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#— love lyssa
lyssasdrafts · 8 days
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ENCHANTED — azriel x reader
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includes: strangers to lovers, love at first sight, autumn court!reader, lucien and eris being protective brothers
“i’ll spend forever wondering if you knew, i was enchanted to meet you.”
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azriel felt out of place. he knew he didn’t belong here, trying not to give it away as he kept adjusting his new coat. he didn’t know what to think of being dragged to this formal event — a party at the autumn court.
he wasn’t here to make friends, he needed to come with rhys to gather information, to be allowed to sneak into the autumn court’s palace. no one here needed to know about his upbringing or what he’s done, though it was hard to ignore the way people stared at his illyrian wings.
rhys would be here too, but he was busy keeping track of eris and the high lord to help azriel navigate this. this was his job, he was a spy.
the autumn court felt lifeless, even if it was your home. sometimes you’d wondered what it was like outside these four castle walls. a part of you was excited for this ball, even if you’d been told they were typically boring. it had took a lot of convincing for them to let you out, and you still had your older brother by your side. “stay close to me, y/n,” lucien insisted, “and tell me if you need anything.”
azriel’s eyes had met yours once he walked into the room. he let himself stare for a moment too long at how graceful you’d looked. he suddenly starts to hear his own heartbeat before he starts thinking about the person standing next to you, it clicked after he heard the way you were addressed and how you called lucien your brother.
rhys whispered in his ear, “there’s another vanserra?” and azriel shook his head. how come he’d never heard of you? or worse, had the chance to meet you? with rhysand’s nod of approval and the wink his friend gave, he approached you.
“i didn’t know you had another sibling, lucien.” his shadows seemed excited, and he tried to keep them quiet. he looked right into your eyes, ignoring the person he was even addressing. “i didn’t know beron had another child…”
“he’s not fond of me,” you say to break the tension. you blinked a few times, taking in the figure of the man in front of you.
you’d never left the autumn court. you watched as your older brothers were allowed to leave to wherever they wanted, how lucien would run off to the spring court with tamlin, while you had to stay and tend to the castle.
if this is what people looked like in the other courts, you were missing out.
azriel reached his hand out to you, his voice softened, “then may i have this dance with you?” you looked at your brother, pleading in your eyes to let you have this night, and he nodded. something felt like he’d trusted that azriel was a good person. he mouthed something about being careful and to go.
you thanked the mother, knowing that your father or anyone else from the court would’ve turned azriel away immediately. you took his hand and smiled before he lead you away.
locking your fingers together, his other hand reaches your waist before the music starts again. you were impressed; you could tell he wasn’t experienced with dancing in a ballroom, he didn’t have the same training you did, his movements were stiff and his steps were careless. but you could see that he was trying his best to move along with the music, his shadows dancing around too.
“so,” he began to talk over the music, “tell me, why haven’t we met before?” the question he’s really been wondering.
he had to pull you in closer for the dance, not missing the opportunity despite his nervousness. you responded, “i’ve never left the autumn court, unfortunately. where are you from?”
“that’s a shame,” he says quietly. “i’m from the night court, here on our behalf. you should pay us a visit.” he spins you around and you’re caught off guard by the last part.
he catches you, though, and holds you by the waist. “i promise we’re more interesting,” he chuckles.
you almost laugh at him, except you give him sidelong glance instead. “i highly doubt that,” you defend, but your tone says otherwise.
“then let me show you,” he mutters. “what’s your name, beautiful?”
you freeze again, taking a moment just to stare at him. the way his hair was parted but got in the way of his face, how his gaze felt like he wanted more than just to look at you, how he his hands were around you, making you drawn to someone in a way you haven’t been before. and he was calling you the beautiful one?
you cleared your throat, “it’s y/n,” before you add a smile.
he nods at you, the secret autumn heir. he repeats your name and watches your reaction, seeming amused when you look up at him again. you can feel rhysand and your brother’s eyes on you, they were watching you thoughtfully from a distance. did you seem interested in azriel? were you getting close with him?
he notices you tensing up, grabbing your hand again and continuing where you’d left off with the music. azriel twirls you around once more, except this time he missteps, stepping on your foot instead. you winced, “do they not give you dance lessons at the night court?”
“i’m so sorry for that,” he stops, standing still in front of you. “you could probably tell it was my first time…” he softens again, “are you hurt?”
“your foot barely touched mine, it’s okay,” you laugh. you’ve definitely seen worse princes and suitors. “i should talk to your high lord about those lessons, then.”
“they do offer them…” he starts. “it’s just… not part of my responsibilities.”
you blink at him. someone with a connection to the royal line who hasn’t gone to these parties? “what is your job there?”
“i’m the night court’s spymaster.”
“spymaster?” you repeat in a whisper, tilting your head.
his shadows surround the both of you, almost trying to make this moment feel more intimate. you thought about the excitement he must feel, being able to sneak off and go wherever he wanted. you know it wasn’t an easy job, but a part of you envied that his life was probably full of mysteries and exploits. perhaps that was how azriel already came across your brother before you’d met.
you wanted him to stay in the desolate and empty autumn court for longer. you wanted him for yourself. a possibility sparked in your eyes and you looked at him with some kind of disappointment. did he have someone waiting for him at the night court? was he already taken?
in that moment, you wished to the mother and the cauldron for nothing else, but for you to be able to have this. even just a moment of freedom and openness with this… stranger.
he’d slowly felt entranced by you too, wanting to learn everything about you. how did you feel being kept a secret? did you want to see the night court… with him? he wanted to hold onto you tighter, as if beron decided he’d had enough and wanted to take you away.
“my brother… he’s probably waiting,” your voice sounds flat. azriel hadn’t realized how much time passed, how many steps you’d travelled around the ballroom during your conversation before you had stopped.
“y/n,” you hear a sharper voice calling for you. it wasn’t lucien, who you could try to convince with a pleading gaze and sulk, it was eris. he had stepped in to cut your night with azriel short.
