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spacedikut · 4 years

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“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #garcia is watching everything through the security cameras btw #you think she'd do all this and NOT watch her hard work flourish?#think AGAIN

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ghostxraven · 3 years

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hi love im deep in ur art blog for reasons and im SO in love with the fact that ur ghoul has his OWN nickname tattooed on him in party's writing they are SO 🥺 was wondering if you wanted to talk a bit more abt ghouls tattoos??? theyre just SO gorgeous and intricately laid out

HI i LOVE u i am KISSING u i would love love love to talk about ghoul’s tattoos 🥺❤️

^ yeah ghoul & party have each other’s handwriting tattooed!! for party it’s one of the only tattoos they have & it’s right over their heart (im sure ive mentioned this fact before but idk if ive explicitly noted that it says ‘sunshine’) and ghoul didn’t have the space to put his right over his heart because poison’s kj symbol is there so his is on his upper arm (they ARE soooooooo 🥺 i love them)

ghoul’s tattoos are a healthy mix of sentimental ink and things he just thought were beautiful. when he met the rest of the four he didn’t have THAT many tattoos because 1. he was 14 2. he’d only been in the zones for a little under a year and a half at that point but the ones he DID have (aka his oldest tattoos) were his knuckle tattoos (‘freed’ and ‘fuck’ what can i say he was 13), the big raven on his upper shoulder and neck (he started believing in the witch very early compared to other cityborns but yeah that tattoo was both a way of symbolizing his devotion to the witch and a way of marking himself as a killjoy/shedding his past in the city in the way that he considered clearest), the fangs on his hand, two bats on his leg, the zombie bite on the other side of his neck (i could get a little more into this but BASICALLY ghoul being an ex-crow trainee + a cityborn + being the only surviving member of his first crew had a problem with feeling inhuman and a lot of survivor’s guilt and so he really. idk he connected a lot with zombies & frankenstein’s monster and ghosts & the like when he was a runner for dr. d post-his crew’s deaths. he got better about Seeing Himself as a Person especially once kobra + the other two showed up but the fascination remained) (also not tattoo-related but that’s when he chose his name. before that he’d been called ‘sandpup’ by his old crew & he never had a chance to tell them before they passed but he really loved that they used that as a name for him especially with how much he didn’t want to associate himself with the city) (ghoul had A Lot of issues but the difference there is that he worked thru them a lot earlier than the rest of the four) and “I FORGIVE U” on the back of his neck (in remembrance of said former crew).

umm along with that kind of fascination with the undead/feeling that kind of connection are the frankenstein stitches on his wrists (tho thats more of a common hc) and he has this pretty big tattoo of abstracted bones following his vertebrae down his throat and chest that he’s gotten expanded/fixed/touched up over the years. ik i do a lot of b&w doodles but i feel like i’ve been kind of inconsistent about coloring (most of his tattoos are color). pretty sure ive mostly drawn them in green (???) but in my head they’re like a faded light blue using natural skin tone as highlights.

his more sentimental tattoos…let me see if i can outline them here. this might not be exhaustive but i will do my best to list what ive figured out at least thus far:

the two little bats on his right thigh are for his grandmother and little sister. his sister (juliet adele fujikawa, b. april 2009 d. december 2014) was killed in a car crash shortly before he left the city, and likewise, his grandmother (charlotte fujikawa [藤川千尋] b. june 1936 d. december 2014) was “moved to retirement housing” at about the same time. that was pretty much the last straw & ghoul left battery city within the week

there’s his crewmates’ symbols on his chest (in order from his right to left: kobra, jet, party) (gotten when their crew had been together for a while. dating this one is based on a couple things: 1. ghoul had been with them for long enough that he felt secure 2. poison and ghoul were friends by this point, or else he wouldn’t have included their symbol and 3. poison’s is over his heart so you can read into that as you will)

text from the graffiti bible on his right calf, as protection for his crew & as a reminder of one of his former friends who was a droid that believed very strongly in destroya’s return

his raygun on his chest (he was pretty proud of the design! this was when he was ~15 or 16) that he had poison’s added to post-sing post-engagement pre-commitment ceremony (so. september 2023) (yes i have my handwritten timeline + my own drawings + my fics out in front of me rn cross-referencing sldkdksksbx!)

one of the girl’s childhood drawings (one she drew of him & her & the stuffed animal he made for her when she was a baby all having a tea party together) from when she’s about 5 or so on his right hip (december 2022 or so)

shooting stars on his upper right shoulder, partially because they’re pretty and blend well with his other tattoos and partially because they’re a reminder of a lot of things, including but not limited to his first night out in the zones seeing the stars for the first time, stories his grandma used to tell him, and right when he’d first joined the fab four and him & kobra sat on the roof during a meteor shower

besides the other one i already mentioned ^ he has more of poison’s handwriting on his left inner forearm — this is also one ive mentioned before but once they’ve been in a relationship for a while they get into the habit of leaving little love notes around for each other! there’s nothing particularly special specifically about the one he got tattooed, besides the fact that it reminded him of poison and they love each other. the text in full (which i don’t think ive ever put anywhere, though im pretty sure ive put fragments of it in fics and art) is as follows:

Good Morning baby <3! I needed new paints, went on a run. Kobra has the Girl @ the Crash Track, Jet’s at the station. call me when you wake up! I love you, be back soon. XO Party <3

he also has the anniversaries of when they started dating and their commitment ceremony (03•03•21 and 10•26•23 respectively) on the inside of his right wrist ^ !

he’s got a snake wrapping around his left leg that kobra picked out and a hand of cards with the ace of spades face up that jet picked out (and these ofc are because they remind him of his crewmates!!)

he has the phoenix witch tattooed on his ribs, left side, styled vaguely after catholic saints (since that imagery can still be found in the inner zones & especially where ‘joys who still practice that religion gather!)

there’s a version of the eye from the mailbox on his right shoulder, and this one is also a sort of symbol of protection/good luck, to show devotion to the witch and to help protect himself and his crew

the constellation libra on his left forearm! this one was done a little while after he started running transmissions and supplies for dr. d! he liked the connection that astrology — whether he believed in the practice or not is up for debate — gave people to the stars, and the feeling that he had a place in the universe, predestined or not

after charlie is born, he gets a portrait of her (~age 4) with her name and birthday underneath done on his left thigh! (~2036)

and on his lower back, he has a fairly simple tattoo of two crows on a wire with their beaks pressed together (aughhhhhh romance) that he gets done as an anniversary surprise for their 10-year (so. 2033)!

his non-sentimental tattoos are largely based off of images from books, either from dr. d’s collection when he was working as a runner for him or from cherri’s after he joined up with the fab four, or else they’re naturally occurring in the zones!! this includes but is not limited to: california golden poppies on the back of his left shoulder, strawberries around his left bicep (he doesn’t ever have a strawberry until he’s like 35, this one is absolutely based off of a particularly pretty illustration), a thundercloud with lightning on his left elbow, a moon on his right inner bicep, a ring of thorns around his right forearm right under the elbow, a dagger on his inner left calf, and a sun, small bat, cross, rose, ribbon (with the word ‘faith’ in script), and wing on his right forearm and hand, all picked from flash sheets

so yeah! that’s about everything i have to say about ghoul’s tattoos atm but ty ty ty sm for letting me ramble abt them i think about his tattoos so much 😔❤️

#danger days #fun ghoul #ttlotfk #killjoys california #headcanons #killjoys #funpoison #hcs #pi's personal #jordan tag ⚠️#query on top #i LOVE U SM !!!!! 💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️#sorry you got an essay & also that it took me all day to get this out i have SO many thoughts #& i really hope i didn’t miss anything but i MIGHT have because tumblr deleted half of what i typed when i tried to save a draft SO.

