting sick of winning.” Max groans. “Fuck off, you know that's not what I meant. It's just that, it feels like there should be something more, you know? Someone to share it all with, lights on when you come home, that sort of thing.” Charles doesn't know, not really, but he supposes it makes sense in a way. You achieve one dream - world champion, check (twice) - then you start seeking out the next. In Max's case that seems to be some sort of cosy picket fence. Like Maslow's hierarchy of needs, but for millionaires who drive fast cars for a living.  He's still stuck on the previous step of the pyramid though, so he's not feeling entirely charitable about it right now.  “Then date, find someone, it's not that complicated.” It comes out harsher than intended, but Charles is feeling a little lost at the direction of this conversation, and the image of Max settling down is rattling around in his brain for some reason, ugly and discordant.  Max is quiet for a moment, and Charles kind of maybe feels like a bit of an asshole.  “Tried that,” he says finally. “It didn’t exactly work out.” Charles definitely feels like an asshole then, winces at the words because, yeah, he did. There’d been a ring and everything, it had been a bit messy.  “Sorry,” he tries, but Max waves him off, shrugging. "Do you not get lonely?" "I date." Max snorts at that, which- rude.  “I have racing. I like racing. I'm not-” he gestures vaguely at Max's sprawled form- “losing it because I don’t have someone waiting for me when I come home. I’m happy.” “Yeah well, I guess it just doesn’t feel the same anymore.” “What doesn’t?” “Racing.” That catches Charles’ attention, sets the alarm bells ringing in his admittedly alcohol muddled mind. There are few constants in his life but Max and racing are two of them. 

Everyone has probably been tagged by now as I'm so late but if you see this and you haven't then plz, this is your invite!! Share all the snippets !!!

#this is so chaotic apologies #but so is life #my writing #tag game #lestappen #lestappen snippet #charles leclerc #max verstappen

[lakesbian]

i guess it's hard to get a read on how much he actually cares about palatine and dauphine or reciprocates their dislike of him? also why did he say that about "sexual favors"

(this post is about the fanfiction sword and sorcery, which you should read because it's good. it's written by tumblr users shakertwelve and nonplatonicsubtext about their estateverse au, which you can read more about in the estateposting tag on tumblr user shakertwelve's blog. would i ever lie to you about a fanfic recommendation.)

ok ahem. i've posted about alec's opinions on palatine and dauphine before bc i think the dynamic potential there is hilarious and i'm so delighted that they got put into the fic. the fancy frilly little freaques are fiiiighting!

Alec Is So Entirely 100% Certainly Without Doubt more mad about palatine and dauphine than they are about him. it would frankly be more accurate to ask how much victor and amelia reciprocate his dislike, because they are living RENT fucking free in his sad little repressed brain. but, like all of his emotions, it's just not super obvious because of how repressed he is--he feels and displays everything in a very muted way. the posts i linked get into the main bits of Why He Does Not Like Them At All, but to elaborate based on analysis of what's actually in the fic:

“Regent had a run-in with them a while back, before he joined the team,” Tattletale said. “He was new to the city, so he didn’t realize what his costume choice would make people think of.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the Estate capes. “But he was doing things they don’t do and going to parts of town they stay out of, which caused some confusion. Eventually Dauphine and Palatine tracked him down to have a talk about it. It didn’t go well.”

as we can extrapolate from above, alec's history with them is like this:

he shows up to brockton bay as a severely maladapted, depressed, Generally Unwell cult-escapee on the young (and probably malnourished) side of 13 with effectively nothing to his name but his powers

as a weak cape without a team and zero social or systematic connections to turn to for help, he's forced to do very small-scale villainy just to scrape by enough to survive. and the entire time he is wearing his costume that veritably Screams "i am a special little prince please look at how wonderful i am." jesus christ he needs a hug.

these random cunts, palatine and dauphine, pull up and basically tell him to Fuck Off and stop Stealing Their Family's Schtick

these random cunts are also dressed fancy like him, and dauphine especially is someone alec would identify with fashion-wise, given that it's explicitly stated that her costume is princess-like. "Even with her elaborate costume, she looked more like a child’s princess doll than an actual princess." taylor rags on it, but it's still princess-like

this random fancy cunt, dauphine, is the daughter of...marquis, an incredibly successful, fancy villain with long hair who has a lot of money and lives in a mansion and, from alec's perspective, loves and cares about her dearly and buys her nicey clothes. and beyond just that, she has a brother who--instead of tormenting her & then laughing about it--wears a special fancy gleaming knight costume and bridal carries her around and is so sweet and nicey to her if anything bad happens. like, for example, alec getting pissy at her and tripping her.

we already know alec gets Insanely, Malevolently, Incandescently Jealous over someone he's engaged in hostilities w/ having a nice family. (see: him doing all that shit to sophia). we also know that he isn't very good at recognizing this jealousy in himself. (see: aisha revealing in late worm that alec only realized that he had done all that shit to sophia out of a jealous rage like a week or two later when he was talking to her about it.)

which is to say: alec sees dauphine as being Sorta Like Him, but if he had a 100% ideal family (dashing golden knight brother that takes care of her! rich fancy father who protects them and buys them nice shit! and they all live in a mansion!), and LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU. HE IS SO INSANELY JEALOUS HE HOPES THE ENTIRE ESTATE GETS HIT BY A NUCLEAR WARHEAD AND EXPLODES. ...all subconsciously, of course. he expresses this thru things like mocking her for being "a baby about a little trip" &c--insulting the vulnerability & familial care he certainly wishes he could have, while fully unaware why seeing it annoys him so much.

but i digress. keeping all of that in mind, you can see why alec would be infuriated & jealous towards them even if they were completely neutral towards him. but they weren't neutral towards him--instead, these people he views as being Like Him, But Living Out His Wildest Dreams, approached him to hassle him for accidentally appearing like he was one of them. local loving royal villain family approaches boy who is obviously projecting subconscious desire to be a beloved prince onto his costume design and goes "quit stealing our vibes," boy reacts with a parasocial grudge. his weird complexes about them shall reign eternal. he wishes he had a second, cooler palatine to beat the first, lamer palatine to death with hammers, and then bridal carry him to stand dismissively over dauphine's prostrate form as she weeps over the first, lamer palatine's corpse. and also he wants the second, cooler palatine to be hand-feeding him a bag of chips ahoy the entire time.

...i should stress again, this is alllll more or less entirely subconscious. alec doesn't know what the fuck he's feeling ever, this just comes across as a subdued vague annoyance/disdain for them.

so, why the weird "sexual favors" remark? it genuinely was not intended to be a harassing comment, nor do i think he genuinely would say he believes that marquis prostitutes his daughter if he thought about it for a second. but he does identify with dauphine in the sense that they're aesthetically similar enough for him to be extra-jealous about her. and so upon hearing "dauphine's favor," he takes the meaning of "you can have a favor from my kid" he's most used to as a child who was prostituted by his own villain father, and he projects it onto her. if i want to read into it beyond that, i think he might be unconsciously/impulsively trying to poke a hole in their family--a sort of [hopeful] "marquis sucks :)?" where he'd like to hear that marquis isn't as much of an envy-worthy dad as alec thought. meanwhile from the estate's perspective he was just a creep for no fucking reason. there are other, far more important things for lisa to be paying attention to during this scene, so i don't think she was wasting any time reading alec, but if she Was she certainly would've gotten a good show of severe mental unwellness.

#ask #parahumans #wormblr #worm spoilers #scarf don't look

[raggydraws]

This Reminds me of College

Surya and Tabatha attempting to teach themselves Merikih to varying degrees of success Tags: Surya & Farmer, Potentially OOC, Tabatha has ADHD and is HYPERFOCUSED on Merfolk, Surya and Tabby are best friends, Author doesn't write often please be nice, HC: Surya knows about the Merfolk because that lab is small and there's no way he doesn't, an attempt at Indonesian words, Gen Fic, Surya and Tabby are both smart individuals but hanging out with your friends can and will kill brain cells for the lols, No Beta we die like Pufferfish, Merikih is italicized

If Dr. Jiang had tried to keep the existence of merfolk from Surya; she hadn’t tried very hard. Given the fact he’d been standing right behind her, also looking through the monitor eyes of Kibble, when Tabatha had stumbled upon two of them didn’t help.