“i think they want me to go back,” you say. “and your own high lord is probably waiting too.”
“will i see you again?” you try not to sound desperate. this feeling had been one that you’d never thought of before in all your sheltered years living at your family’s expense, a puppet for the autumn court. you’d felt flustered, like you were a child again, for the first time. there was an eagerness, like the thought of romance had brought back your hope.
azriel’s frown matched yours, you noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes. he hesitantly pulled his hand away, “thank you for dancing with me, it was a pleasure, y/n. i hope you know you’re always invited to the night court. i will talk to rhysand to—” he stops himself. “i really hope i can see you again, too.”
his shadows were dispirited, looking sad as they left you. azriel he bowed his head at you, grabbing your hand and placing a last kiss.
you stop him before he walks away. “i never asked—” you say. “what’s your name?”
“azriel,” he gives you one last wink. “azriel shadowsinger. i hope i’ll see you around.” a smile at the thought of you escaped from him.
“shadowsinger,” his name leaves your lips. you whisper it, recalling the image of him in your mind. you didn’t know how long it would take for you to see it again, or if you ever would, but mother-blessed you wished to.
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“it was enchanting to meet you.”
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slytherinslut0 · 3 months
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merry christmas 🎄
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EEEEEEEKKKKK 😻😻😻😻DADDY DADDY ARF ARF
#thats my husband #my sugar daddy #my mf man
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manamothnoamie · 1 month
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i-mybrunettelady · 1 month
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my future will listen to me
Summary: Alysannyra meets her patron goddess, Lyssa, at long last. Content warnings: None Spoilers: HoT & LWS3 Note: My piece for the @gw2-zine! Go check out the world of my lovely collaborators, and go follow the zine blog! Happy zine release day!
Everyone’s dressed the same, in the same white robe. It’s designed so that it’ll never be worn outside of the ceremony and outside of this one moment in a child’s life, which makes the fine silver embroidery on it that much more meaningful. Alysannyra cannot fathom how it was made - they’d just taken her measurements one day and three weeks later, this gown appeared on their door. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she wears it with as much pride as she can, not knowing where her blessings lie yet. She wears her hair down like everyone else and she tries to not hate how it blends her in with a whole generation of eight-year olds in the watchful eyes of the high society of Divinity’s Reach. 
There are two children before her. She can feel the stares of the proud parents in the shadows of the grand church. She can’t turn, not now, because the question she needs to answer can’t be found in their expectant and somber silence. Murals cast a green light on the pale hair of a boy next to her, but he doesn’t seem unsure. Nervous, maybe, but not unsure. 
Anyone would be nervous in the presence of gods. Their statues cast large shadows in their absence. And the children are to kneel before the one whose gifts they have and go into their church’s fold. It’s no small task, but if Alysannyra knows anything, it’s that she can’t cower under the burden of it. So she stands with her back straight, in a white robe that tickles her ankles from the early morning breeze, and she doesn’t turn to her family. 
Instead, she looks between Lyssa and Balthazar, trying to chase where the feeling in her heart is leading her. So far, the pull’s stronger with Lyssa, but Nyra doesn’t have magic. She isn’t worried. She’s only eight; nobody has magic yet. But some have a better idea of what it might be than others. A child walks over to kneel before Melandru. A priest accepts the handle they’d been carrying and places it by Her feet. Green magic swirls around them and it’s done. 
A clicking sound of hundreds of little heels echoes against the stone floor as they all make one step forward. 
A choice has to be made, and soon. Alysannyra carries her head high, taller than most other kids already, and stares at Lyssa’s graceful form in the center of the Six. Pinks and purples of the vitrage behind her twin forms cast an inviting light that seems to twist and bend in strange shapes, as if to spite the harmony that doesn’t seem perturbed by them. Balthazar’s helmet feels comfortable; Alysannyra, too, will one day wear a helmet, as a member of the Seraph. Its weight feels irrelevant, necessary, part of the regalia as much as the white robe is. She can almost feel the pressure of the hot metal in her bare hands and she feels the war call to her. 
The blonde-haired boy steps forward and steadily walks towards Grenth. He offers the candle, if a little clumsily, and kneels as an unsettling magic twirls around him. Alysannyra watches when his eyes widen just slightly, feeling the magic on his skin, and that is done, too. He is now a member of the Church of Grenth, potential necromancer in the making. He moves away with that knowledge, and now it’s Alysannyra’s turn. 
She doesn’t move quite yet. The limited time she had to choose wasn’t enough, but she can’t ruin this. Her family’s reputation, at least for a season, is at stake, and that little feeling in her chest that burns every time someone calls her Lady Ainsaph, too. She takes a deep breath, looks once more, stares into the eyes of the statues, and turns right. She is a daughter of Ascalon, a daughter of war, and Balthazar would be fitting. 
She lifts one foot off the ground when something in her gut screams no. She holds her head high as she suddenly turns left and walks down to where Lyssa is, candle in hand. Clamor of the people is silenced by the determined clicking of her heels, but she feels at peace. 
Come, daughter, the statue seems to say. Part of her knows this will make people talk, but in a strange way, she looks forward to it. She looks forward to the chaos a slight movement of feet will cause, and lifts her head even higher. 
And when she finally kneels and feels the magic seep into her skin, Alysannyra knows she’s made the right choice. Let them talk, let them gawk. 
At least she’s not just a simple Lady Ainsaph anymore, even if the rebellion is as small as this. 
II
Lyssa’s Reliquary is a fucking maze. Shelves of stone that house both man and monster shaped horrors would be enough to disorient most people, and such feeling is only made worse by the little portals that pop up like zits in the most random fucking places. Nyra hates them the most, even though she’s trying to stay level headed in the face of illusions that remind her of all the bad things she’s done and all the blood on her hands. 