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friendlybowlofsoup · 4 years

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hey meo!! Just wanna say ive been up all night thinking abt the ROs lol iloveee them so much!! And if it’s okay, i wanted to know how they would react to an MC who tends to keep secret their pain/feeling unwell/ bc MC’s been alone for so long and MC dont wanna ever bother the ROs 😭😭😭

!! Thank you! (´• ω •`) ♡

Qiu is at your side near constantly when he notices something is off. His hand slips into yours frequently, and his stray touches linger longer, warm with concern. He will wait for you to speak up on your own, and until then, he resolves to be a constant presence, a pillar of support through whatever you face.

“I trust you.” His fingers stop you from walking away, but only just. They wrap around your wrist, squeeze once, before sliding down to press into your palm. His eyes, intense and proud, never leave yours. “And I am yours, if you ever need anything. Remember that.”

An is quick to pick up on something that’s bothering you, perceptive as she is, and she moves in immediately. She gets you alone, and she takes both of your hands in hers, pulling you until your chest is flush against her own, her clever eyes aglow with summer warmth.

“Speak to me, Love.” She is like the sun, warm and all-knowing, coaxing the ties around your heart to unravel at her feet. Her hands slide from your arms to your shoulders, to the back of your neck, until they gently lean your forehead against hers. “Do not suffer by yourself. Between the two of us, we can overcome anything.”

Min He is likely to pick up on your distress long before you voice it, and while she’ll try to respect your decision to keep quiet, she can’t help but to worry. She finds you when she feels your suffering has become too much, her hands soft and inquiring on your cheeks.

“If I am overstepping, then say so and this matter will be dropped, My Heart.” Her words are kissed into your forehead, fierce and protective despite how gently they are whispered. “But I am here, and we are together, and I do not want you to fight alone.”

Kaski notices the change in your mood and behavior, and his hand sweeps across your shoulder. He pulls you a step closer, lightning rippling down your spine as he peers into your eyes, expression solemn and stern. He says nothing, at first, and then a thumb pulls soft against your cheek and you recognize fear in his touch.

“Don’t--” He starts, and then stops, and there is more vulnerability in that single word than you’ve ever heard from him. Then he exhales, harsh, and his hand cups your jaw as he speaks again, his voice as gruff as ever. “...Do not hide yourself from me. Not for something like this. Please.”

Xinyi is no god, no spirit, and if hidden well enough he might not notice your distress until much later. But he does eventually find out, and he’s a little hurt, but mostly distraught at what you must be going through alone. He holds you, if you let him, his hands tight against your back, and his heart racing in his chest.

“Bother me? You?” He’s shaking his head, a little frantic, and his fingers hold even tighter than before. He touches his nose to your neck, to your cheek, and finally, he pulls away just so he can look you in the eyes. “Never. I am here for you. For anything--everything--if you will have me.”

Hiemi will leave you alone at first, but she finds herself trying to help you before long. She confronts you sooner than later, awkward in the hand she rests at your elbow, but gentle and imploring all the same. The scent of lotus floats over her skin, a perfume that calms you, and she inclines her head quietly.

“Stronger together, correct?” She grasps your forearm, her skin cool and dry. She wills herself to not pry any further than you will allow her, her chi floating like a lily pad on the surface of your thoughts. “I am on your side, regardless. If you need me, then I will be here."

Go Ro is sensitive to suffering, given his occupation, and is especially so to yours, since you are always so near. Before long, he has pulled you to the side, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth a thin line--a tense expression that allows no argument, but the usual heat is not there. His eyes hold no fire this time, none for you at least, just softened gold that flickers when you meet them.

"I will not interfere if you do not want me to." He speaks calmly, but there is no indifference in how he looks at you, so intense and yet without flame, searching for something he can heal. He lifts a hand and brushes the back of your ear, staying against your skin. "But do not hesitate to come to me, if otherwise. I am always here."

Chun notices that something is wrong, but she is torn between leaving you be and interfering. In a burst of impulse, she grabs your hand when you've gone solemn for a beat longer than usual, gently tugging your arm until you look at her. She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then steels herself and grips your fingers.

"Don't...don't stew for too long, Spark." She finally manages, squeezing your hand again as she inclines her head. She seems conflicted to say anymore, but quietly, she mutters. "If I can help, then I want to. Just tell me how."

Spider takes a while to act, trusting in your decision, but he keeps a close eye on you regardless. As time passes though and your silence holds, his budding concern blooms full, and eventually, his hands find themselves on your waist--not to trap you, just enough to get your attention--and then they leave, hovering carefully.

"Everything alright?" His voice likewise skims over your cheek. He grins when you look at him, his affection is plain, more open than usual, fizzing like stardust in the air between you. "Call me if you need me, Fireball. We fight together, yeah?"

#RO Ask #fluff #angst #just a leedle

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unibrowzz · 3 years

Text

Mod (finally) reviews all 67 winners of the Eurovision Song Contest Part IV: The 1980s

Ah yes, the 80s. One of my favourite decades for music overall, and one of the only decades in Eurovision where I wouldn’t immediately jump at the chance to change most of the songs that won, the other decade being the 2000s.

But at least with the 80s there was more quality songs per year, whereas the 2000s was mostly drivel.

I also count the 80s as being somewhat of a turning point in the contest’s history, and by that I mean it always seemed to me like it was the decade where the UK really began to stop caring. Most people know the song that won in 1985, but nobody knows what won in 1986. Everyone knows Johnny Logan won twice, but couldn’t name his second song. Everyone knows Celine Dion competed, but can’t remember if she won or what she sang.

That and countries also started experimenting with more modern sounds and outfits towards the end. The early 80s is just an extension of the 70s I swear.

But that’s enough of all that, how do I find the winning songs?

1980- What’s Another Year?

Country: Ireland

Artist: Johnny Logan

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the song that makes every 50something woman in the UK and Ireland all doey-eyed and rosy cheeked as they remember back to when they were a teenager watching this on TV and drooling at the lovely looking sad Irishman singing his sorrows into the microphone. Or that’s my experience with this song anyway. Another experience is that most vintage fans I know tend to dislike this song on the grounds of it beating out [insert song here] Everyone has their favourite from 1980 since it was honestly a pretty strong year, but even though this song isn’t my first place for that year I can still clearly see why it won. See, 1980 had a lot of pop songs, so a slow, sad song like this one was bound to stand out, whether it was popular or not. Luckily for this one, it turned out to be a popular choice. Other songs wouldn’t be so lucky… Back on track though. Like I said, this is a very sad and melancholy song with sad and melancholy lyrics, which not only made it stand out in its year, but also made it stand out amongst other Eurovision songs of its time. It’s strange to think, but at this point in the contest’s history there hadn’t been a winner with lyrics so solemn and personal. See, in modern Eurovision, every other song is the artist baring their soul about their horrible ex-boyfriend, or their depression, or past abuse, or whatever, so knowing there was a period where songs like that were so rare is just… surreal to me.

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or Greece tbh, I don’t mind this one

If no, what is? Greece- Anna Vissi- “Autostop”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 23rd

1981: Making Your Mind Up

Country: United Kingdom

Artist: Bucks Fizz

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the UK winner that nobody really likes, but the BBC still forces at us anyway because they’re proud they came up with a gimmick that everybody remembers. Or maybe it’s not that well remembered, but nobody would know that because we’re reminded of it every year. This song is… alright. Just alright. The first listen of this one is always the best, because after a while it just gets kind of annoying. The singing ESPECIALLY starts to grate you for a while. Even in the studio version the two girls sound unbearably shrill and whiny, and I’m not sure if that’s their fault or the songwriter’s (since if I remember correctly only one of them was a professional singer). I’m seriously convinced there’s no way for a female vocalist to pull this off without sounding terrible. Again, this one’s perfectly fine and serviceable, but that doesn’t mask the fact it’s still the worst UK winner and the worst winner of the 1980s too.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Portugal- Carlos Paião- “Playback”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 58th

1982: Ein Bißchen Frieden

Country: West Germany

Artist: Nicole

Language: German (Translation: “A little peace”)