Of course he immediately swore himself to secrecy about them, Dr. Jiang, er, Ling as she insisted, hadn’t even gotten the chance to argue why they shouldn’t go blathering about it to the whole island. It just made sense not to. Her entire research basis, the solar pillars and the super corals, hells, the oil spill itself and the presence of the monstrous company that caused it in his new home alone kept his mouth shut.

Talk and innocent people would probably die. Morbid.

Plus it would’ve really put a dent into the bet about Dr. Ling he had going with Tabatha.

The farmer in question had also resurfaced and crossed town in record time to come yell their own arguments about keeping a closed lid on the existence of merfolk. How they had done so when Surya had seen them get winded walking upstairs would forever be a mystery to him.

But they’d all gotten through it, swore themselves to never speak of it again, especially if this were a one off thing, although Dr. Ling took Tabatha’s diving suit in for an upgrade in the off chance this wasn't a fluke. 

Which eventually led to Surya standing on his friend’s porch with a pot of lodeh and his old college textbook on dead languages. He let himself look over their garden plots as he waited for the brunet to answer the door, marveling at how much automation they’d managed to set up in such little time. Six plots with small, albeit makeshift, sprinklers with two much larger plots that Tabatha likely had to water by hand themselves, all with little budding plants just waiting to grow and be harvested. Surya was impressed, remembering his Paman Joko mentioning that their neighbor had either already had a hand in farming or at the least had gardened quite a bit before moving here. He mentally took note of the plot with young melon vines just beginning to sprout, wondering if he could convince Tabatha to part with one or two once they were fully ripe, before the door to the cabin swung open.

“Surya! Welcome, welcome, come in watch your step-” Tabatha ushered him inside with a bright smile, quickly shutting the door behind him. “Sorry, don’t want all the cold air getting out.”

“Oh, did your walls not get re-insulated when Bibi and Paman gutted the place?” Surya asked, setting his pot of lodeh onto the rickety fold out table set up in their small living space.

“Oh no I’m sure they did, it’s just a habit from living in shitty Pokyo apartments.” 

“Ah.”

Tabatha locked the door, likely another habit from previously living in a crowded metropolitan area, and joined him at the table with an eager grin.

“Thanks for bringing food by the way, I would’ve made something but,” They gesture sheepishly and vaguely to their barebones cabin. “I still don’t have a lot to work with at the moment.”

“Of course, it’s no trouble. Hopefully Bibi can get a kitchen set up for you soon.”

“Fingers crossed.”

The two sat down to eat, exchanging pleasantries and talking about their days apart. Tabatha only volunteered part time at the lab, carving out time for cleaning sights around coral reefs between their farm and also getting used to their new community. Surya would go days without seeing the tall brunet, only for them to show up to the lab soaking wet and with enough kelp to power a small generator, and the two would easily slip back into jokes and banter before disappearing from sight again. It was safe to say that Tabatha was one of the two friends that he had, and he was honestly all the more glad to have them. Soon enough they finished their dinner and tucked away any leftovers in whatever tubberware Tabatha had laying around, finally moving onto the actual reason Surya had come over in the first place.

Teaching themselves a presumably dead language, because Dr. Ling refused to do so.

Because it would be useful! Because you never knew what could happen and what if Surya needed to dive with Tabatha one day and didn’t have a built-in translator? What if the merfolk came to them? It totally wasn't because this was the most unbelievable thing that's ever happened to anyone, ever. Or the fact that Dr. Ling knew way more than she was letting on but wouldn’t tell them.

And it definitely wasn’t because Surya was a man of science and Tabatha was riddled with ADHD and this was their new, shared hyperfixation. 

It wasn’t.

Neither of them knew what the language was actually called yet, and Surya hesitated to dub it “Atlantis” due to their location, which spurred Tabatha into giving a surprisingly informed rant about how Atlantis was actually more likely to be based on a mix of a volcanic event in the Mediterranean and Plato spouting bullshit than a real civilization that fell below the waves. It reminded him that Tabatha was a lot more smart than they let on, somewhat downplaying their intelligence for the sake of their self imposed title of ‘Lab Thembo’.

Tabatha retrieved the regulator mask of their diving suit, strapping it into place as Surya began flipping through his old textbook and getting out a fresh, blank notebook. They wouldn’t be able to write down any actual words or an alphabet, as all the pictures they did have of the language were on Kibble’s hard drive and the little robot was sitting in the lab at the moment. But they would write down similar vowels or repeating patterns and also have it for the excuse that this was for science and not shits n giggles, should Dr. Ling happen to stumble upon it.

“Alright, you ready Suri?” Tabatha asked, fitting the regulator over their mouth as Surya gave them the go ahead. The brunet breathed deeply, making sure the gear didn’t interrupt their airways while not attached to any tanks before speaking as clearly as they could.

“Can you hear me?” Their voice cycled through the speaker with a warm crackle, and Surya frowned in disappointment.

“Loud and clear…in English.”

Tabatha grimaced in confusion and removed the regulator, eyebrows lifting into their hairline once they realized that they had forgotten to turn the translator on. Flipping the slider to ‘ON’ the brunet put their gear back into place and Surya eagerly waited to hear the elusive language of real life merfolk.

“What about now?”

The words were strung together in a lilting, rhythmic pattern and it made Surya pause, blinking in surprise at how pretty it sounded. It also almost sounded familiar somehow, his first thought being something akin to Latin or even his own native language. It definitely was different enough for him not to pick it up right away but close enough that it pinged in his brain as something he should recognize.

“Oh wow.” 

“Is it working, Surya?” 

“No idea what you just said!” He cheered, practically beaming as he scribbled down their first new findings. Tabatha cheered as well, their voice coming out of the translator as a bright, elongated tone akin to a lofty held note in a song. 

They sat on Tabatha’s floor for what felt like hours, simply babbling sing-song like words back and forth between themselves. At some point the young man found himself sprawled across the wood floor to stretch out his legs, while Tabatha happily rambled on about something he couldn’t understand, only the occasional word standing out as it went untranslated. Surya recorded some of the basic sentences, sending them to Tabatha’s phone for the two to practice later when the mask started hurting for the brunet to continue wearing. They shook their head after peeling it off, huffing in annoyance as fluffy brown hair fell into their eyes. Surya snorted.

“I need a damn haircut.” Tabatha said, blowing a raspberry at Surya while simultaneously spitting hair out of their mouth. Their eyes then widened for a second, scrambling to their feet in haste and practically running over to their wardrobe. Surya lifted himself off the floor, leaning back on his hands with a laugh at his friend.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I got an idea!” They exclaimed, pulling the rest of the diving suit from the sparsely occupied dresser. “Did you bring a swimsuit or anything?”

“Uh, no?” Now sitting cross-legged and watching with a bit of worry as Tabatha ran into their tiny bathroom. “Why?” The plan had just been to see if they could glean anything from the translator and hang out while doing so. The thought of needing his swimming trunks or his own diving suit hadn’t crossed his mind once.

“You’ll see!” Came the muffled reply from the bathroom. A minute or two passed and Surya used the time to pick up the small mess of paper and pens they’d made on the floor. “Alright get in here! Bring the mask too!”

“Uh,” Surya lifted himself from the floor, scooping up the regulator as he did and reluctantly walked over to the bathroom door. “Are you decent?” He felt silly for asking and sillier for the probably obvious flush creeping up his neck.

This was probably why his Bibi Dinda and Paman Joko kept throwing him ‘looks’ every time he went to hang out with Tabatha. The farmer had no time or formality with social cues or implications. It was impulses and ‘I’ll deal with it later’ all the way down with this one.

The door opened and Tabatha’s head poked out from the threshold with a wry grin.

“No, I'm completely naked Suri.” They deadpanned as they spread out an obviously full covered arm from the doorway. Surya threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.” 

“Be a gentleman somewhere else we don’t have time for that,” Tabatha grabbed the mask from him and disappeared back into the bathroom. “Now. Get. In. Here.”

Surya rolled his eyes fondly and stepped into the bathroom.

He burst out laughing immediately.

Tabatha stood in their small, honestly kind of sad, shower in their full diving suit, sans air tanks, with their hand on the faucet. Surya immediately knew what they were going to do. He’d seen an old college roommate do the same thing to clean his diving suit after accidentally swimming into a cloud of algae.

Tabatha’s eyes crinkled with a tell-tell sign of them grinning, as well as they could, with the regulator covering their mouth and turned the faucet on.

Surya couldn’t fucking breathe.