But portals don’t disorient her. The chaos of the reliquary only bothered her for mere seconds before she found the rhythm in this place and she’s been riding it ever since. Renira tries to keep up, visibly struggling. Nyra traverses the sacred space like she was born to do it, and maybe she was. Maybe at birth, Lyssa watched from wherever She is now and pointed Her clawed hand (because in Nyra’s mind, Lyssa’s hands have always been clawed) in her direction so she could pass through Her reliquary once she grew up. 
It’s a comforting thought, in a way. It’s the only comfort she has when she slices through a tortured, gruesome vision of Apatia, dead by Nyra’s own hand. It’s the sole thing keeping her sane when she falls through yet another portal to escape the grasp of an illusory Mordrem Trahearne. 
“Where to now? How do we get down?” Renira shouts, wiping sweat off her brow. She swallows when she looks down at the ground below, but it’s the only sign of distress she offers. Nyra’s getting just slightly better at reading her. Or maybe she just lets Nyra see. Her eyes, golden like a cat’s in the stifling, dark chaos around them, don’t betray anything but a grim determination. 
“I think I know the way down,” Nyra says. “It won’t end with us falling to our deaths, hopefully. I’m getting quite a feel for this place.” 
“Of course you are,” Renira replies. “You’re about as chaotic as this reliquary is.” She gives a small smile. “It suits you, after all.” 
“Ever the charmer, Sulver,” Nyra shakes her head. In another life, they might have developed a romance following their brief hookup in Ebonhawke years ago, and the thought of exploring this place with a lover sounds romantic until she remembers she killed her actual lover in Maguuma. Now, it's a flaring ache that makes her look away in shame. 
“You’re alright, Nyra,” Renira says, strangely gentle. She places a gloved hand on Nyra’s shoulder and though she can’t feel the comfort, she feels undeserving of such sentiment. She’s never really emoted well, but she supposes a lifetime of spying on people makes it easy to identify emotions, regardless of expression or lack thereof. 
Nyra shakes her hand off. “Let’s go,” she says. Renira simply nods. 
But before they can make a single step, a big voice booms in the wind. “That is, in fact, the correct way, Alysannyra Ainsaf! It’s taken you a lot less time than I’d anticipated, too.” 
Nyra’s heart sinks to her feet. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is - the goddess Herself, as much in the flesh as they come these days, and She sounds more than a little smug about it all. 
It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Hail, Lyssa,” she says loudly. A part of her hates how uncertain she sounds, but to make up for it, she turns to the direction of Lyssa's voice. She can’t see Her, of course; mortals can’t see gods. Nyra remembers the story of Malchor. She likes her ability to see, thank you very much. She remembers how anguished his ghost was, howling Dwayna’s name like an injured beast.
And maybe she’s like that, too, alive yet forced to walk with guilt and grief eating away at her spirit and her bones. Because she tried to jump into the sea below not that long ago. In Lyssa’s temple, her mind cruelly supplies and Nyra shivers beneath her armor.  
Can she even bear to look Lyssa in the eye now? 
“Formal,” Lyssa says. “There is no need, daughter. I think you’re right at home. Would you be so formal with your parents?” 
Nyra sits down. Renira watches, unsure of what to do, and she signals her to do the same. “If I’m at home, goddess,” Nyra says, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I bring a guest?” 
“Your mesmer friend? She can stay. Her magic is in my domain, though her blessings are, funnily enough, not. What is your name, mesmer?” 
“Renira, goddess,” she says cautiously. 
“Illusory,” Lyssa replies. “Just like it should be.” 
Renira stiffens and digs her nails in her gloves, but her face remains calm. “Yes, goddess.” 
Nyra wants to ask what that is all about, but knows she needs to tread cautiously, too. Her head’s too exhausted and heavy for two mind games at once. Besides, she needs Renira as an ally here and she’s not stupid enough to risk it by asking questions like this. 
“Lyssa, I have a question,” Nyra says. She swears she can see the wind around them move to face her and tilt a little to the side in curiosity. “You invited me here in a dream. You spoke to me when you sensed that we were backed into a corner in our search, so it stands to reason that you know what we’re after. If I may, what information do you have on Balthazar’s whereabouts?” 
Lyssa’s laughter echoes like a thousand drums, and Nyra digs her clawed gauntlets into her thighs to not cover her ears. She can feel Renira looking at her, maybe bewildered, maybe with that ever present calm, but she doesn’t want to turn away now. A part of her knows she should be more humble, now that she has blood on her hands that will never go away as long as she’s alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t answer that little voice in her head that slaps the notion away like a gnat. 
“Oh, you’re brave!” Lyssa says as laughter dies on Her windy lips. “Humanity hasn’t produced a person this fearless in a long, long while.” 
“That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose,” Nyra says. Her throat becomes tight and her eyes prickle with tears. “I tried to jump from Your temple not that long ago. I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions directly.” 
“I know you did,” Her voice becomes quieter. Of course She knows. “Your mind is still in chaos. It will be until your death. You placed any peace for yourself at the altar of glory long ago.” The wind blows forward, and a ghostly hand cups Nyra’s cheek. It’s cold and unsettling and it makes her skin crawl. She breathes out and closes her eyes tightly. Her heart feels like it wants to beat out of her chest. “Was it worth it?” 
Nyra’s quiet for a while. Tears slide down her skin, burning, yet the ghostly fingers wipe them away. She feels the heaviness of her armor, the tickling of her hair that was once a flag behind her and that now barely reaches her shoulders. Her shoulder aches from the fighting, her heart aches from the evil she’s done, all in the name of her own glory and this fucking world that she’s judged to be worthy of Trahearne’s life. She feels claws softly digging into the sweaty skin of her cheek, as sharp as the ones on her hands. 
Nyra tears light with them and makes it her own. If Lyssa draws blood, that too would belong to Nyra. 
Nyra opens her eyes. “Yes.” 
Lyssa runs a hand through her hair. “I’d hunt you down if you answered any differently,” She simply says. “I sent you that dream because I knew you would be able to stand up to Balthazar. You, daughter, and nobody else. You will either kill him or die trying.” She then lets go and Nyra catches her breath fully again, like a pressure has been lifted.