Thoughts: This song gives me a really warm, nostalgic feeling, and I don’t know why. I mean, I know this one did well internationally, so it’s possible I just heard it as a kid, but given how I grew up in the early 2000s, “Eurovision is a shitty freak show full of weirdos from the USSR who gang up on the UK and don't vote for us on purpose” era Britain, that’s highly unlikely. Anyways, this is such a warm, fuzzy kind of song. It has a lovely… round-the-campfire, singalong kind of vibe, like this is meant to be sung by a load of long haired hippies with flowers in their hair and CND symbols drawn on their cheeks. And it’s… … Also kind of bland. If you’ve been reading my personal winners so far, you’ll have noticed I definitely have a soft spot for old German entries, so it’s a shame I find the one song they actually won with to be so… generic. It’s like they got tired of being unique so decided to send the same saccharine fluff everyone else was sending, and guess what, it paid off majorly, because this song was a huge hit at the time. Something about that kind of bothers me, like, out of all the entries they sent, it’s the one that’s the most “Eurovision-y” that ended up winning. And there’s something depressing in that.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Bardo- “One Step Further”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 50th

1983: Si la vie est Cadeau

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: Corinne Hermés

Language: French (Translation: “If life were a gift”)

Thoughts: You want a tip on how to stand out amongst Eurovision fans? Say you like this song. Probably won’t make you very popular, but you’ll stand out at least. I will confess, I, too, was part of the hate-wagon for this song. Like most fans I knew, I’d complain about how boring and uninteresting it was and how it, ahem, “robbed” so many other entries, and how basic it was, et cetera, et cetera. But… honestly? It’s not even that bad. Sure I had other favourites from 1983 (the ones I could stand watching anyway, the host that year was so unimaginably terrible I gave up watching halfway through. I DARE you to watch the whole thing without wanting to neck yourself), but this song gets way more hate than it deserves. I honestly don’t think this song is half as bad as I made it out to be myself, or as bad as the fandom makes it out to be. It’s got a decent melody, some solid vocals, some appealingly 80s instrumental, like there’s a lot I like here. …Until you read the lyrics and realise they’re almost as half-assed and lazy as All Kinds of Everything’s, but I digress. Did I prefer other songs from that year? Of course. Am I going to complain about this one winning? Nah. It’s alright.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Sweden- Carola Häggkvist- “Främling”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 41st

1984- Diggiloo, Diggiley

Country: Sweden

Artist: Herreys

Language: Swedish

Thoughts: Whenever I was a younger fan I used to describe this song as being drunk-dad-at-a-wedding-music performed by three sentient Ken dolls, and I still stand by that statement. And I don’t really know how else to describe this one. It certainly has its charm, and it’s still a likeable song, but it also feels very… vapid. Like if this song were a person, they’d be a bit of a bimbo. And I mean, the song’s about how the singer’s oh-so-happy and prancing down the street in his brand new shoes, so that’s probably a fair description. Part of me wonders if that’s down to old Eurovision songs being vapid in general or if it’s down to the schlager genre itself requiring songs to be kinda neutered and happy-go-lucky, but even though I do like this song, it does come off as being a bit bland. A bit by-the-numbers and playing-it-safe. And I don’t mind songs like that, but I’d rather they didn’t win, y’know?

Is this my personal winner for this year? Not really

If no, what is? Italy- Alice & Franco- “Il Treni di Tozeur”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 15th

1985- La det Swinge

Country: Norway

Artist: Bobbysocks

Language: Norwegian

Thoughts: Ah yes, the song which finally hauled Norway into first place after years of being a regular last-placer. Maybe the UK should take some notes instead of blaming Brexit. Or Russia. Or Iraq. Or anything other than their own apathy, for that matter. But this is about La det Swinge and not the UK, so what are my thoughts on it? Well it’s… It’s the kind of song I imagine my mom and aunt would sing at a wedding if they ever attended one. It’s a very fun song, a little cheesy, sure, but it’s hard to not like a song that’s this upbeat and cheery. And yeah I know it’s because it’s schlager and that’s generally a really cheerful genre by default, I touched on that in the review above,

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or Israel

If no, what is? Israel- Yizhar Cohen- “Olé Olé”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 14th

1986- J’aime la Vie

Country: Belgium

Artist: Sandra Kim

Language: French

Thoughts: This song is an enigma because I’m an absolute slut for 80s pop, yet, for some reason, I find this song painfully average and uninteresting. Now, I’ll get it off my chest and say that 1986 was also a painfully average and uninteresting year, and most of the time I just felt myself remembering the singer more than the song, and even then I struggle to remember what some of the acts even were. It was just such a boring blur of a year I’m surprised the juries even managed to stay awake to pick a winner. And I GUESS you could argue that this song is so upbeat and peppy that it woke them up, but that doesn’t excuse how bloody generic it is. Like, this is the most generic 80s song you can imagine, and not in a good way. It feels more like stock music than an actual publicly released pop song. Had it not won, I doubt it would’ve stood out to me at all; it would’ve just faded into the background with all the other muted, 80s-coloured mush from this year. Basically, there’s a reason the singer’s age is the only thing noteworthy about this song.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Not really

If no, what is? Luxembourg- Sherisse Laurence- “L’amour de ma vie”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 49th

1987- Hold me Now

Country: Ireland

Artist: Johnny Logan

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the superior Johnny Logan winner. And I’m not sure why everyone forgets this one because Mother of Mercy this song is in another league entirely compared to the other schlock Ireland’s won with. Like this is their best winner, no competition. One of their best songs overall as well. One of the best entries from the 80s, one of the best winners of the 80s, one of the best winners… Yeah, I really like this song. I’ll admit to sleeping on this one for too long myself, always dismissing it as some boring Irish ballad to go with all the other boring Irish ballads they somehow managed to win with (we’ll get to that later), and always agreeing with people who said XYZ country (always Yugolslavia) should have won instead. Basically I learnt the hard way to never judge a song on its country and genre. But one day I found myself in the midst of a revisiting trip, going back to winners I didn't pay much attention to, just to see if there was anything I’d missed the first time round. And something about the lyrics in this song resonated with me a lot more than I thought they would. In a strange way, it made me feel older; like I’d grown up and was able to relate to the words in a song and appreciate it more than I could when I was younger. The line “what do you say when words are not enough?” especially hits harder than it should; as someone with autism I tend to find showing emotions difficult, even in virtual conversation where I’m not using my voice or face, because… Well, what do you say when your words aren’t enough?

Is this my personal winner for this year? Yes

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 2nd

1988- Ne Partez pas Sans Moi

Country: Switzerland

Artist: Céline Dion

Language: French

Thoughts: Telling people Céline Dion won this thing is a new favourite hobby of mine, just to see the confused reaction. And that’s the most interesting thing about this song because it’s… fine, I guess? It’s a perfectly serviceable 80s power ballad, but there’s no bells and whistles to make me sit up and declare it any better than just “okay”. It’s basically the ballad equivalent of J’aime la Vie from 1986, in that it’s extremely 80s and also in French, but there’s nothing to make it that memorable aside from the singer herself. And even then this isn’t the song that made her famous anyway. Even her singing doesn't make this one stand out, partially because the song doesn't do anything special with it, and partially because she just blends in with all the other good singers of this era. And that’s kinda sad to think about.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Hmmm....

If no, what is? Greece- Afroditi Frida- “Clown”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 22nd

1989- Rock Me

Country: Yugoslavia

Artist: Riva

Language: Croatian

Thoughts: So this is another song it really took me a while to get into (there’s lots of those, trust me) and one that was very briefly in my top three overall favourites. It’s slid down a few slots since then, though I would still say it’s… Somewhere in the top 15. I don’t really have a lot to say about this one, if I’m honest. It’s just a good, fun, solid song which stood out in a very dull and ballad-saturated year, nothing more, nothing less. The lyrics are nice too, being about a bored musician who learns to love music again by teaching himself how to play pop songs to entertain his friends. That’s a unique subject and I can imagine it resonating with a lot of people who’ve fallen out with a hobby they used to love because they took it too seriously (providing they either speak Croatian or have looked up the lyrics, of course). I mean, it resonates with me at least. All in all, I just like this song for its message more than anything else.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Portugal- Da Vinci- “Conquistador”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 9th

#Eurovision #mod's winner reviews #posting now because the tag will be CHAOS come 7 lmao #esc winners

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witharsenicsauce · 4 years

Text

Chosen Stories From the War #14: Engraved with Purple Runes

The days of isolation passed so slowly. The Avenger was quiet, for once, and there was an air of calm surrounding those aboard. Perhaps since the Chosen had finally settled in, the anxiety the soldiers felt about them was all but gone.