“W-wha-what are you doing??” He managed to gasp out between bursts of laughter, wiping the tears forming in his eyes at the sight before him. Tabatha shrugged, answering in that sing-song language again that now sounded a little like they were gargling with the shower head on. Surya gasped for air, intermittently broken up by short fits of giggles as he tried to calm himself down. The brunet turned the faucet off and pulled the regulator away from their face, spitting out any stray water that had found its way past the haphazardly put-on mechanism.

“So,” They asked after giving Surya another moment to gasp down air. “Did that sound any different?”

“Is THAT what you were doing?”

“Duh!” The brunet gasped, absentmindedly tossing a hand out and covering Surya’s feet in water. “I remember it sounding different when I was fully submerged.”

“So you got into your shower to test that?”

“...I might’ve only just now remembered that I have a pond…”

“Oh my goddess Tabby,” Surya looked down forlornly at his now wet socks. “Is that why you asked if I brought my swim trunks?”

“...yes.”

“And you immediately got into your shower??”

“YES, SHUT UP!”

Surya was very lucky he was near the door when he started laughing again as Tabatha flung as much water at him as they could. After calming down again and much apologies, the two gathered up some gear and wandered outside to the closest pond on Tabatha's property. The summer evening was warm enough to be comfortable even without a proper wetsuit on, but Surya still lamented that his socks were now uncomfortably squishy. Tabatha offered to hang them out to dry and he declined, deciding that if he stepped on something hard then that was just how it had to be.

With towels, water-proof recording gear, an old pair of swim trunks Tabatha let him barrow and the brunet all put shoving their diver’s goggles over his head, the two sat on the small wooden platform that hung over the nearest pond. Even though it was attached to one of the many streams that ran through Coral Island, they determined that current wouldn’t be strong enough to pull himself or Tabatha in and therefore deemed it safe enough for a little free diving. 

Surya let Tabatha fall backwards into the pond first and followed suit when a thumbs up broke the surface. The water was cool against his skin and the pond, while small, was big enough and deep enough that the two of them could stand with only having to squat a little bit. He sat for a moment to enjoy it before Tabatha called over to him with the sing-song language.

“Hello! Fancy seeing you here~” Their eyes crinkled, smiling under the mask as Surya recognized the ‘Hello’ but not the rest.

“Hello!” He replied back clumsily, water filling his mouth briefly. The language carried through the water just as well, if not better, than it did in the air and still with the same pretty, melodic tone. They both resurfaced briefly, Surya to spit the water out of his mouth and Tabatha mostly to gather more air and ask if he was alright before they submerged again.

Once again they swapped words back and forth, practicing simple ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’, ‘how are you’ ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ until they could repeat the words without having to think about strange rising and falling of the vowels. Eventually they resurfaced for the last time, as the sun began to fully set and their muscles ached from keeping themselves in place under the water. But they continued without the translator, practicing their tone and pronunciation without the safety net of Dr. Ling’s mysterious handiwork. By the time the two saw fit to finally towel themselves dry and head back to Tabatha’s cabin, it was late and Surya felt fairly confident in his barebones basics of the merfolk language.

“Did you wanna take the rest of the lodeh home with you?”

“No, that's for you! I don’t want my friend starving before they get a kitchen.” 

Tabatha huffed a small laugh, wrapping their arms around his middle and squeezing him tightly, butting their head gently against his shoulder. Surya returned the hug, patting them on the back before stepping away and heading towards his Bibi’s and Paman’s home in the forest. He’d return home later than intended with still damp hair, wet socks and borrowed board shorts, staving off Archie’s questions for the next morning and rolling his eyes at another one of his Bibi’s ‘looks’ before heading to his room and collapsing into bed.

He dreams of song-like languages and fish-tailed people below the waves.

#HI PLEASE BE NICE I DON'T WRITE OFTEN AND I DEFFINETLY DON'T SHARE IT SO #ENJOY #coral island #coral island fanfic #coral island surya #coral island farmer #Farmer Tabatha #fanfiction #Raggy's writing

[mischievous-marchie]

A little Jerome x Reader for @worri-wort! This one's part of a Valentine gift exchange in the Arkham Asylum Discord server. I may have gone a bit over the word limit. Hope you enjoy. Happy Valentine's Day!

Wild Card

Jerome Valeska x Reader - Mostly SFW(vaguely suggestive), small space/proximity, making out, caught in the act, most of this is buildup and banter until the end

🔞Minors DNI🔞

The job seemed simple enough on paper. You and Jerome would attend the Wayne Enterprises Valentine's ball disguised as a wealthy couple. As it was a masquerade event, concealing your identities wouldn't be an issue.

The scheduled speech for the evening would provide the cover you both needed to sneak away from the event and reach the security room. From there, it was a simple matter of waiting for the others, and finally putting your hostile takeover of the building into action. Easy.

Or... So you had thought.

Jerome had his own plans, far less subtle than what you'd been told. Given who he was and what he was like, maybe you shouldn't have been surprised. But as he shot the emcee in the head and dragged you on stage with him, you had to question just what he was thinking. But you didn't get to ask as a dramatic speech and the reveal of his own gunmen in the crowd soon led to a successful hostage situation.

Until it wasn't.

So much had transpired, your mind was racing, and now Jerome was dragging you through the corridor as the GCPD had, somewhere along the line, gained the upper hand. The next thing you knew, you found yourself hiding in a supply closet, chest-to-chest with your absolute wildcard of a partner.

"Why?" You asked bitterly.

"Why what?"

You almost wanted to slap that shit-eating grin off his stupid face. It hadn't left him once, even as the tide turned against you. "Why couldn't you just stick to the plan?"

"I did," he cackled. "My plan!"

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. Already, this conversation had exhausted you. "Yeah well... Could've at least let me in on the joke," you mumbled, barely audible. A long silence passed between you, and when he finally broke it, it wasn't quite what you were expecting.

"Wanna make out?"

"I'm sorry!?"

"It's okay, I forgive you," he snickered. The unamused look you gave him in response prompted him to sigh and roll his eyes. "Look. It's Valentine's Day, we're at a party, you're my date..."

"Fake date."

"Okay, okay! Fake date. But this whole thing..." With what limited space he had, he gestured between the two of you. "I mean it doesn't have to be."

You could only stare at him, speechless as you realized he was being serious. Not something you were used to in your interactions with him, but at the moment... Well, you had to admit, it wasn't completely unwelcome. As vexing as he could be at times, there was an undeniable attraction there.

"So?" He asked again. "You wanna make out?"

"...Y-yeah! Okay!"

No sooner did he have your consent than he moved in, his lips on yours. Dry and a little rough, but eager. As if he'd been waiting for this moment the whole night. In truth, he had. Although, as much as he enjoyed the proximity, a dimly lit supply closet wasn't quite what he had in mind.

Less than ideal circumstances aside, you reciprocated with an equal passion. Your fingers brushed the scars on one side of his face, and it was all the signal he needed to wrap his arms around your waist and(somehow), draw you in closer.

It was as his tongue began to probe your lips that the door swung wide open. "GCPD! You're under arrest!"

"Don't you know how to knock?" Jerome mocked as one of the cops grabbed and cuffed him, another doing the same to you. Your moment of intimacy had been cut short.

"Cock blocked by the GCPD. Who'd a thunk?" But Jerome wouldn't let it dampen his spirits. "Don't worry, babe. We'll finish this in Arkham."

The smile and sly wink he gave you as he spoke... As you were being taken away, you could feel your face begin to heat up. The smile and sly wink he gave you told you all you needed to know. That this wasn't an offer or mere flirtation, but a promise.

#jerome valeska x reader #gotham x reader #dc x reader

[handsome-john]

Perception - Philip Deering stands in the middle of the hallway, mopping the floor, which is his job after all. Most people know to side step him and stay out of his way. He occasionally mumbles a few words to his 'friend' in the water's reflection.

Suggestion - You'd like to talk to him. You're more similar than you'd like to believe.

Logic - You want to know more about yourself, more about us if anything. His insight might be of some help to you.

Rhetoric - it doesn't have to be a big deal, just say something.

You - "Hi."

P. Deering - "Hi?"

Rhetoric - okay, say a little more than that.

You - "How do you deal with it?"

P. Deering - "Huh?"

You - "You know, it-" you make a vague gesture towards 'Doug'. "Its constant talking?"