“I only need to track him down, then,” Nyra says, with a renewed fire in her chest. “So, tell me what you know, goddess.” 
III
She does find Balthazar in the end. These days, the memory of him doesn’t burn so painfully as it did at first. The scars he left on her arms and her legs and on the skin of her stomach and lower back remain hidden under clothes, but Nyra knows they’re there. 
She’s used to them, somehow. They’re her shrine to her heresy, after all. In her home chapel, his place is empty because she carries the reminder of him on her skin. And if she, in her grief-induced craze, had her way, she’d bring down every single statue of him in Tyria by hand. 
Let her be the only shrine he’ll ever have left, on a wartorn path to erase everything else. Sometimes, she remembers Lyssa asking her if it’s worth it. If she thought she knew pain then, when she stood before her goddess, she should’ve considered her answer a little more. 
But Nyra knows pain now. She knows the pain of grief, of loss, of a broken faith, and her answer remains the same. Gods have left Tyria, but this answer is the closest thing she has to a divine oath. 
It’s always worth it.
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shadowgirl-noa · 3 months
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They're besties ur honor
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seeleybooth · 7 months
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Isn't it Bromantic? by Lyssa Kay Adams
“No.” He sat up and cupped her face. “That’s what I’m trying to say. When I joined the book club, I thought you left me because you didn’t believe I was good enough for you.” Her heart cracked. “Vlad—” He pressed his fingertip to her lips. “But I realized that I was the one who believed that. I’m still working on it. Even right now, there’s a part of me that is scared this is just a dream, that you’re not really here, that you couldn’t possibly feel about me the way I’ve always felt about you.” A tear dripped down his cheek. Elena wiped it away before pressing her brow to his. “How could you ever not know that you deserved to be loved?” “How could you ever think that you were just a burden?” She laughed thickly. “It’s sort of a miracle we’ve made it this far, isn’t it?"
“Maybe this is just how our story was supposed to be written.” She kissed him and wiped her cheeks. “So what do we do now?” Vlad tugged her back down to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “We get up, take a bath together”—she mmm’d against his skin—“and we take it day by day for a while.” “I like the sound of that,” she said, burrowing closer to his warmth. He hugged her tighter. “It’s going to be okay now, Lenochka. Everything is going to be okay.”
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I'm like, super Married™️ now and also so GAY for my BEAUTIFUL SPOUSEY (and platonically gay for my HEARTWARMING FRIENDS and LOVED ONES)
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pippytmi · 2 years
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if ur still taking them #13 with supercorp for the prompts
It’s just past five in the morning when Kara blinks awake without knowing why.
She has become used to the sounds of early-morning commuters pattering through the halls, the rhythmic beeps of cars being unlocked downstairs, the coffee maker in the kitchen hissing like it always does when Lena uses it; at first she used to resent her roommate and all other early risers, but now she’s been able to sleep through it like nothing. So it puzzles her now, to be awake for no reason, and especially this time of morning.
“Kara?” comes a sudden whisper, and okay, that makes more sense—Lena sometimes has to wake Kara up whenever Kara accidentally blocks her car, and at this point Kara has maybe-sort-of become attuned to the sound of Lena’s footsteps. Even subconsciously, it seems.
Kara immediately sits up, unsuccessfully hiding a yawn behind her arm. “Hey, sorry, give me a second,” she says. Sometime during the night she’d swept the blankets half off the bed, and as a result she all but tumbles out of bed.
Lena is biting back a smile when Kara catches up to her in the doorway; her hair’s just a touch wet the way it always is after a blow-drying session, her makeup soft and pretty in the light of the hallway, the one that only has two bulbs instead of the usual four because the landlord keeps on making excuses not to come by.
“What happened to being up in time for a drive before the sun rises?”
“Did I say that?” Kara’s head slowly begins to clear, and it dawns all at once; it’s a Saturday. “Oh, shoot. The traffic!”
“Somehow, I think we will survive,” Lena says, and she brushes aside her damp hair and tilts her head down the hall. “I just wanted to make sure you were up. I’m going to pack for the ride if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” Kara reaches to adjust her glasses but realizes she’d forgotten to grab them in her haste to get up. “So is that a definitive no to the—”
“Nope, absolutely no flying,” Lena calls over her shoulder without so much as a pause, and Kara grins.
Kara has brought Lena to Midvale with her every holiday since they were roommates in college, and even though it’s been a few years since they graduated, the tradition has stayed—and so has Lena’s insistence that she will never, ever allow Kara to take her flying. (She cites a fear of heights, but Kara will forever argue that if Lena hadn’t been drunk the first and only time they tried, she might not have thrown up quite so much).
Today isn’t so much a holiday as it is her grandma’s birthday, but Grandma Danvers loves Lena more than half the family anyway; Lena had been the one to even receive the invite, and Grandma Danvers had lovingly penned at the bottom “bring your roommate if you want, I like that Kara girl” with a smiley face that Kara had taught her how to draw.
In any case, it’s still early enough to beat the morning rush, and Kara uses superspeed to cheat in getting showered and dressed. She also finishes packing everything into the car before Lena even has time to ask, including the half-packed snack bag that Lena is filling. Lena gives her a flat, unimpressed glare in response like she does every time Kara shows off, and Kara laughs because she knows Lena really doesn’t mean it.
They’re on the road before the streetlamps are even out, and as easy as it would be to fly to Midvale, Kara also really likes their drives—Lena plugs in her phone and makes Kara listen to whatever she wants, and she’ll idly tap along on the seat while Kara belts out her best Stevie Nicks impression. And as the drive gets long, Lena will dutifully hold a bag of chips so Kara can drive with one hand and snack with the other. It’s a system that just works, and one Kara would be content with for the rest of her life, probably.
(Not that she spends a lot of time thinking about that. Or anything.)