It was Friday, and those whose job it was to take morning patrols woke to the rising light. Bryni had cooking duty and was in the kitchen serving up eggs and bacon and sausages to hungry soldiers. Fresh fruit was on the menu today as well, which everyone was happy about.

In the hospital, where the curtains were drawn and closed, Dhar-Mon Madron awoke early in his bed. Today was the day.

His was sister already there at his side, her nose buried in a book. She looked like she had been awake for some time, but when he opened his mouth to question it, she smiled and marked her place on the page. “Good morning, Brother. Are you ready for your meeting today?”

“Quite ready.” He clenched his right hand. The fingers still tingled and the tips were numb, and Tygan was unsure if Dhar-Mon would ever fully regain feeling in his arm, but he could use it fairly well, and his right leg had recovered completely. “I trust the Commander will be pleased by my cooperation…?” His usual bravado was all but gone.

Kon-Mai stood, tucking her small book into her sash. “The Commander is not hard to please, it seems. Bradford may be hesitant, but he is not the Commander. So do not worry about him.” She looked at the clock. “Where is Gur-Rai? I told him to be here thirty minutes ago.”

On cue, the door opened and in strolled Gur-Rai, peeling a pineapple with his bare claws and scooping the pulp into his mouth. “Hullo!” He said with a mouth full of pineapple.

Kon-Mai and Dhar-Mon looked at their brother with disgust.

“What?” He said, yellow juice dribbling down his chin.

“What, and I mean this with utter sincerity, is wrong with you Brother?” Kon-Mai rubbed her temples.

“Well the Avenger just got a new supply shipment, and I’ve forgotten what pineapple tastes like since my human tongue was tragically ripped away from me.” He held out the mutilated fruit. “Want some?”

Kon-Mai shook her head, but Dhar-Mon looked at it inquisitively.

“Come on~” Gur-Rai waggled his brows. “You know you want to~”

“Perhaps...later.” Dhar-Mon sat up in bed, careful not to disturb the IV still in his arm. “Once I am released from this contraption.”

“Shall I get the doctor?” Kon-Mai asked. “I do not think you need that IV drip anymore.”

Dhar-Mon hesitated. “I do not want to bother Doctor Tygan. He is already very busy.”

“One of the nurses, then.” Kon-Mai said.

“I can probably pull it out.” Gur-Rai mused.

“No, Brother, thank you.” Dhar-Mon grunted. “We do have some time before I must meet the Commander, there is no rush.”

“Are you certain?” Kon-Mai asked. “You’ve been bed-bound for so long, Brother.”

“Yes, yes, a few more hours will not destroy me.” He chuckled. “But, Sister, might I ask your favor…?”

She raised a brow.

“I...may need assistance getting dressed.”

Kon-Mai was surprised that her brother had not gone down wearing his armor, but what looked like simple monk robes. Not that they were tasteless, in fact this cloth was the strongest, finest velvet material ADVENT had, impervious to nearly everything, and much stronger than Kevlar. But she did wonder why he had discarded his plate armor before his grand show. Dhar-Mon did not seem to sense Kon-Mai’s musings as she tied the silver sash around his waist.

“Well look at that, Brother!” Gur-Rai clapped. “You look like a new man!”

Dhar-Mon said nothing, but Kon-Mai saw him smile with a look of pride.

She took his arm. “Can you walk, Brother? Shall I retrieve your walker?”

“I do not need it.” Dhar-Mon insisted. He took a few tentative steps with her help, and Gur-Rai came on the other side of him just in case. Surprisingly, though, as they got moving, he seemed to be doing just fine, keeping pace with the two of them almost at their normal speed. Kon-Mai had to admit, she was proud of her big brother.

They came to Senuna’s quarters and stopped as Gur-Rai knocked once on the door. It took a moment, but the door slid open and they saw the Commander stand up from behind her desk, smiling. Only Bradford was at her side this time.

“Welcome, Dhar-Mon!” Senuna sounded like she was trying to be chipper, but something seemed to be weighing on her mind. “Please, come inside. Jane will be here in a bit.”

“Jane…?” Dhar-Mon looked bewildered at the sights around him. Kon-Mai had forgotten he had never seen the Commander face to face before.

“Yes. You know Jane. She’s pretty famous.” Senuna giggled but it was obviously forced. “Um…have a seat, please!”

Gur-Rai came around to Bradford and held out the mangled fruit rind. “Wanna pineapple?”

“That looks disgusting, where did you find that?”

“In a box.” Gur-Rai smiled, chunks of pineapple stuck in his teeth.

Bradford shook his head. “...No. Thanks.”

Senuna sat down across from him just as Jane entered the room. The two women exchanged looks, almost as though they were having a full conversation with their eyes. After a moment, Jane nodded and went to stand at her side. Once again, the Commander was flanked by her best soldiers.

She smiled and clasped her hands, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Dhar-Mon spoke first.

“Commander Senuna.” He said. “I know you have very little reason to trust me, after the crimes I have committed in the name of my former masters. But I come before you today…to humble myself, before you and your soldiers, and to pledge to you my loyalty.” He knelt on one knee, sinking to the floor slowly. “If you shall accept me, I will crush and destroy your enemies and raze all that oppose the resistance! I shall devote myself to-”

“Wait wait wait.” Bradford held his hands up. “Hold on there, Big Guy.”

“There’s no need for any of that!” Senuna was smiling, almost laughing at the situation.

“I disagree.” He insisted. “Your resistance has suffered at my hands. I must repent.”

Jane raised a brow, her lip twitching. “Well, I certainly won’t say no to an apology. Especially for the time you extracted information from me. Forcefully.”

Dhar-Mon lowered his head. “I regret every injury I have dealt you, Lady Jane Kelly.”

“And I forgive you.” She nodded. “Now stand up and come over here. We need you to sign a bunch of forms.”

Senuna and Bradford exchanged looks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect this to go so...smoothly!” She sat up, looking cheerful.

“So, Dhar-Mon, we need to make sure you know what this job entails.” Bradford said. “Especially after your last...exchange with the Elders.”

“And now that we have all three of the Chosen, I don’t think we can keep your identities a secret any longer.” Jane added.

“I will do whatever I must.” Dhar-Mon said with conviction. “Anything to return this planet to its former splendor.”

“Good…” Bradford trailed off as he pulled out a form that looked like the ones Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai had signed. “I drew up the contract early-” He glared at Gur-Rai “-since it seemed like you were eager to start.”

Gur-Rai winked at Bradford.

“Contract…?” Dhar-Mon looked confused.

“Yeah.” Jane said. “You sign it to indicate you agree what we’re asking you to do.”

“I agree…?” He looked between his siblings.

“That’s right, Brother.” Gur-Rai held his arms open. “They offer CHOICE here!”

“If you don’t agree with any terms in the contract, we can always negotiate.” Senuna added. “We can also edit it later, in case something happens, like if you’re injured again. Oh, and you can even choose a new callsign. I mean you can keep ‘Warlock,’ but your siblings have both chosen other names…” She chuckled. “Hehe. Chosen.”

Dhar-Mon looked in...almost horror at the paper on the table before him. “...And...what if I say no?”

“Well, we’d probably edit the contract to make it more in line with what you want.” Bradford shrugged.

He looked scared. “...I would never dare to question your judgement, Commander, but...to demand such of you…”

“Brother…” Kon-Mai took his hand. “They will not punish you.”