Perception - the mirror monster's mouth moves slowly, speaking words only Deering can hear.

Inland Empire [Impossible: Failure] - I couldn't even begin to guess.

P. Deering - He shrugs. "I just got used to it."

Inland Empire - there's more to it than that, 20 years of constant companionship and you're bound to grow comfortable with anything.

You - "I've been hearing you fucks for twice that and I'm not comfortable with shit."

Empathy - Deering looks at you with cold indifference, which is slightly more than the vitriol you're used to.

Rhetoric - Get to the point, please.

You - "I hear voices sometimes."

Reaction Speed - He blanches.

Half Light [Formidable: Failure] - oh this sucks.

You - "I said that weird. Uh- god why is this so hard." You knock your knuckles against your forehead.

Empathy - you're making him uncomfortable.

You - "You're all so helpful today."

Logic - Take a deep breath and try again.

Half Light - or leave. Leaving is an option.

You - "I'm kind of always hearing voices, God knows they won't shut up. I've heard them since I was a little kid and there's always more of them I swear."

P. Deering - "Okay... Why are you telling me this?"

Suggestion [Trivial: Failure] - why are you telling him this?

You - "Because- you've been dealing with this freak for 2 decades now and you seem to handle it so well. I can't even rein in one of these voices."

P. Deering - He stays quiet for several minutes before breaking into laughter.

Empathy [Medium: Success] - he's not laughing at you.

P. Deering - "Sorry - sorry. You're the first person who's ever described me as handling anything well. What are your- uh- voices like?"

Rhetoric - this is good, he's listening at least.

Drama - spill your woes to him, sire, show our genuinity!

Suggestion - keep it chill though, don't freak him out.

You - "They won't shut up." You laugh, self deprecatingly. "There's a lot of them. They're not mean- well some are but not all of them. They just... Say anything. It's like my entire life has a commentary track that I can talk back to."

P. Deering - He nods. You're not sure what that means.

You - "I guess I thought - you know with your- that thing - you'd have some advice? For getting used to the voices?"

P. Deering - "Only you would come to me for advice." He pauses. "I guess- i dunno, I'm not real good at this..."

Empathy - he's worried about saying something wrong and letting you down.

You - "it's fine- I think I more just- needed to say something, and you seem like you'd get it."

P. Deering - he smiles. "Well- I guess I'm glad i was- comforting? To you? This is weird - you're not weird I'm weird."

You - you chuckle awkwardly. "No- you can say I'm weird. I'll take it."

Espirt De Corps - I think they call a mutual understanding.

You - "Where the fuck did you come from?"

#this has a target audience of 3 people but i liked it enough to post it here #yay! colo coding! #☝️they play videogames together i think #dr wettle #philip deering #my fic #on guard 43

[aemiron-main]

need to know if you guys see the Vision TM

older byler in their 40s and they’re That gay couple who’s been together forever and are still completely in love and can basically read eachother’s minds

and will still wears flannels even though his hair’s shaggier now, not as much of a tight bowlcut but still vaguely bowlcut shaped.

and mike’s hair has grown out a fair bit, not super long, probably about the same length as his s4 hair, maybe a bit longer, but he’s grown out the bangs into longer bangs/shorter in the front with a middle part and he’s got grey streaks in his hair and will teases him about it because “going grey at 45, Mike? am I really that stressful to deal with?” and Mike laughs and tells Will that he’d deal with a million grey hairs for him and that if Will-related stress was the reason for his grey hair, he would’ve been fully grey by the age of 13 between things like Will’s disappearance and the upside down and his own feelings for Will.

(will “making fun of his husband” byers and mike “responds to the teasing in a genuinely affectionate way” wheeler)

Both of them still play dnd, and so does the party, and they’re a successful writer-artist duo, and Will still sleeps with a lamp or nightlight on and Mike still turns said lamp/nightlight on for Will because he’s been doing it for the last 30 years and isn’t gonna stop now.

They’re still just. Themselves. Mike grins at Will in the same way that he did in s1 during dnd, and the same way that he did in s3 after the “Not possible” scene, except he does it more often now, every morning while Will complains about being awake at an ungodly hour because he stayed awake painting until 4 am the night before, and his shoulders are sore and Mike makes fun of him for his poor choices but also makes Will coffee and presses down on Will’s shoulders to try and loosen them up.

They’re!! Domestic!! And able to be with eachother!!!!

And El visits all the time, by herself but also with Max and Lucas and Dustin in tow, and Mike still makes comments about how having Will and El, two twins with both telekinetic powers AND a mischievous streak, powers aside, in the same room is a “workplace safety hazard because I work from home and therefore the whole house is my workplace”

Max makes fun of Mike’s taste in home decor but then Mike is a petty freak (affectionate, as always) and so lies dramatically and tells Max that “Will picked out that piece of decor and it has a deep sentimental meaning to him, actually,”

And max has to point out that “she’d buy that excuse and feel bad about making fun of Will’s taste in furniture (not mike’s), if it wasn’t for the fact that the item in question is literally the beefy dragon poster that El told her had been hanging in Mike’s bedroom since highschool”

Mike sputters and tries to accuse max of being homophobic because “it’s an artistic representation of my sexuality actually, because I’m gay and it’s a dragon man” and Max laughs her ass off because a.) she’s bi and b.) mike please it’s a shirtless buff dragon just give up at this point

(will and Lucas witness the whole exchange and are sharing a Look TM and quietly laughing with eachother.)

Mike is back to his dramatic self, the one that screeched and flailed during dnd games, the one with wide gestures and dramatic monologues and a borderline comedically expressive face. Will watches him quietly, with a smile on his face, because despite Mike’s bantering with Max, mike is grinning, and he’s a great host, surprisingly, despite his years of reclusive, snarky lone wolf behaviour- which, don’t get Will wrong, that side of mike still absolutely exists- but it’s nice to see Mike so full of life, see how just his presence makes their house into a home regardless of any buff dragon decor. Especially considering the frigid atmosphere that seemed to coat the Wheeler house over the years, every part of it except the basement, no matter how hard Karen tried to be hospital, or how bright of and orange cough they bought to put in an even brighter, yellow-cream painted living room, there was still always an air of coldness. A distance.

But now, Mike lives in a house full of life and joy and warmth- scratch that, the house is full of life and joy and warmth because Mike’s in it.

While Max is making fun of Mike’s taste in decor, and Lucas and Will are laughing at Mike’s expense, Dustin and El aren’t letting Will off the hook that easily. They’re snooping around his art. They come out of his and Mike’s shared office/studio area with grins on their faces, and Will immediately feels his heart drop.

El and Dustin have totally seen Will’s latest painting for Mike’s birthday- Will paints for Mike every year, and every year, El jokes about having commissioned it, and this year won’t be any different. Dustin and El are giggling amongst themselves as they walk up to Will, pulling him away from where he’s still watching Mike and Max argue, out of earshot of Mike, and Will knows what’s coming when El starts pointing out things like “Will, I thought we agreed on no dragons for the commission,” or “I think that the sky is slightly too blue,” or “I don’t really think that shade of orange really shows your-I mean, my love for Mike.” and Dustin is laughing his ass off the whole time and Will rolls his eyes and laughs along too, firing back at El and telling her that’s he’s surprised that she finally figured out what a commission is (harkening back to El’s confusion from years ago when Mike had asked her about her commissioning the painting from Will and she’d had to ask mike what a ‘commission’ was)

Mike, who’s rolling his eyes dramatically and throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about “taste,” and when he sees Lucas laughing at him, something about how “max has absolutely none of it and that’s why she’s dating Lucas,” and Mike stomps over (good-naturedly) to Will and El and Dustin, to see what’s so funny, and Max and Lucas follow him, and immediately, El stares wide-eyed at mike, cutting off her own sentence and trying not to laugh because Will is giving her a look that says “okay yes our banter is fun but if you spoil his birthday painting, i Will explode you with my mind”

and El gives him a “no I’m gonna explode YOU with my mind” look right back.

but they both still smile at eachother and El doesn’t spoil the painting and Mike is watching this all go down and whining about Will and El and “telepathy, I swear they can read eachothers’ minds, guys, you should be worried about this too, because once they take me out, they’re coming for you next-” and then whines about “friends don’t lie!” and El snorts at that one because come ON, mike you can’t still be pulling that card, and technically she isn’t lying because she hasn’t said anything.