“Oh, Alex is calling,” Lena announces as they’re nearly halfway there; she’s been playing whatever games Kara has, while her own phone remains faithfully cycling Fleetwood Mac’s entire discography. “Hey Alex. Yeah, we’re on our way, sorry we didn’t come up last night but I was working late. Yeah? What about?” A pause, steady nodding, and then a sharp scoff. “Shut up, no she didn’t.”
“What?” Kara asks, but Lena pays her no mind.
“You are a liar,” Lena says. “Do you have me on speaker? What sick, twisted bet do you have running?”
“What’s happening?” Kara tries again, admittedly a bit more concerned now, and Lena does not spare her a single glance before she smacks Kara on the shoulder. “Ow.”
“You did not feel that,” Lena spares a single ounce of attention to say. “And focus on the road, please.”
“I am,” Kara grumbles, but she stays quiet as Lena finishes the conversation she was meant to be having with her sister.
Lena hangs up without so much as a goodbye, which must mean this is serious. “Alex says hi,” she huffs.
“…and is that all she said, or—?”
“And she’s being an ass,” Lena adds, as if that clarifies anything. “Apparently, your grandma was talking her ear off last night about us.”
“Us? You and me, us?” Kara casts a quick glance in Lena’s direction to gauge her expression, but it’s hard to tell; Lena has an uncanny ability to appear stone-faced, a habit she’s developed in order to keep her sanity whenever it comes to work.
“It’s my fault.” There’s a crack in demeanor there, not visible,  but in the softening of Lena’s voice. “I was talking to your grandma last week about a surprise we had for her birthday.”
“Her present?” Kara and Lena had decided on a joint gift: a certificate naming a star for the Danvers family. It was the kind of gesture Grandma Danvers would adore, and it’d been a stroke of genius on Lena’s part. “What about it? Don’t tell me Alex had the same idea.”
“She wishes.” Another tell of Lena’s mood is the way she begins to fidget, the sound of the drum of her fingernails against Kara’s phone case ringing clear as “The Chain” fades out. “I guess your grandma is expecting the big surprise from us to be that we’re together. Like, as a couple.”
Kara has always prided herself on being a rather unfazeable person, but that—that is enough to make anyone choke on air. “Uh,” she stammers, “and is that—that’s something Grandma wants?”
“The way Alex said it, she’s about to throw a wedding on the spot,” Lena grimly replies, and Kara pales.
“Oh.” She mechanically switches lanes as they merge onto the final highway of their journey, mind racing all the while. And as if compelled, her eyes keep drifting back to Lena, who has turned to face the window. Lena’s jaw is set tightly, her shoulders tense, and Kara doesn’t understand why. Is Lena—repelled at the thought? Is she annoyed by Kara’s meddling family? Both answers are disheartening and she really, really hopes it’s neither.
Because, well, of course Kara’s thought about it before. Many times, even. She already loves Lena as a best friend, as a roommate, and there’s been moments when she smiles at Kara while adorably  half-asleep and Kara wants to kiss her. Like, in a normal, not-crushing-on-the-best-friend-she’s-ever-had kind of way.
Kara clears her throat. “I’m sorry,” she breaks the quiet. (Or, more accurately, the opening of “Landslide.”) “If her saying that made you uncomfortable.”
“What? No, it’s not that.” Lena reaches across the seat to quickly rest her hand on Kara's shoulder in a silent apology. “I just, I don't want to disappoint her with our actual surprise.”
“I didn't even think of that,” Kara sighs. “Okay. Well, um…” She gnaws on her bottom lip, trying to form thoughts, and is distracted by the dumb bumper sticker of the car in front of them which reads I ❤️ my girlfriend but my wife hates her. And suddenly, that's when it hits. “Wait. What if we did tell her we're dating?”
“What?”
“Think about it,” Kara hastily continues. “I mean, she loves you so much, it makes sense why the two of us being a couple would make her happy. So what if we pretend we're together? That will make her day, and the next time we see her won't be until Thanksgiving so we can just make up an excuse for why we broke up or something then.”
Lena twists in her seat to face Kara, and there's no mistaking her disbelief. “You want me to lie to your grandma?”
“Not in a bad way,” Kara is quick to reassure her. “Just, in a, what-she-doesn’t-know-can’t-hurt-her kind of way.”
“That feels like the opposite of a birthday gift,” Lena says slowly. “For the record.”
Kara's eagerness deflates as quickly as the idea had come. “You're right,” she says, feels her face grow hot in embarrassment. “It's dumb, I don't know what I'm thinking.”
“I didn't say it was dumb—don't put words in my mouth.” And Lena rests a hand on Kara's wrist, skin soft and too warm because she always holds her hands right in front of the car vents while the heat is blasting. “I suppose if she doesn't find out it's a lie, well…it would be harmless.”
“Right,” Kara agrees automatically. “And she wouldn't find out.”
“Because you’re an absolute master of fooling people?” Lena has the ability to quirk an eyebrow, and she always, always, does it whenever there’s even a hint to the whole Kara-having-powers-and-being-an-alien thing. She takes way too much pleasure in teasing Kara over the fact that, well, the fact certainly was never a secret for long.
“I feel like you’re making fun of me.”
“I would never,” Lena hums, all too pleased, and she cranks up the music and gets that distant, faraway look to her eyes as she gazes out of the window. “It's your call, Kara Danvers. If you want me to be your fake girlfriend, then I'm in.”
“Why do you do that?” Kara wonders aloud before she even realizes she’s speaking. “Um, the whole…’Kara Danvers’ thing. You always have a habit of calling people by their full names.”
Lena shrugs. “I don’t know,” and she kind of smiles over her shoulder, a shy smile just hovering on the cusp of amused. “Is it weird?”
“No,” Kara says, and she feels her whole chest ache with the word, because what she means is I like it. And, maybe in the strangest turn of events, she understands what she really means is I like you.