Dhar-Mon seemed to flinch involuntarily, squeezing his sister’s hand. “...I apologize Commander.” He croaked. “I am used to taking orders from my masters. Contracts, choice, negotiations...to ask for such things, to speak out of turn, was a punishable offense.”

“Is that why you look like you’ve seen a ghost…?” Bradford rubbed his face with his palm and suddenly looked 20 years older than he was.

Senuna opened her mouth like she was going to call out to him, but she closed it. Her eyes were sparkling with barely hidden tears.

“We’d never hurt you.” Jane said, her voice still steady. “Not like the Elders did.”

“I’m sorry.” Bradford chimed in, his voice quivering. “God, I didn’t know…”

“As am I.” Senuna took a breath, wiping her eyes. “You’re safe here, Dhar-Mon.” She stood up and opened her arms to him. “I know my powers better than the Elders could ever understand, and with me, you will be safe.”

“With XCOM.” Bradford clarified. “We won’t ever punish you unjustly.”

“Unless you defect back to ADVENT.” Jane shrugged. “But I don’t think you will, after that stunt you pulled in Vatican City.”

Dhar-Mon seemed to turn purple as he blushed. “That was...quite a statement I made.”

“You think?” Jane chuckled.

“I loved it!” Senuna beamed. “It’s EXACTLY the blow to the crotch ADVENT deserved! And the way you yeeted that priest over the balcony? Iconic!”

Dhar-Mon chuckled awkwardly. “I appreciate that, Commander…” He looked down at the contract on the table before him. “Well, I have not signed my name in a very long time, but if you have a writing utensil-”

Jane handed him a pen, and Kon-Mai stood beside him as he scanned the contract, reading much more slowly than she had. He then slowly scratched a few simple Etheric symbols into the paper, along the line.

“...That works!” Senuna handed the contract to Bradford and reached out to shake Dhar-Mon’s hand. “Welcome, Dhar-Mon Madron, to XCOM!”

“It is an honor.” He gave her hand a gentle shake. “Do you know what my first assignment shall be?”

“Well.” Senuna smirked. “Nothing too strenuous, but…”

“We do have a lead on an ADVENT mobile facility 30 miles north of where we are.” Bradford said. “It’s small, but from the energy reading they’re putting out, it seems like they might be doing something interesting. With something useful.”

“We think there may be experimental weaponry in this base.” Jane said. “We want you to retrieve it.”

“Commander, I’d like to join my big brother on this mission.” Gur-Rai said.

“Why?” She raised a brow.

“It’s his first, after all.” He shrugged. “And my own first mission went south very quickly. I would volunteer my sister, but she just returned from her own little escapade.”

Kon-Mai looked to the Commander. “I am not injured. If you wish me to go-”

“No, he’s right.” Senuna nodded. “Next time, though, you three will finally be together again. But for now…” She looked to Gur-Rai. “I’ll put you on the mission list.”

“They’ll also need a hacker.” Jane said. “Mithridates just got a promotion, he would be a good choice.”

“Oh I agree!” Senuna tapped her chin. “And...let’s send Princess. She hasn’t been out for a minute.”

“Princess?” Jane grimaced.

“She’s very capable. And she’s been making great progress in her psionics!”

“That doesn’t make me less nervous, Commander.”

“Well than Jane, how about you join them?” Senuna smirked.

Jane looked between the Chosen. “Fine by me. I need to get off this ship for a bit.”

“Well light my ass and call me a star.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “THE FAMOUS Jane Kelly is gracing us peons with her presence?”

“I will slug you right here.” Jane grumbled.

“Oh Jane, I thought we were friends! Unless your violent tendencies ARE a sign of affection-”

Dhar-Mon elbowed Gur-Rai in the ribs, and Kon-Mai snorted in laughter.

Dhar-Mon looked down over his new equipment, all wrapped up in a literal bow with a sticky note from the Commander herself, reading:

“I ADORE those priest robes you have, so much so I made another pair especially for combat! Shen went a little overboard with the armor though but I left it because it looks AWESOME!

Much love,

Senuna.”

The robes provided were purple leather instead of cloth, and instead of the normal Etheric symbols around the edge, the sleeves were embroidered with silver Latin letters reading “Vigilo, Confido.”

“I am watchful.” He whispered to himself. “I am relied upon.”

He hugged the robes to his chest. It was comforting.

“Do you need assistance?”

Dhar-Mon turned and saw Kon-Mai standing behind him, though he had not heard her come. Her mouth was a thin line and her eyes met the floor as she approached him, holding her arms out to hold the robes as he removed his own. He did so slowly, and as she watched him, she seemed to grow more anxious.

“What is wrong?” He demanded.

She shook her head. “It is nothing.”

“Little Sister.” He said, straightening up and putting his strength into his voice. “As your eldest brother, I demand you confide in me!”

She glared at him. “That is not very convincing.”

He seemed to deflate, and Kon-Mai held out a hand, then pressed it to her face.

“You have barely recovered.” She said. “And the Commander is already sending you into battle.”

Oh. She was worried about him. “It is my duty as a soldier of XCOM.”

“Perhaps it is.” Kon-Mai nodded curtly. “And perhaps you will wind up dead on the battlefield.”

“I promise you, Sister, I will not die.”

She looked doubtful.

“Would you prefer if it was you on the mission, instead of Gur-Rai?”

“Yes, actually.” She crossed her arms.

“Do you not trust him?”

She hesitated, not out of uncertainty though, no it was clear she knew the answer.

“A year ago? I would have told you not in the slightest.” She said. “Now that we are free of the grasp of the Tyrannical Elders…”

“I shall keep him on a short leash.” Dhar-Mon assured her.

“HE is supposed to be protecting YOU.” She protested.

“Yes.” Dhar-Mon nodded. “But he is the Hunter, Kon-Mai, not the Protector.”

She nodded, sifting through the clothing. “...This armor is truly art. Dr. Shen is incredible in her work.”

He looked back over his belongings. The purple leather was latched in the chest with a breastplate of shining metal, engraved with XCOM’s sigil on the front. For pants, it looked to be a variation of his normal undersuit, but with silver plating lining the thighs and covering his shins. On his shoulder was a circular pauldron of shining metal, encrusted with a single amethyst and lined with purple.

“Truly…” He said as he held it up to the light. “A suit of armor…”

“For a warrior of XCOM.” Kon-Mai smiled at him.

He looked at her. “Sister...what name have you chosen?”

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, I am Shrinemaiden.”

“And our brother…?”

“Darkstrider. Do not ask why.” She shrugged. “Have you been thinking of rebranding, Brother?”

“I...do not feel the Warlock suits me anymore.” He said, clasping his shoulder pauldron into place. “I am no longer that being…”

“I would say you are quite the holy man.” She smiled. “Like a monk who has taken a vow of solitude.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded. “A hieromonk, even.”

“Oh, how very elite~” His sister chuckled.

“It is a profession of great importance.” He puffed out his chest, which only made her laugh harder.

The intercom above them buzzed. “Kon-Mai Mordenna, please report to the gymnasium.”

Dhar-Mon raised a brow. “It appears you have been summoned.”

She nodded. “No doubt my student awaits her master.”

“You have students?” He smiled. “I am proud of you, Sister.”

“I wish you luck on your mission, Brother…” She lingered for a moment. “...And...keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.” He nodded, watching as she left the room.

Kon-Mai didn’t notice, as she turned the corner, Gur-Rai standing outside the door, his arms crossed and eyes glued to the floor. The Darkstrider clenched his fists.

He did not remember what sadness felt like. But this must be pretty close.

“What do you mean we cannot just teleport?” Dhar-Mon asked his little brother as the Skyranger shuddered with wind turbulence. The humans had little trouble with the height of the ceiling, but the eldest Chosen was forced to completely hunch over, and even then his head was pressing against the roof uncomfortably.