And Mike flops dramatically onto Will, who’s still standing, and to his credit, barely falters when mike drops the entirety of his weight onto Will, going full ragdoll mode and acting as if his death is imminent. Will, who’s holding mike up under Mike’s arms, in a more comedic version of of how Mike was holding an unconscious Will outside of the hospital in s2, except mike is very much conscious, and facing Will, and looking up at him with fake sad eyes as he monologues about his demise and how he can’t go on and how he can’t believe that Will is keeping secrets from him and Will just hoists Mike’s still-limp and pretending to die body upwards and gives him a little kiss because he loves his dramatic husband.

Everyone in the room makes fake gagging noises at the two of them and mike flips them off, but he’s grinning as he does it because “holy shit even though it’s been like this for 30 years I can’t believe that Will Byers is my husband and all my friends are here and I get to flop dramatically onto him whenever I want and even if my friends complain they’re not actually judgemental and they complain the same whenever Lucas and Max or Max and El are being a couple,”

And then Mike un-worms/de-limps/de-ragdolls himself so that he can stand behind Will and wrap his arms around Will’s shoulders and chat with his friends and rest his chin on top of Will’s head and grab Will’s hand and fidget with Will’s wedding ring while Will has a long conversation with Dustin about some drama in the comic book/artist community, and while Lucas stretches out on the couch and El sticks her tongue out at mike in a “your dramatic fake death didn’t break my resolve, sorry mike, you’ll have to wait to figure out what Will and I were talking about,” way, and Mike sticks his tongue out right back at her in a “I don’t actually want the surprise to be ruined but I AM petty and dramatic” way and El flicks Mike’s face and Mike shouts and dramatically starts complaining again and Will is unfazed and just keeps talking to Dustin and reaches a hand up to soothe Mike’s mortal face wound, and Mike leans into Will’s hand like a particularly pathetic cat and starts fiddling with Will’s wedding ring again.

And they’re all just!! Happy!!! And Mike eventually abandons Will (sorry will, Mike gives him a kiss on the head in apology) to go and bother Lucas because he was fine listening to Will talk, because he always wants to listen to Will talk, no matter what the subject is, but he’s not sure how much longer he can listen to Dustin rant about variant covers and drama between publishers and why he’s certain that if Will would just give Dustin the address and name of the one writer that Will did artwork for but who didn’t pay him, Dustin could persuade him to pay Will what he owes by getting Suzie to hack into his computer and ransoming his data.

Which also means that Dustin might get some ~ insider info~ about new releases and how that’s totally not the ONLY reason he’s do it because the mean reason is to scare him into paying Will, but it’s a nice little side benefit. (you’re late to the party, Dustin, Mike thinks, because Will already had to talk Mike out of marching over to the guy’s house and kicking his ass, let alone ‘ransoming his data,’ whatever that means)

And so Mike goes over to bother Lucas, and they still swat at eachother like 12 year olds, and Max kicks Mike in the shin and Mike howls over it and then kicks Lucas in the shin in retaliation because Lucas was closer and also he’s slightly afraid of Max if he was to kick her (usually he’d go head to head with her but he hasn’t forgotten about the time a few years ago when she picked Mike straight up around the waist like how one awkwardly picks up a pet dog and threw him into a pool despite her being, like, half of mike’s height.) And El laughs at them all and goes to join in with Dustin and Will because Will looks genuinely exasperated now because “no, Dustin, I’m not giving you his address- no, I’m not giving you his his mother’s maiden name either, how would I even know what it is?? If Suzie’s such a great hacker, why does she need it?? And even then, she’s not hacking into his computer!!”

And El distracts Dustin by claiming that she’s “going to get her commission” and running into Will and Mike’s office/studio room and Will appreciates her distracting Dustin but also bolts after her because “oh my god, come ON, El, the painting isn’t THAT gay,” but El is already laughing because “even the clouds have heart shaped in them”

and Dustin is making comments about how “he thought the heart on the shield in the first painting was a little too obvious but somehow the subtle hearts hidden in the pattern on Paladin!mike’s shirt and in the clouds is even worse” (worse in an affectionate way, worse in a “oh my god dude you are SO in love” way)

And once everyone heads home, and does that thing at the door where they keep saying that they need to be heading home but keep talking with eachother instead, but then finally actually go home, Mike closes the door and holds Will close and buried his face into Will’s hair and fidgets with his own wedding ring while his arms arm across Will’s back because he can’t believe that this is his life, that they made it out of everything, that he gets to be with Will, gets to be with his friends, gets to be himself.

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #writer artist duo byler #the party #byler scenarios #madwheeler #elmax

[passionfruitbowls]

eternal promise

Among all their frantic preparations for the holidays, Marinette and Adrien still find the time to make a heartfelt confession.

rated: g | pairing(s): adrienette | word count: 1k

read on ao3

—————

“Wait, when did we buy Nativity-themed ceramic plates?” Marinette asks, peeling away the bubble wrap to get a better look at this unusual discovery. Her and Adrien are currently in the middle of decorating their apartment for Christmas, but thanks to numerous distractions and a surprise akuma attack, they haven’t made as much progress as they would’ve liked. 

“Oh! Tom gave them to me when we moved here.” Adrien explains while placing the carrots in the freezer (well, more like shoving, since there’s so little room). “He said they’ve been sitting in that box for years, so we might as well have them.” 

“Huh. Guess that’s why I’ve never seen them before. They do look kind of dated.” 

Marinette notices Adrien hesitate slightly before talking about her dad. He’s still getting used to being on a first-name basis (something her parents had insisted on, since he’s part of the family now), but it’s clear from the way he smiles that it makes him happy. It's a welcome change from the formality of Mr and Mrs Dupain-Cheng, not to mention the coldness he used to receive from his own father, which they don’t like to dwell on. 

Moving the plates off to the side, Marinette refocuses her attention on the main objective of the day. An abundance of lights are scattered across the dining table, the wires entangled and the plugs buried beneath the mess. Somewhere behind her, a cupboard opens, bags and packets are moved around, then the cupboard closes again. 

“Consider the groceries sorted.” Adrien pipes up, dusting off his hands as he comes over to her. “What next, my lady?”

Barely suppressing a smile, Marinette gestures vaguely at the table. 

“We still have to work our way through… all of this.” 

“Got any ideas about how we’re going to do that?” He asks, in that tone he always uses when she’s trying to hatch a plan after summoning a Lucky Charm.

“Okay… I take one end of the wire, you take the other, and hopefully we’ll meet in the middle?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Twenty minutes later, it becomes clear that untangling this beast will take a while, even with their ability to work in tandem. Tikki gets roped into helping, and Plagg follows suit after being promised an extra stash of cheese. Ten more minutes pass, and Marinette begins to feel like she’ll go ballistic if she sees another knot. Ten minutes after that, success at last. 

“Chaton, can you do me a favour? Write down somewhere that we shouldn’t randomly shove all the Christmas things in a box the next time we’re packing.” She says after a celebratory fist bump. 

“On it.” 

Before Marinette can clarify that she didn’t mean right away, Adrien makes a beeline for the hallway, picks up her collection of post-it notes and scribbles down her reminder. She has to give him credit for his diligence. It’s one of the things she loves about him, as well as his supportiveness, his jokes (even if his timing can be terrible), his laughter, which always makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside-

“Marinette? We, uh, still have to actually hang the lights up on the wall.” He says with a little smile on his face, and damn it, how can he look so cute even when he’s doing nothing? 

“Oh! Riiight. Right. I totally remembered that. Anyway, let’s get going.” 

They’d decided beforehand that, due to his height advantage, Adrien was going to stand on top of a chair and do most of the hanging, with Marinette supporting him to compensate for them not having a ladder. Both of her arms are wrapped firmly around his waist; it’s slightly awkward, but they’ve been in worse situations. 

“So, how do you feel about doing this every year for the rest of our lives?” He asks suddenly, while leaning over the mantelpiece. It’s obvious that he meant it in a humorous way, but it takes everything in her to not stumble backwards in shock and send him flying. 

“I… I don’t know.” She says, much quieter than she’d intended. 

“What do you mean?” 

Marinette’s heart lurches, and she immediately tries thinking of a way to explain herself so Adrien won’t get the wrong impression.

“It’s- I’m not saying that it would be a bad thing. It wouldn’t be bad at all! I- I love being around you, and doing things with you, and the idea of us having a future together makes me so, so happy, but…” 

“But what?” He whispers, his voice filled with concern. Her legs feel weak. She wishes they were face-to-face. 