By the time they arrive in Midvale, it’s bordering on noon; Kara stops to put gas while Lena insists on running inside the gas station for a soda, and she emerges holding a new pair of sunglasses and about three sodas too many—at least for her. Kara gives her grief over the fact that she buys all these sodas to taste and abandon, while Lena just rolls her eyes and points out it’s not a waste because Kara will drink them anyway.
(And she does, but not without having an internal freakout about placing her lips on the same can Lena did.)
“You know,” Lena says as Kara pulls up to her grandma���s house after a million Lena-requested stops, “we should probably have a story before we go inside.”
“Huh?” Alright, maybe not all the stops were Lena-related. Kara is currently four bites into a burger from the diner down the street and her attention’s pretty much laser-focused on how much she’s missed the food here.
“Of how we got together,” Lena clarifies, and Kara almost chokes.
“R-right,” she manages—coughs—out. “And we probably have to seem…couple-y.”
“Right,” Lena echoes, voice sort of tight, and Kara nervously adjusts her glasses.
“We can do this,” she says, more to reassure herself than anything. “It can’t be too different than being friends, can it? We’re good at that. Being friends.” 
Lena awkwardly clears her throat. “Yeah,” she says. “Best friends.”
“Okay, then, how about we were hanging out—as friends do—and then…” Kara kind of trails off; it’s harder than anticipated, to spin tales about the entirely hypothetical situation of asking her best friend out. And it’s especially hard when Lena is looking at her, biting her bottom lip in a way that has Kara zeroed in on her mouth. “No, scratch that. We need a real story.”
“What do you mean?” Lena frowns. “The whole thing isn’t exactly real, so…” 
“It still needs to be believable.” Kara sits up straighter, the perfect image already forming. “We can say we started dating two months ago, when you went on a blind date with Victoria-or-whatever, except in our fake story we say that I got jealous and blurted out I had feelings for you. And obviously you liked me back, or else this would have ended very awkwardly.”
Lena shoots her a very fond, and very exasperated, look. “I know you know her name is Veronica.” 
“—and,” Kara goes on, ignoring the comment, “we kept it quiet because we wanted to take it slow. Since, you know, our friendship comes first.”
“Obviously,” Lena says. “So we have the story, but what about the…acting?” She grimaces slightly. “God, it sounds so sketchy the more we discuss it.”
“Only if you make it that way, Lena,” says Kara with a straight face, and Lena balls up a diner napkin and throws it at her. “Hey!”
Before she can initiate a proper war using whatever tools are at her disposal (a Slim Jim being an especially enticing makeshift sword), Kara’s phone starts ringing again; it’s Alex, and Lena answers because of course she still has Kara’s phone in her hand and not her own.
“Hi, Alex.” A pause. “Yes, we’re outside, how did you know?” Another frown, this time deeper. “Ew, why are you watching us? That’s creepy. Tell—tell Maggie I can hear her. And is that—” All at once, Lena bursts into a laugh. “Hi, Grandma Danvers. No, Alex is a liar, you know she is. Kara is just pretending she isn’t eating lunch for the second time before she comes in to raid your pantry.”
“Hey,” Kara repeats, and Lena crinkles her nose at her and just keeps on smiling.
“Okay. Uh-huh. Bye.” Lena finally passes her phone back. “Looks like it’s showtime. Are you ready for this?”
“Yes,” Kara says firmly. Then, “Wait, let me finish eating first.”
Afterwards, as they stumble out into the dust and dirt, Kara watches Lena—Lena, who wears Kara’s flannels with the sleeves rolled up, who insists on a full face of makeup even when it’s just Kara’s family she has to be with, who consciously reviews every step carefully so she will not step on any bugs. She gives a frightened yelp as a bee flies past, stumbling back automatically, and Kara is immediately there to steady her.
“Can I hold your hand?” Kara finds herself asking, and Lena’s face turns a soft pink when she says yes, and Kara doesn’t even know if it’s due to the heat or some other reason.
Suddenly it’s like she is a teenager again, all fumbling fingers and sweaty palms, but Lena is remarkably unfazed. She just squeezes Kara’s hand tighter, allows Kara to grandly sweep open the front door, laughing at the way Kara trips over the loose porch step as if absolutely nothing is different.
Grandma Danvers is all over them in an instant. “I knew it!” she crows. “You two have been keeping this from me, haven’t you?! Oh I’m so happy for you both!” She’s hugging them before Kara can even drop their bags, and from over her head, Alex is mouthing you motherfucker because she most certainly must have placed some sort of bet about this.
“Grandma,” Kara whines, as is her obligatory right as a grown woman being smothered. “Who says we’ve been keeping anything from you?”
“It’s one thing to be keeping secrets, child, but another to lie about it,” Grandma Danvers huffs. “Lena, you’re sure you want this one?”
“Grandma!”
Lena does not bother to hide her blatant amusement. “Unfortunately, yes,” she says, making a show of batting her eyelashes up at Kara, and Kara swallows hard because she’s just—very close. Close enough that she could almost kiss her.
“Gross,” Maggie chimes in, and Lena flips her off behind Grandma Danvers’ back (because as far as she knows, Lena Luthor is the saint among their group). “But I totally called it. Alex owes me twenty bucks.”
“You’re betting on my love life?” Kara asks, half-scandalized and half-unsurprised. “Does Eliza know about this?”
“Eliza also owes me twenty bucks,” Maggie says all-too-proudly; now Kara finds it in herself to be a tad concerned.
“Well,” Lena cuts in, “this is a very…touching reunion, but not why we’re here.” The Lena Luthor that Kara knows has always been able to charm anyone, and she can commandeer a room without trying, but this is the Lena that Kara likes the best—the person whose face practically glows as she hugs Kara’s grandma. “Thank you for having me, Grandma Danvers. Happy birthday.”
“Oh, you know you’re always family, sweetheart,” she replies. “Even if you and Kara weren’t dating, you know I’d pick you first.”