His brother had mitigated this problem by lying on the floor, legs against the wall and feet touching the ceiling. “We can’t teleport anywhere, my dear brother.” He said. “That was one of the Elders’ gifts. And we’ve cancelled our subscription.”

Dhar-Mon harrumphed and crossed his arms, looking to his right at the young lady beside him. She had made a point to introduce herself as Lady Demetria Min, and as he glanced at her, she straightened the little tiara that was holding back her hair.

“You like my crown?” She gleamed. “It was my great great great grandmother’s! You know, she was married to the 3rd cousin of Prince Philippe, Duke of Orléans!”

“Cool.” Jane scoffed from across the aisle. Her face was steely, like always, and she was eyeing both Chosen men with an unreadable expression.

“Yes!” Princess said, not sensing the sarcasm in Jane’s voice. “Great Great Great Grandmother Liên secured the future for House Min! I’ll bet you she wouldn’t have surrendered to the aliens!”

“Then they would have killed her.” Jane said.

“She would have beat them! She could shoot a rifle from a moving horse!”

“Yeah, Princess, and they had plasma weapons and mind powers.” The young man, Mithridates, finally looked up from his agonizingly slow typing. “Who would win there?”

Princess pouted and leaned towards Dhar-Mon. “Don’t believe them. They’re just jealous.”

“I’m sure your ancestress was a noble woman.” Dhar-Mon said. “But no one can stand against the might of the Elders-”

“Except us!” Gur-Rai cut in quickly. “Because we’re stronger, smarter, faster, and I can personally assure you, we are much better looking~” He winked.

Jane blinked slowly. “...Whatever you say.”

“Drop zone incommin’!” Firebrand called back. “Get ready y’all!”

“Right.” Jane stood. “We’re landing about a mile and a half from the site itself, and we’ll be approaching under the cover of night.”

“Is this a stealth mission?” Mithridates sounded nervous.

“If it was, the Warlock wouldn’t be here.” Jane assured him. “We surround the site, and when I give the order we bombard it on all sides. Mithridates, you’re there to analyze the loot we pick up. What’s useful to us, and what is junk.”

“Gotcha, Quiet.” He nodded and closed his laptop.

Princess stood and stretched. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

For once, Jane smiled at her. “Yes it is.”

Gur-Rai stayed at the back of the group, handing his brother the robe to drop from the Skyranger. “You got it?”

“I simply jump, yes?”

Gur-Rai chuckled. “Only if you want to break your legs. Hold onto that, and the Skyranger will lower you down.”

“This is simple.” Dhar-Mon scoffed, but Gur-Rai could read the nerves on his face.

“I’m right behind you, Big Guy.” He patted his brother on the back and looked at Princess.

“I’m a little scared too~” Princess fluttered her eyelashes. “Will you carry me, Darkstrider?”

He smirked. “Of course, sweet girl. C’mere.” He turned from her briefly to watch Dhar-Mon sit on the edge of the Skyranger and slide off. The rope buckled a bit under his weight, but he was lowered safely down, where Jane and Mithridates were waiting.

Princess came up to Gur-Rai, and he picked her up around the waist, with her holding his neck. He sat on the edge, wrapped his legs in the rope, and pushed off, sliding down faster than any of the other soldiers.

As they reached the ground, the Hunter gave a little twirl, and came to a stop with a pose. Princess giggled as she let go of him, and Mithridates gagged.

“Can we save the PDA for after the mission, please?” Jane rolled her eyes and drew her gun. “Move out.”

They spread out slightly and pressed forward into the treeline. Gur-Rai stuck beside his brother like he was glued to him. Good thing too, because Dhar-Mon’s eyesight was worse than he remembered, and he immediately tripped over some roots and would have fallen, if Gur-Rai had not dove in and caught him.

“Hmph.” Dhar-Mon grunted as he righted himself. “You do not need to do that, Brother.”

“Oh yes I do.” Gur-Rai said through gritted teeth, Kon-Mai’s words ringing in his head. “Believe me.”

“I have a visual.” Princess sang out over the comms.

“Let’s catch up.” Gur-Rai straightened up and took up position at the rear, behind his brother in case he should take a fall again.

They came to a small cliff, which ended abruptly and led down into a rocky crater that looked...almost recent. Down the steep sides, cut into the stone, was a circular building of glistening silver, the dark rock forming up around it like waves.

“Is that a UFO?” Mithridates said, pointing at the structure.

“Well I’ll be damned…” Gur-Rai looked through his scope. “I haven’t seen one of those in years…”

“Central?” Jane called over comm. “We have a UFO down here. It’s a big one…”

“Believe me Jane, that’s nothing.” Bradford seemed to chuckle. “That looks like a crashed Overseer. They’re like glorified scout ships.”

Jane looked uncertain, glancing toward Dhar-Mon.

He nodded to her. “These shall be no trouble for a warrior such as myself. And my brother will help too.”

“Hey.” Gur-Rai said, actually sounding annoyed. “I’m here to babysit YOU, remember?”

“I remember.” Dhar-Mon sighed.

“Well, I’m going to get to higher ground.” Gur-Rai backed up, and they heard a slight rustle as he climbed into a tree. “Let me know when, and what, to shoot.”

“Roger that.” Jane said. “Mithridates, with me. Princess, Warlock-”

He cringed at the name, and with Kon-Mai’s words ringing in his ears, Dhar-Mon blurted out “Hieromonk, if you please.”

“...Okay then. Hieromonk, go around that curved pathway there and get as close as you can without being spotted.” She stood up. “When I give the signal, I want you to hit them with everything you got.”

“It shall be done.” He and Princess got to their feet and went around the trees, Gur-Rai watching them with his scope. He sighed.

“You think it’s a good idea to send him out in front?” He called down to Jane.

“I do.” She looked up. “Eyes on the prize, Darkstrider.”

“Yes, Quiet.”

Dhar-Mon was not a stealthy man, and Princess was even less so with her bright purple hair and her tendency to squeak whenever her foot hit something unexpected. In fact, they had almost alerted the guards twice: once when Princess nearly stepped on a rattlesnake, and again when Dhar-Mon slipped and almost slid into the ravine before pulling himself back up.

They found a large rock at the bottom that was big enough to hide behind, and ducked behind it as Princess grabbed her Psi Amp off her back and held it up. “Ready when you are, Quiet.”

“Excellent.” They could hear Jane was moving. “Mithridates, hurry up.”

“Why are we going so fucking fast?!” Mithridates could be heard panting as he spoke. “Like-WOAH!”

“We’re in position.” Jane said as they heard Mithridates being yanked along. “Darkstrider?”

“My body is ready, Jane, and so is my gun~”

“On my mark. Three…”

Dhar-Mon braced himself, his hands beginning to glow with psionic power.

“Two…”

He felt Princess shift beside him, and the energy around him moved as she did.

“One…”

He took a deep breath.

“NOW!”

Dhar-Mon emerged from his hiding place, taking one last second to charge his attack, and shoved his hands forward, releasing a blast of psionic energy toward the trooper unlucky enough to be standing in front of him. The soldier went down in a daze, and the two who had been standing a few feet away cried out in pain as the spark jumped from one to the other.

He saw Princess grasp at the orb of energy in her amplifier and throw it outward, hitting a Muton soldier in the chest. Unfortunately, the Muton was not as injured as she had counted on. It turned toward them, snorting and growling.

“Oh bollocks.” She backed up, and Dhar-Mon moved in front of her as the Muton charged.

There was a thunk and a splat, and the Muton fell, sliding to a stop at Dhar-Mon’s feet. He looked up at his brother, who had his teeth clenched in concentration, his gun smoking.

“Tell our sister about that when we get home.” He seemed to growl as he slid down from the tree, moving in closer for a better shot.

“Move out, move out!” Jane rushed forward, firing at the soldiers who were coming at her. They were weak compared to Quiet Jane Kelly, who seemed to mow them down like grass, but even so, the Muton soldiers seemed to be closing in.