“…I guess I wasn’t expecting us to make such a big commitment so soon. I didn’t know if you were ready for that, and I never want to scare you or pressure you into anything.” 

“My lady,” Adrien says as he climbs off the chair and turns to look her in the eye. “If you asked me to spend a lifetime with you I’d do it in a heartbeat, you can trust me on that. I mean, we’ve already gone through a milestone together, haven’t we? We’ve got our own apartment now!” 

Marinette can’t help but smile and nod. 

Sometimes, it feels a little surreal knowing that there are things and places in this world which belong to her and Adrien and no one else. Their lucky charms, made with the utmost of care as a display of friendship and, eventually, love. Their rooftop meeting point for patrols, for playing leisurely games of cards while talking endlessly. Their home, where his gorgeous face is the first thing she sees in the morning and the last thing she sees at night. 

“Yeah, that’s true. And we’ll always have each other’s backs, right?” Marinette asks. She already knows the answer, but it feels wonderful to hear him say it.

“Always, with or without the masks.” 

As if by instinct, they melt into each other’s embrace, and for a moment it’s as though all of their troubles are gone. Marinette wishes she could hold onto this moment forever, wrap it up neatly and place a little bow on top. 

“I love you.” Adrien says faintly in her ear. 

“I love you too, minou.” She whispers back, blushing like she always does. 

They eventually separate, but judging by the way his eyes keep darting to her lips, it’s clear that he has things other than Christmas decorations on his mind. Besides, she thinks to herself as she reaches out and cups his face, pulling him close, the baubles can wait.

#WE’RE SO BACK i say as i yeet this fic at you #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #adrienette #adrinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #pfb writes

[bethany-sensei]

A bath only made Akieryon’s headache worse. Tempest returned some hours later to find him kneeling beside the bed, his face pressed against the coverlet. Somehow, Tempest seemed to take this latest odd behavior in stride. He settled himself on the floor, near enough to touch, and he waited for Akieryon to speak. With some struggle, he gathered his thoughts.

“Everyone thinks you’re kind to me for my looks.” Akieryon rolled his head to the side just enough to peer at Tempest from the corner of his eye. “Am I so beautiful to humans?”

Tempest pressed a fingertip to his chin, which Akieryon had begun to notice he did often when a question took him by surprise. “Perhaps,” he conceded, as though he had no means to gauge a person’s beauty. “Or perhaps they sense something ethereal about you.”

“Did you?”

“I sensed your magic,” Tempest said with his usual bluntness. “When I first touched you, it seemed like there was a—a sort of push and pull beneath your skin. What?” He frowned as Akieryon shifted around to face him properly. “Have I said something to give offense? You look so serious.”

“Angel magic functions on the manipulation of opposing forces. That’s what you sensed.” Akieryon watched as Tempest considered this information. Once again, he seemed blandly curious.

“How does that work?”

“With a lot of concentration, mostly,” he said, managing a shadow of a grin. Tempest gave a soft chuckle. Akieryon enjoyed the moment of shared amusement, but too soon another thought tumbled out of his poor sore head. “The king,” he said. “He’s the only person who hasn’t treated me like I’m—I’m uncommonly pretty or something.” When Tempest went still, Akieryon knew the truth. “You told him about me.”

“Of course I did,” Tempest said, as though it should be obvious. “I can’t lie to Caspar.”

“Because he’s the king?” Akieryon had always struggled to follow human politics. Short lifespans always seemed to complicate matters.

“Because he’s my friend.” When Akieryon did not immediately register comprehension, Tempest added, “He’s a Person and he’s mine. He can tell when I’m keeping something from him.”

“What do you mean, Person?” Akieryon tried to give it the same emphasis Tempest had. Tempest waved one hand in a vague gesture.

“Most people aren’t, you know.”

Balances, chapter 4

Semi-successful mixed media experiment

#chronicle of the spheres #original fiction #fiction #excerpt #character art #illustration #mixed media #writeblr

[horizonandstar]

Chapters 1-6 Translations

we got it! translations!

its under the cut. also not every noise they make correlates with a whole sentence so those didnt get translated, sometimes its just the vibes, but otherwise the translation would be “[gestures vaguely] you know?”

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

-theres only 1 interaction here and it more or less is sun going “please eat” and being frustrated that this thing is refusing food

- He chirps and holds his closed hand out to you, wiggling peeper in it. Like a repeat of last time, his free hand darts towards you as you flinch. The peeper in his grasp is deposited in your hand as he curls your fingers tightly around it. Once satisfied, he lets go of your hand with a chirp and stares at your face expectantly. [”I got you food! Here, take it!”]

- You shake your head and hope that's the universal gesture for no. Sun whistles and brings you closer towards him, arms holding your sides, but you kick and flail until he stops and brings you back to your prior distance. [”It’s fine to eat. Don’t worry, there’s nothing bad with it!”]

- Your eyes widen when what sounds like a dog's whine comes from Sun. His hands hold your helmet and he gently tilts your head around. [”Where’s your mouth? How do you eat? Do you have no mouth?”]

- Sun chirps, waving a hand with peeper chunks in it. [”There’s your mouth!” Sun is also thinking about how he’s never seen something with a false, retractable face before. like woaw thats neat]

Chapter 3:

- Sun whines and brings the scanner close to his face. He yelps and drops it when the scanner's light turns on directly into his eyes. [It’s like asking a dog for the ball back so you can throw it again.]

- Sun whistles. He holds both of his arms out, as though asking for a hug. [”It’s ok, it’s safe! Come here.”]

- Sun whistles once more, before disappearing beneath the waves. [”Hope you get better soon.”]

- Sun trills in response and picks you up before you can blink. The hand holding the knife stutters as you were about to instinctively stab Sun. Didn’t actually stab him, thankfully. [”Hello!”]

- Not-Sun growls from beneath. Sun stares down and screeches. [”What was that about?” / “DON’T TOUCH THEM!”]

- There's silence for a while, before Not-Sun trills. Sun growls. Not-Sun hesitates, then whistles. Sun shakes his head minutely, then whistles twice in quick succession. [”Did you take in another little one?” / “Not little. Back off.” / “Oh. ...sorry.” / “We’ll talk about this later.”]

Chapter 4:

- Sun croons and shifts towards you. It's super cramped in the pod with him taking up majority of the space, but where in the everliving fuck do you even begin to get a leviathan out? [”Are you ok?”]

- Sun purrs and taps his hands on the hard floors. [The cat purring thing helping with the healing process or something like that.]

- You close the hatch. Sun clicks again. [”What are you doing?”]

- Two quick chirps has you looking up to see Sun holding a peeper in one hand and a bladderfish on the other. [Just trying to grab Y/N’s attention.]

- Sun croons and lowers himself down to the ground, right next to the peeper you killed. The spots on his body glows. [”Good job on the kill!”]

- You dig out your PDA and open the page for Celestial Leviathan. He peers over the screen, trills and taps lightly on the screen at his mirror image. [”Is that me?”]

- You pick the peeper up, the one you managed to kill, and present it to Sun. He tilts his head and chirps. [”Hm?”]

- A quick chirp sounds behind you. When you turn around, all you can see is a giant coral tube—oh, that’s what he’s trying to do. Think he can hide, can he? [Trying to grab attention again.]

- A red fish swims towards you at alarming speeds. Sun cuts it off before it can reach you with his body, and hisses back at it. With another hiss from Sun, the crashfish swims back and into the flower-like plant that closes around it. [”Safe! Safe! There is no threat.”]

- Sun goes back into the water, his bioluminescent spots flickering on and off like a light show. [”This is where I am.” Message meant for Moon.]

- Sun hums and turns back around to face Moon. The two talk to each other with clicks and growls, and while that’s absolutely fascinating, you’re sweating a little. [More or less Sun going “this is my skrunkly. Don’t hurt them.” and Moon going “cool.” Moon is also discussing his frustrations that Sun decided to take someone under his care and Sun is reassuring Moon that it will turn out okay.]

- Sun growls. A few moments pass before he turns around and grabs your arms and holds them to your sides. You yelp and kick your feet. With your arms pinned, there’s no way you can do anything. You kick behind you as hard as you can, but your feet meets nothing but water. [”Play nice.” Mostly meant for Moon.]