“I’m still here,” Kara is sure to remind her, and Grandma Danvers just laughs and shoos her off to carry Lena’s bag upstairs. This, of course, is what causes her brain to start snowballing. If they’re “dating,” the family will undoubtedly expect Lena to sleep in Kara’s room tonight. And then they’ll have to share the bed. Together. Very close to each other.
(And together).
Lena comes to find her eventually. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t raid the fridge yet,” she says. “And we’ve been here almost half an hour, so…you must be sick, or possessed, I’m assuming?” Teasing as her words are, her voice is decidedly gentler, an unspoken question held in the way she waits patiently at the doorway.
Kara sort of blinks back. “Yeah, no, I—I’m getting to it,” she says. I’m okay is what she means, and even as she’s sitting on her childhood bed and clasping her hands too tightly between her knees, she hopes Lena gets it.
She must, surely, because Lena’s shoulders relax. “Okay,” she says, and takes a seat beside Kara. “Do you feel weird about what happened?”
“Not really,” Kara says. Pauses. “Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel right now. I thought we could just come in here and pretend and we would all laugh and move on and—and nothing would change. I mean, nothing has changed,” she’s quick to add.
Lena rests her hand on Kara’s thigh. “I get it,” she admits. “It’s weird. I never thought your family would like the idea of us dating so much.”
“Right! It is weird!” Kara laughs a little too loudly. “Um, not the idea of us dating, just that they’re really on board. With it.”
“Exactly!” And Lena’s—looking right at Kara now, green eyes framed in mascara that’s a little smudged from falling asleep in the car, so beautiful that it makes Kara’s heart skip a beat. “So, um, are you ready to keep on playing along?”
“Definitely,” Kara promises, and she feels the itching need to brush a flyaway strand of hair behind Lena’s ear, and so she does it.  “Thank you, for this. You’re…a really good friend.”
“Your best friend,” Lena corrects, not in the usual smartass way that she would say it, but quietly—quietly, like a reassurance they both need, and even as the space between them seems to grow smaller and the air feels heavier on their shoulders, they don’t look away.
“Yeah,” Kara whispers. “Always.”
(And she knows—she knows—that it is definitely not just friendship they’re talking about here.)
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angcrmanagcmcnt · 1 month
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They are two different beings made to coexist as one. They are two different ends of a spectrum, arguably; human and 'monster'.
They are simultaneously sisters and complete strangers.
They are two and they are one, and they are halves of a whole and two complete people, and neither would be alive without the other. Perhaps that in and of itself is the cruelty of their particular circumstances; they cannot do anything without the other, and there can never truly be silence in the little space that lies between them.
They coexist well enough, for two beings so different.
Lyssa is sunshine personified, a ray of joy and light that radiated hope and adoration to those she held dear, and Anger is.....well, she is Anger. Ire and spite, fury that hardly knew any bounds, all condensed into one small little form, ready to burst at the seams at any slight; whether it be perceived or genuine.
Such a wonder it is, that these two ended up stuck together.
It is not such a wonder that they have their ornery moments.
It starts with them being worried about their family's disappearance.
Lyssa would argue that worried is not even half of it, and all Anger wants to do is argue lately, it seems. Argue about what they should do, about whether to stay inside and await everyone's return or go out and actively search.
Anger wants to stay put, to wait for them to come back because of course they're going to come back. They can't not come back.
Lyssa does not share the sentiment. She does not hope and she does not wish, she's run out of patience for both of those things, and she is tired of waiting. The last time she was a sitting duck hadn't ended very well and she does not want a repeat of history.
They can both feel the tension in the air, feel the dread pooling in the recesses of their shared existence.
Neither of them like it, of course; who would?
It all comes to a head a week after Ed, Al, and Mr. Mustang disappeared.
It had been calm, for the most part. They didn't know what was going on outside; they hadn't even set foot outside of the house since the day everything turned upside down.
Lyssa had been looking at the food that was left in the cupboards. There was still plenty enough for them to eat, as long as they were careful, but food for the pets was running low. She was making plans, mumbling to herself about trying to get more food for the animals, when Anger spoke up in the back of her mind.
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" We aren't gonna go outside, right? "
They've had this conversation a million times, in a million different ways.
And it seems they have to have it again.
" We have to, Anger. Yuki needs food, and we have to look for everyone. "
" I don't want to. "
The response is so fast that Lyssa startles and almost knocks a can over, but her response comes easily despite it, accompanied by a sigh.
" I don't care, we have to and you know it. We can't stay here forever, Anger. "
" Don't just say that. "
The words have a bite to them that Lyssa is, at this point, familiar with. It's difficult not to, with her little head roommate being the very incarnation of someone's Anger. As a fortunate side effect, she's grown accustomed to dealing with said head roommate when she gets a little too snappy.
But Lyssa is tired of it.
" I get that you're mad— "
" 'm not fuckin' mad— "
" You're Anger, your default is mad— "
" Y'know what, go fuck yourself! I don' give a shit, 'm not leavin' this fuckin' house 'til they come back! "
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" And if they don't? "
There is a sudden quiet in their shared space and Lyssa knows she's made a mistake, misstepped in the worst way possible, but she's come this far and has to stick to her guns. This isn't part of the latest script, but it needs to be acknowledged.
It is a horrifying possibility, but a possibility nonetheless.
" …They will. They always do. "
A possibility that Anger refuses to accept.
And Lyssa is tired of it.
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" Anger, they're alchemists— "
" The fuck're you tryin'a get at here— "
" If you shut up an' let me finish maybe I could get to it! "
Silence fills the air with a kind of dread Lyssa knows well. The other shoe hangs in the air, a hair's breadth away from collapsing to the ground, but she waits in the silence for a few moments longer. She doesn't want another interruption, even if she knows it's inevitable.
" They're alchemists, Anger, they're not invincible. They're human, an' you.....you know how breakable they are. "
" I swear, if you're— "
Being reasonable? Being logical? She isn't listening to Anger anymore as she prattles on about something and all Lyssa knows is that there is a ringing in her ears and her nails are digging into the palm of her hand so hard it hurts.