Dhar-Mon ran forward and pulled his energy forth, his eyes glowing purple as he did, and apparitions began to spring from the ground. Psionic spirits came forth, ready to defend. Without him needing to speak a single command, they rushed towards the Mutons. One very fragile spirit took the brunt of the gunshot meant for Jane. As it went down, another rose to take its place.

Jane looked to Dhar-Mon in confusion. “Thanks…?”

“Always, Lady Jane.” He said.

“Please, call me Quiet.” She smirked. “Mithridates!”

“I’m pinned down!” He screeched from behind a post. It was true, he was hiding as two troopers and a Muton came up behind him, and tried to grab him from around the pole. Mithridates ducked out of the way, but the Muton got a hold of his collar. Two bullets whizzed by them, and the Darkstrider audibly cursed.

“I meant to do that.” He growled. “Stay there, I’m coming down!”

“I DON’T HAVE MUCH CHOICE IN THE MATTER!” Mithridates screamed as the Muton lifted him above it’s head. “SOMEBODY HELP!”

Princess pulled another psionic blast from her amplifier, squinted, took a deep breath, and screamed as she fired. This time, she hit the Muton right in the face, sending it flying back and forcing it to drop Mithridates, who landed with a soft thump on the grass.

Dhar-Mon beckoned his brother over as Gur-Rai jogged towards them and winked at Princess. “Nice shot, my lady~”

Princess giggled, turning as pink as her hair.

“Thanks.” Mithridates grumbled as he got to his feet. “Let me get the door.”

“Darkstrider, take point lookout.” Jane said, coming up beside him to help keep watch. He complied, but Dhar-Mon could see Gur-Rai staring at him instead of through the scope.

He came up beside Gur-Rai, who looked away. “What troubles you, Little Brother?” He whispered.

“Nothing.” Gur-Rai muttered.

“Do not lie to me.”

“You’re not my dad.” Gur-Rai sniffed and focused through his scope. “I’m fine. Just doing my job.”

“You have been out of sorts since we came here.”

“Oh yeah, like you would know…” Gur-Rai fell silent. So did Dhar-Mon. The two stood there awkwardly.

“Look, I’m supposed to be protecting you right now.” Gur-Rai looked Dhar-Mon directly in the face. “Let me do that, alright? Please? Unless you think I’ll fuck that up, too.”

Dhar-Mon balked at his comment, just as Mithridates shouted “Got it!” Behind them, the door swung open, and they heard the sound of a plane approaching in the distance.

“Fuck. Reinforcements.” Jane looked to Gur-Rai. “You and I will hold the front. You three, get inside and start rooting around. Grab anything you think looks interesting.”

“Understood, Quiet.” Dhar-Mon gestured for the young soldiers to follow him inside.

The inside of the wreck was almost completely empty. There would be one or two troopers around a corner every so often, but Princess took them down quickly, and when she was eventually stifled by a shot to the foot, Dhar-Mon picked up for her with his own psionic attacks, leaving their minds scorched and useless.

They came to the center, where the roof had caved in, opening up the large starry sky above them. Dhar-Mon heard the sounds of gunshots outside, and for a moment he worried greatly about his little brother.

Gur-Rai was a warrior, Dhar-Mon assured himself. He would be fine. At this rate, he was beginning to sound like Kon-Mai.

“Guys…” Mithridates stepped toward the huge hole in the center. “Guys look…”

Princess gasped. “What IS that? It’s so beautiful!”

Dhar-Mon looked toward the center of the ship, under the open sky where the metal ground had given way to dirt and rock. There, buried in the soil, was a silver war hammer, engraved with purple runes and glowing in the moonlight.

He stepped towards it. “...This is…” He had never seen such a thing before, though he had heard the Elders were expert smiths; they had crafted his sister’s weapon with their own hands, after all, and he knew they took great pride in their work. Why would they leave this one…?

“It’s giving off a lot of energy.” Mithridates said.

“What kind of energy?” Princess asked.

“I dunno, the purple kind? I ain’t Tygan.” Mithridates peered over his laptop. “Wait, Dhar-Mon, don’t touch it!”

Dhar-Mon ignored the boy and reached for the handle. The weapon seemed to vibrate as he grasped it, and suddenly he felt a jolt of energy, and the hammer practically lifted itself as he yanked it from the dirt. He stumbled for a moment before letting it settle firmly in his grasp, the runes shining brilliantly.

“Woah!” Mithridates gasped, looking at his laptop screen. “These readings just went off the charts!”

“Well, you should get bigger charts, then.” Princess snarked. “What’s all that weird writing on it?”

Dhar-Mon looked at the side, where the carvings glowed with purple light. He recognized the Etheric letters and read them out one at a time.

“...Yseult.” He said. “I believe this is the name of this weapon.”

“That’s probably what Tygan wanted us to get.” Mithridates said. “Let's check around a bit more, see if we can’t find-”

There was an explosion that shook the ship, and Dhar-Mon heard Gur-Rai scream.

His heart in his throat, Dhar-Mon hoisted the war hammer and gestured to follow. “Come! Our comrades have need of our help!”

“But Quiet gave us an order!” Mithridates shouted.

“Stay here then!” Princess spat as she and Dhar-Mon sprinted for the entrance.

Mithridates stared after them, groaned loudly, and followed.

What formerly was the entrance was now a large hole leading to the outside. To the left they could see Jane, bleeding out on the grass as she used the last of her strength to pull herself to safety. Princess rushed over to her, but stopped short and screamed in terror.

“OH FUCK!” Mithridates dove behind Dhar-Mon for cover. “ARCHONS!”

Dhar-Mon looked up and, lo and behold, there above them three Archon soldiers hovered, one of which had detonated the aforementioned explosion.

Dhar-Mon had one thought, and that was to find Gur-Rai. His brother was nowhere to be seen, and for a horrifying moment, Dhar-Mon feared he may have been buried under the mounds of rubble. He didn’t have time to ruminate on that, though, because one of the Archons charged him. Dhar-Mon stepped back and, on instinct, held up the war hammer to defend himself.

There was a clang. The Archon’s spear had bounced off the handle, inches away from Dhar-Mon’s face, flinging his assailant back. Acting on instinct, he swung the hammer across his path, slamming into the Archon with a loud bang and a sickening crunch. Metal tore, and the poor creature landed on the ground in a heap of scrap and flesh. The runes on Yseult were glowing brightly.

“Holy shit.” Mithridates looked up at Dhar-Mon. “Can you do that again?”

“I shall certainly try.” He looked to Princess. “You must aid Quiet! Get her to safety!”

“Roger!” Princess panted, running to where Jane was again. One of the Archons, after seeing it’s comrade being opened like a can of soup, made a run for the hills and disappeared into the trees. The other rushed at Dhar-Mon again, but this time, he was prepared.

Or at least he thought he was. As useful as Yseult was proving to be, it was heavy and slow to swing, as he learned when he swung the hammer and the Archon zipped out of the way with nary a scratch. It roared at him and jabbed it’s spear towards his heart, which he only just managed to dodge, causing the green serrated tip to stab into his shoulder. He cried out, dropping Yseult and staggering back as the Archon rushed them.

“Run, boy!” Dhar-Mon called out to Mithridates. He summoned up his psionic powers, preparing to blow the Archon (and possibly himself) to high hell.

“What about you?!” Mithridates cried.

“RUN!” Dhar-Mon took a breath. “And tell my sister I am sorry.”

“You can tell her yourself.”

There was a loud “ZAP” and the Archon stopped it’s charge forward, wobbling in the air. Dhar-Mon saw that a hole had opened up in it’s chassis. Another loud gunshot, and it’s head was severed from its body.

As the body of the Archon fell to the ground, Mithridates and Dhar-Mon peered around the building wall.

There stood Gur-Rai, scowling. His clothes were covered in dirt and his armor plates were dented. His face was bloody and badly scratched. As he holstered his rifle on his back and began to walk over to them, Dhar-Mon could see he was limping badly, dragging his foot.