- Something bumps against your helmet. You crack an eye open, and nearly startle when you see the red of Moon’s eyes right next to your face. Without leaving your personal space, Moon whistles and continues to stare at you. [”It’s ok, I won’t hurt you.”]

Chapter 5:

- Moon backs off and whistles once more. Sun rumbles, not quite a growl, and that gets Moon to swim away. [”Sorry.” / “We’re done here. Go.”]

- Moon tilts his head, eyes focusing on the blood seeping out from your arm. [Is the blood a different colour?]

- Moon doesn't stop staring, and you back off slowly, sweating. It's you who breaks off the staring contest first, looking off to the side but still keeping him in your vision. Moon laughs in his imperfect imitation again. [He wants to see what happens if he keeps staring. Can he psyche them out?]

- You don’t get a chance to think about it. There’s the roar of a stalker below you, and it’s rapidly approaching. [This is gonna be so funny. Watch them get scared.]

- Moon clicks and stalker-roars again. Just for the hell of it, you suppose. [”Hey.” Ruse is over.]

- Moon clicks again and slows down. Still right behind you, but not as close as he was earlier. [Laughing.]

Chapter 6:

- Moon clicks and laughs in your voice again. “Hide away,” he croons, “Nighty-night.” [Laughing again.]

- You hear a snarl, as all of a sudden, Moon blocks your path forward. [”Where are you going?”]

- Moon growls again and points behind you, back to the direction of your pod. [”Go back. You should be asleep.”]

- He growls and stares at you with dilated pupils. You clench your hands and whistle the note Sun taught you: I’m sorry. Moon squints, and for a few moments, you’re sure he’s about to snap. [”That hurts.” And then he thinks: of course Sun taught them our words.]

- He responds back in his own language. You recognize two words in his sentence: the name Sun gave to you, and Sun's name. [”What did Sun call you? The Horizon?”]

- You whistle Sun's name. Moon is still for a second, before repeating what you said. You whistle it again. [He taught them his name?]

- Moon breaks the silence. He whistles, then, in a perfect imitation of your voice, says, "Moon." He repeats the whistle. [Then I’ll teach them my name.]

- Moon wails, louder than you've ever heard. You flinch and shut your eyes. [We’re too far away for Sun to reasonably find us, so... “WAKE UP!!! WAKE UP!!!”]

- The same piercing wail cries off in the distance. It peters off into a series of clicks, and then a sharp whistle of—Moon's name, huh. [”SHUT THE HELL YOUR ASS, MOON. FUCK!!!”]

- Moon chitters. [Laughing.]

- Moon clicks in response. [”That was hilarious, right?”]

- Moon hisses and slinks backwards, back out of the compartment and into the water. His head pops back up through the hatch, with only his eyes above water. He squints and chitters. [”Ow. But you should’ve seen your face.”]

- There's a whine, and you look towards Moon with a raised eyebrow. He whines again, and that's when you realize it wasn't coming from him but from someone else outside. [”Moon. Moooon!”]

- You whistle Sun's name, and get a response back as he whistles the name he gave you before whining again. [”Horizon! Mooooon come outside, I don’t want to be here anymore.”]

- You play back the audio file straight from the beginning. Sun whines and curls in further to make himself smaller. Moon whistles again. [They’re mad at me. / “Sun, it’s ok.”]

- Sun snaps his head towards you and flattens his frills. Moon raises his head up to look at you before looking away again and closing his eyes. Moon whistles and holds his hand out towards Sun. Sun doesn't take it. [They know. They know and they’re mad about it. No. No. I fucked up. I--but I have to make it better!]

{Note: Will not lie, Moon sucks at comforting words. His specialty is just holding someone until they calm down. He doesn’t know what to do outside of that scenario.}

- Sun is getting closer, whistling. The whistles he makes sounds familiar but you're not in the mood to try and remember its meaning. [”I’m sorry!”]

#thatls tag #unsure what tag to use for translation posts tbh #ill figure it out later

[apoptoses]

It's just occurred to me when re-reading Blood Sanation that Armand notes the other boys did some of the style of artwork he wants to try. I know he feels understandably hesitant at asking Marius but as well as taking classes, maybe he could ask Riccardo too?

(full disclosure- i forget the rules on how ghosts with physical forms work in anne's world and am not fussed enough to open RoA/PL and double check. so just roll with this okay!!)

“This is unbearable,” Armand muttered. He tossed the paintbrush into his bucket of turpentine, hard enough that droplets of the liquid rose into the air and then splashed back down in the bucket.

Across the studio Riccardo sat, curled up on their worn and paint stained sofa. He snapped his book shut. “What’s giving you trouble?”

Armand shook his head. Waved his hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. He would figure out the technique himself. He always did, eventually. There was no need to trouble another with his lack of skills, much less Riccardo, who had tried so kindly to teach him to paint back when he was Amadeo.

As a youth he’d rebuffed all of his attempts. His hands had no longer been the hands of god and so there had been no use, no purpose in being taught. Now- well perhaps he could learn something from Riccardo. Riccardo had always been a patient teacher, rebuffing him would be an awful waste.

It was only that admitting his own failures to him seemed like an exercise in mortification, that was all. No matter how hard he thought on the fact that Daniel would want him to ask for help he couldn’t do it. The words seemed to stick in his throat.

Armand shifted on his stool and looked down at his pale, paint smudged hands. He picked bit of ochre from the base of his nail and ignored Riccardo’s sudden presence behind him.

“It’s unfair of you to do that, you know,” Armand murmured. “Materializing behind me before I can stop you or tell you no.”

“It’s unfair of you not to tell me what’s wrong,” Riccardo said. He rested his chin atop Armand’s auburn head. “It’s a perfectly nice piece. I can’t see what would be making you so upset.”

Strange, having someone material and yet immaterial rest against him. Armand folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against Riccardo’s unnatural corporeal form.

“It’s the highlights in the hair. They look dull. Lifeless. I keep layering paint-“ Armand began.

“And that’s the mistake, adding where you should be taking away. Sgraffito, that’s the technique you should be using. Hand me the palette knife?” Riccardo asked.

Armand grabbed the little metal thing from the table and passed it to Riccardo. He sat back, heavy against Riccardo’s chest and tracked the movement of his hand across the canvas, the way he took the edge of the knife and scratched fine lines into Daniel’s blond hair. Even as a mortal Riccardo’s work had rivaled Marius’s own. What he’d have been able to achieve in life-

Armand couldn’t allow himself to think about it. Better to marvel at the way the spirit remembered such techniques even after the body was gone. It was as if painting was in Riccardo’s soul itself. No muscles for muscle memory were needed at all.

The highlights in Daniel’s hair sprang to life as if by magic, some special skill Armand was unsure he had. The palette knife was so light and precise in Riccardo’s hand, but his own hands-

Such clumsy things, covered in paint. Armand curled his fingers tight into fists.

“See? You try.” Riccardo held the palette knife out. “I believe Rembrandt used the same technique to much success. I remember seeing his work when I followed you and Louis across the globe.”

Armand tilted his chin all the way up so that he could look at Riccardo’s face. Awkward, seeing him from below. His face was distorted by the angle, as bizarre as anything Picasso ever committed to canvas. Riccardo’s grin was wry when he peered down at him in kind.

“So you were following me, even then?” Armand asked.

“Of course. I rarely left your side. It only took some time to become strong enough to materialize,” Riccardo said. He shrugged and wiggled the palette knife in front of Armand’s face, silently demanding he take it. “It’s why I already liked this Daniel you’re so obsessed with before I even properly met him.”

Armand let out a huffy sound. He snatched back the knife and turned his attention back to the painting, pretended to be annoyed even when Riccardo’s hands found their way to massaging at his shoulders.

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Mm, and this isn’t the fifth time I’ve seen you paint him since your lessons began,” Riccardo teased. “Are you going to become like our Master, painting Pandora’s face on every member of a crowd? Will you paint a thousand of Daniel in a stadium one day? Cover your ceilings with putti that all share his face? Imagine, an entire choir of little angels with the face of a grown man staring down at you as you bathe.”

Armand rolled his eyes. “You’re so ridiculous.”

He tilted the knife and copied Riccardo’s movements as best he could, holding his tongue when Riccardo reached out to correct the angle of his wrist.

Scraping away the layers of color he’d already built up- it seemed anathema to him. Like he was committing a crime against his own work. One wrong move and the entire thing would be ruined, for there was no easy way to fill the fine gouges he was making. Even if he painted over them the blemish would show in the wrong light, forever a testament to his lack of skill.