All she knows is that she is angry. And she needs to calm down because the rage that bubbles within hasn't gotten her anywhere before.
Even if her anger is how she survived, she doesn't like to think about it.
She doesn't want to go back to the rage, not today, but Anger is making it oh so very hard, and Lyssa can feel the dam cracking. It could break any moment and all it needs is one wrong step before—
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" Aren't you listenin' to me? "
The dam shatters and she is yelling.
" Well it ain't like I got much've a damn choice is there?! You're always in my fuckin' head and you never shut up! Nothin' ever shuts up, either ev'ryone is screamin' or you're goin' on some damn rant about God knows what! I don't care, Anger, we're leavin' and that's that! You can't stop me! "
One beat, two. She pants, out of breath and Lyssa thinks for one, feeble moment, that she's won.
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The sense of victory is ripped away from her reach as her right arm is suddenly moving without her input. It reaches up and grabs a strand of her hair and tugs violently, hard enough to jerk her head to one side. She cries out and grips her rogue limb with the one she can still control, holding it in place.
She's barely aware of Yuki barking, and a hollow feeling floods her at the words that come from Anger, eerily quiet and worst of all, calm.
" I can an' I will. "
Dread worms its way into her, and the terror helps adrenaline flow faster even if Lyssa can't use it. She doesn't want to go back. She doesn't want to be stuck in the dark again, she doesn't want to have her own body ripped away from her grasp.
" Anger, please— "
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" No! You think 'm gonna let you waltz outta here an' get us killed?! Nice try, but that ain't happening! You might have a death wish, but I don't! "
And then there's silence. It fills the space between them and fills Lyssa's thoughts with fear. It's hard to breathe. Why is it hard to breathe? It feels like her lungs are seizing in her chest, like—
She tries to draw in a breath. It feels like her lungs rattle with the effort it takes, yet there's still no reprieve, and she can feel herself sinking, hear the screams growing louder as her vision blurs and fades. She doesn't want to go back. She doesn't want to be drowned out again. She—
She's scared.
She tries to grip the counter, and she tries to stay, but it's no use as her vision swims and spirals. She can still hear Yuki barking, closer now, as her legs fold beneath her and Lyssa gasps. Tears burn her eyes.
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" Please, " she tries again, and nearly chokes on the word.
Silence is her only reply, and just like that, she's forced back down into the darkness and the screaming.
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Three days pass before Lyssa is able to wrangle control again.
She doesn't bring up the idea of leaving again.
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lyssatbqh · 9 months
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Bringing the kinda "I gotta be the cutest bitch at the niche local folk dance night" energy that makes people unsure of what my Deal is
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slcknasty · 1 year
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see beyond the visible
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lyssasdrafts · 23 days
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azriel x reader
established relationship, cuddling, pure fluff, our pretty boy <3
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“you know, we don’t have to do anything tonight,” azriel leans back onto the couch, pulling your body closer to him him.
“i know,” you press yourself against his chest, “i just want you to stay with me.” the both of you are half asleep, hugging each other before you drift off. he throws his head back on a cushion, putting his arm around your waist, as if being near you brought him to be more at ease.
your hands find their way between his hair, combing your fingers through it as you hum quietly to yourself. thanks to you, it looks messy and ruffled now. you let out a giggle, you could never take him seriously after this.
his hazel eyes give you a look through his tired gaze, but he doesn’t question anything, before he shifts his body next to yours and his eyelids close.
you understood why people thought he could be intimidating at first, but you’ve only ever known him as this soft-spoken lover.
you lay next to him, admiring his features lusciously. the way his eyelashes fluttered, his skin feeling warm next to yours, his tousled hair, and his lips looking soft and red as he let out a noise from them.
“you’re so pretty,” you say giddily. “have i ever told you that?”
“hmm?” azriel opens his eyes again, looking at you. he’s smiling like an idiot as you press a kiss on his cheek.
“you’re so pretty, azriel.” you repeat, giggling at his reaction. he looks so flustered, hiding his face and hoping you can’t feel the heat rushing to him. you keep playing with his hair, holding his head to face you before you kiss him again.
“that’s all you, my love,” he mutters when you pull away from his lips. azriel lifts his hand to caress your face, he’s admiring you too even in this haze. he’s so tired that he doesn’t know if he’ll even remember this in the morning, but everything feels so at peace in this moment together. “let’s go to sleep, y/n.”
“sweet dreams, azriel.”
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hellafluff · 1 year
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tales to be told vol 2 doesnt have to go that fucking hard
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carrioncrowes · 7 months
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working on a side story with The Lesbian Side Couple That Distracts Me From My Own Main Couple
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runelocked · 3 months
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we both know you're leaving. you just don't want to say it yet. / from mike!
FOR A MAN WHO ALWAYS HAS AN ANSWER, THE RESPONSE OF SILENCE IS TELLING. William can’t really deny it — refuses to be a hypocrite, hypocritically — but stubbornly can’t admit to it either. Yes, he’s leaving. It’s their final meal together, the Last Supper, he thinks a tad hysterically, suppressing the urge to laugh . . . And he’s been trying so hard to keep his intentions hidden. Setting down his cutlery, he wonders if making a three course meal had been the giveaway. Or maybe just the fact he’d chosen to spend time with his only remaining child without arguing or fighting.
Perhaps Mike just knows him so damn well. That thought is simultaneously gratifying and terrifying.
“ If you already think you know, then clearly I don’t need to say anything. ” He forces out through uncomfortable lips, eyeing the remains of his cold dinner rather than his son. His suitcase is packed in his room. There is nothing left for him here. Just Michael, who might be better off without him anyway. “ You seem to have convinced yourself that I am leaving. Would anything I say sway that ? ”
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shadowgirl-noa · 5 months
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workin on a lil something... just not sure how dramatic i wanna push lighting
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