Armand took a deep breath. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused on his friend’s thumbs working the knots from his shoulders they way they’d always done in Venice. Riccardo had always been too happy to sit him down and absorb the tension that lingered beneath his skin, and Armand hardly minded the distraction.

After all, the longer Riccardo massaged, the longer it was before he had to take the knife to his painting and risk ruining his work. A few more moments, a bit of procrastination- that hardly would hurt anything.

“You know, it’s only natural I use Daniel as my reference. Truly he’s the only one in this entire house that I could convince to sit still long enough to sketch,” Armand said, absently toying with the palette knife as he tipped his head forward and allowed Riccardo to rub at the back of his neck. “The rest of you are all a bunch of miscreants. You would wiggle on purpose just to see me smudge the page.“

“Oh, the great Master, he requires such seriousness in his studio,” Riccardo crowed. “Are you going to finish your painting, Master, or will you hand the knife to me? Marius used to have me complete his works when he tired of them, you know, there’s no shame in keeping a boy to create your art for you-“

Armand thrust a playful elbow back, right into Riccardo’s stomach. Riccardo laughed.

“I would finish it if you would stop distracting me,” Armand said.

Riccardo held up his hands. “Oh, fine. Then I’ll go back to my corner like a scorned child-“

He made as if to walk away but on impulse Armand stuck his hand out, caught his friend by the belt loops.

An image flashed before him- a memory of a sunny morning in Venice, when Amadeo had demanded Riccardo join him in his master’s bed until he was able to fall asleep. Some banter had turned into play fighting, which had turned into Riccardo pretending to leave the bed to return his own room. Amadeo had caught him in just the same way by the hem of his sleep shirt. Please, don’t go. I can’t stand to be left alone here, he’d said; young and unafraid of being so vulnerable.

Armand- he could never say such a thing. He kept his finger hooked in Riccardo’s jeans and looked up at him, as wide eyed and open as he could.

Riccardo’s expression shifted, fell from mirth into something softer, warmer. He sighed, the same playful sound he’d made when Amadeo had begged him back into bed, and turned back. Without missing a beat he took up his position behind Armand again, hands resting dutifully on his shoulders, chin atop his head.

“Why are you so hesitant to try?” Riccardo asked, just as the tension began to creep back into Armand’s posture. “Really you only need to adjust a few more places. Around his face, where the light is strongest- that’s all.”

Armand shrugged. “I just hate the idea of ruining it, I suppose.”

“But you won’t. If you make a mistake you just fill it in. Who cares if it’s still visible when the thing is dried? It’ll just serve as a reminder of the evening you spent learning with me. And that’s worth remembering, isn’t it?” Riccardo asked.

Well. When he put it that way.

Armand nodded. He felt Riccardo’s chin rub against his head with the motion and in spite of himself he smiled. Took up the palette knife again and dragged it over the hair dangling in his painted Daniel’s eyes, forever loose and tousled where Armand had cut it before his death.

Daniel before him, Riccardo behind. What a pair to be caught between. His immortal lover and his eternal best friend. Nowhere else could Armand be so safe.

With a quick, confident stroke he peeled back the paint on Daniel’s forehead, revealing the underpainting in suggestion of a few fly away hairs. Scraped away a few fine lines at the crown of his head as well, one by his cheek and then-

“Another great work from my dear Master,” Riccardo said warmly. “Next you’ll have to paint me.”

Armand huffed out a laugh.

“I could never paint you. You’d heckle me the entire time, it would come out a mess. I’d have to do it in a surrealist style just as an excuse for how warped you’d appear,” Armand teased. “And Riccardo? Don’t call me Master. I’m not your master at all.”

Riccardo’s hands drifted up to Armand’s cheeks, cupping his face in them so gently as he guided him to tilt his head back. Armand’s hand fell, wet palette knife dangling at his side.

Riccardo looked so strange from this angle. Still so very handsome. He was, perhaps, the first crush a young Amadeo ever had, even before he’d been introduced to beautiful Bianca. Riccardo knew all of his secrets, had been his first kiss. Had followed him as a spirit until he could be back at his side. He was Armand’s first and most faithful, loving friend.

“No. You’re my Amadeo,” Riccardo said. “Always and forever.”

Strange, being kissed by one who was neither alive nor dead; all spirit or all flesh. It was like kissing a man made from water vapor, like if Armand pressed his mouth up too hard he might pass right through Riccardo’s warm face and come to rest right inside him.

He tilted his head back, turned on his stool to get closer. Armand closed his eyes just as Riccardo’s fingers found their way into his hair and began to rub at his scalp now, that secret weak spot he’d discovered when they were teenagers and Riccardo was desperate to find a way to help him to fall asleep.

Armand let out a quiet sigh. Let himself get lost in memories and then, reached while Riccardo was well and truly distracted and-

“Hey!”

Armand was so quick with the palette knife, there was no chance for Riccardo to react. He had no hope of defending himself against the daub of paint Armand smeared across his cheek; bright yellow on warm brown skin.

“You had me making improvements to my art, so I thought I should make some improvements to you in turn. To say thank you for your instruction,” Armand said, serious as he could. His mouth ached with the desire to laugh at Riccardo’s exasperated pout. “What? Are you going to say you’ll never help me again now?”

Riccardo shook his head. He wiped at his cheek, then wiped his paint covered fingers on the rag Armand kept on his table of supplies.

“No. I’ll always help you,” Riccardo said, so soft Armand’s chest flooded with warmth.

Yes. Riccardo would be here for eternity, just as Louis and Daniel and Lestat and Bianca. Never again would Armand be alone. There would always be one to turn to for help, if only he made sure to bring himself to ask.

Riccardo’s grin turned devious as he picked up a paintbrush. “But when it comes to improvements, well- I can think of several you could use.”

This time when Armand’s knife found its way into the bucket of turpentine it wasn’t with frustration, but with his laughter ringing through the room.

#i thought this would be more fun to answer in fic format #i'll pop it on ao3 later #but for now just enjoy it here ♥ #i love them being cute and sweet and friends who kiss #armand #riccardo #armand/riccardo #vampire chronicles #vc fic #apoptoses fic

[ugh-yoongi]

how would you rank bangtan thighs?

what a great question, thank you.

while it’s important to note there are no bad choices and every bangtan thigh is worthy of a top spot, here are my personal rankings:

1. namjoon. you’ve heard of plant daddy, you’ve heard of scrub daddy, and now you’ve got thigh daddy. can you believe he’s gotten beefier since this picture?

2. taehyung. maybe an unconventional second choice, but this vogue shoot did something to my brain that far exceeds simple rewiring. it stuck a fuse in there and blew it up like a jello mold. i’m still finding little pieces of pre-vogue shoot brain.

3. seokjin. like yoongi’s, these are mysterious thighs. this man keeps them under lock and seal, hidden away, never to see the light of day. this tactic may work on some, but if you tell me i can’t have something i’ll only want it more. it’s simple human nature, and i’m gonna chew on these thighs like laffy taffy.

4. jimin. i once called jimin the speaker of the house when it came to the line of succession to the thigh presidency, and i stand by it. he’s got A Set on him, but in a different way to namkook. but just… look at them. i’m gonna chew on these too, but more in the way that dogs put toys in their mouth and do the ‘i’m gonna kill this thing’ head shake.

5. hoseok. i know what you’re thinking: jewel, where the fuck is jk? i’m getting there, but look at these first. he’s lean and (not) mean, and if there’s anything i love [gestures vaguely at my dating history] it’s a string bean of a man who can still open jars for me. i’d lose the leg wrestling contest w hobi, but we’re all still winners in this game.

6. jungkook. alert the presses, our vice president of thighs is second to last. but let me tell you why: me, personally, when it comes to jungkook i am so distracted by everything else i forget he has them. you all watched me have a very public and very embarrassing meltdown over ck jungkook so you get it. the long hair, the lip rings, the tattoos, his beautiful chest heart.

7. yoongi. does yoongi even have thighs? i haven’t seen them in so long… perhaps he should post a picture just to remind me what they look like… anyway. mr min “girl group legs” yoongi may be last on my ranking but they’re all number one in my heart, and he’s no exception. i have this magazine hung up to the left of my desk, so i get to be tortured by these snow white thighs 9a-5:30p monday thru friday.

#bts #jewel answers