Dhar-Mon approached him, meeting his brother halfway. He opened his arms, and Gur-Rai fell into them, hissing from the pain.

“You are injured.” Dhar-Mon scolded. “You arrogant little fool! I thought you were…” He gulped.

Gur-Rai jabbed his finger in Dhar-Mon’s face. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” He looked up. “It’s my job, alright? Me.”

“Your...job?”

“Yes, my job is to protect you out here, because our bitch sister thinks I can’t.” He shifted his weight too much onto his injured foot and cried out. “She thinks I don’t love you, you fucking asshole!”

Dhar-Mon blinked in utter confusion. “...What has caused this outburst?”

“I heard you two talking in the armory.” Gur-Rai’s head was parallel with the floor now. “I heard her say she doesn’t trust me to keep you safe. And I will make myself a Berserker’s Bitch before I let her be right about that!”

Dhar-Mon stood, absolutely stunned. “...Little Brother…”

“Don’t do that.” Gur-Rai growled. “Stop treating me like a kid.”

Dhar-Mon chuckled. “You are right, Brother, you are no child.” He pulled his little brother into his arms and embraced him. Surprisingly, Gur-Rai did not struggle.

“You are a brave and noble soldier.” Dhar-Mon patted his back. “And I owe you my life.”

The Skyranger landed with a thump in the garage, and the company filed out slowly. Jane was being helped by Princess and Mithridates as one of the medics came rushing to the garage with a wheelchair for her. Gur-Rai and Dhar-Mon watched as she was hauled off to the infirmary, and Gur-Rai tested his weight on his foot again.

“You should not aggravate your injury.” Dhar-Mon said.

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Gur-Rai shrugged. “Nasty sprain, though.”

They heard familiar footsteps, and exchanged a smile before glancing up to see Kon-Mai. She ran to them, throwing her arms around Dhar-Mon first, then reaching over and pulling Gur-Rai into the hug.

“You are both alright…?” She asked.

“We are both alright.” Dhar-Mon pulled away. “It would not be so, if not for our brother.”

Kon-Mai looked to Gur-Rai, who avoided her gaze.

“I was certain I was to die on the field of battle. It was Gur-Rai’s quick thinking that saved us all.” Dhar-Mon raised a brow. “I do not think there is reason to doubt him, Sister.”

She looked between the two. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I protected him with everything I had in me.” Gur-Rai shrugged and crossed his arms.

“I am happy to hear that.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“Kon-Mai, you believe our little brother holds love for me in his heart, don’t you?”

Kon-Mai looked like she was about to make a joke, but the pained expression on Gur-Rai’s face stopped her. “Of course I do. It was he who has been helping you learn to walk, who held me as I sobbed for you, I know he would give his life for you or me alike. I just…” She raised a brow. “What is the meaning of all this, Gur-Rai?”

“...I heard you saying I couldn’t protect Dhar-Mon.” Gur-Rai mumbled. “That you didn’t trust me....”

Her face grew to a mix of horror and sympathy, and she grabbed her brother and pulled him into a hug.

“I know I’m an asshole.” Gur-Rai said, pressing his face into her shoulder. “But family’s family. You two are all I have left…”

“I know.” She rubbed his back. “And I was mistaken, Gur-Rai, I should not have doubted you, whether in your ability or your intention.” She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “I hope you can forgive this trespass.”

“Hey, buy me a drink this Saturday, and let’s pretend it never happened.” He chuckled. “Now, as much as I enjoy these little affection sessions, my foot is starting to go numb, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pay the Good Doctor a visit.”

Kon-Mai gasped. “You should not be walking on that injury!”

“I offered to carry him.” Dhar-Mon shrugged. “He said he wanted to walk.”

“It’s down the hall.” He winked at Kon-Mai. “I will be fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go on then.” She patted him on the back as he left, and looked back at Dhar-Mon. “...What is that?”

“What is…?”

She pointed to Yseult. “That.”

He lifted it so she could see. “I do not know. It is a war hammer of some sort. From the energy surrounding it, I feel as though it is yet another relic from our...former masters.”

“Yseult.” She whispered, tracing the runes with her hands. “It sits well in your grasp, Brother.”

“Indeed…” He shifted it in his hands, feeling how the weight rocked back and forth. “It was quite the lucky find…”

(It’s technically Friday! Which is when I said this would be out!

Sorry for the lateness, it was really the first half of this chapter I wanted to rework, then I discovered it didn’t need as much work as I thought.

Here, we see Dhar-Mon finish his transformation, gaining a new weapon and a new name! The Hieromonk! I think it suits him well~)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #xcom the chosen #xcom assassin #chosen assassin #xcom hunter #chosen hunter #xcom warlock #chosen warlock

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nobleofthemanor · 5 years

Text

Self help doesnt always work

When I was born my parents weren't in a stable place. My dad 20, strung out on heroine and was a dealer himself. My mom was 19 almost 20. Both grew up in abusive, neglective, and manipulative house holds till they married at 18. Neither had very great examples of parenting. My dad was either partying (sometimes at our home) or doing drugs. He did some things that Im not comfortable sharing on the internet, mostly because it's not my place to say it.

My surrounding family wasnt very stable either. My mom did her best to raise me and two sisters, but after my second sister was born she had a 2, 1 and newborn. I dont remember if she was trying to do college or not, but I know she was going through alot on top of raising kids.

My parents life changed drastically a few months before my 3rd birthday. My dad was busted and my mother was arrested with him. On the way to meet the cops my dad had given his life to Christ. Now this didnt mean he stopped struggling with his drug addiction. It took him roughly 6 months to truly quit, but he did. It was a hard six months as they had to deal with themselves and their relationship. (They almost divorced at one point).

Eventually my family reached a point of stabillity. My dad became a pastor at the church that had supported and guided him in his walk with christ. He also joined another ministry and started helping people who struggled the same way he did.

Id like to state both my parents had alot of issues. Both had to deal with their abusive past, parental issues, trust issues. They also had sepererate issues that the other did not have. but fast forward 15 years, with the help God, the wounds have healed.

My dad is no longer in drug ministry, but has taken on a more adminastrative role in the church. My family is still together and closer than ever. Also, in a few months my parents will celebrate 21 years of marriage and over 25 years of being together. My great granfather and great grandmother have both given their lives to christ(something my dad has been praying for since they were the ones who raised him). I graduated Highschool ast year and one of my younger sisters is about to graduate highschool and is hoping to join the airforce.

Im in college now and currently working in a preschool that my church runs. I love every moment of it.

While this is my wholesome storry it doesnt quite end there.

You see, while my parents had dealt with their issues and had healed. I had not.

My dad was saved when I was 3. So, for those three years of my life I lived in that really unstable enviroment. I suffered constant nightmares. I was also being somewhat raised by my grandparents, as they were usually baby sitting us when my mom and dad went to work/school. I was also the first born to two people who had bad examples of parenting. Basically, the trial run/expeirement I dont remember much of those three years, but I do know living in that enviroment for those years really affectted me growing up. However, my sisters were lucky as they were to young to be affected.

Growing up I was a really overly emotional child. I got angry and violent quickly. I had an attention span of 2 seconds. I tended to easily take things personal. I was really chatty and wuth drawn at the same time. I tended to be a loner at school. I was terrified of many things. When I was about 7/8, maybe 9, I dealt with feeling like my family would have been better off with out me and started physically seperating myself from my family. Eating at a seperate table when we sat at the four seater table or staying several feet behind if we were walking somwhere. Whenever my paeents would get on to me, I would try to make my self small by putting myself into a corner. I was always anxious like I should be on the run. I was/am constantly second guessing myself. I had broken record in my head that I was never enough. There are alot of other things that I cant think of at the. All in all it was just general behaviors that werent normal. I wasnt a normal child to begin with, but these were big clues that I was dealing with stuff and not coping very well. Im sure I have some form of anxiety and ADD. Though I highly doubt it, I wouldnt be surprised if someone told me Im autistic. On top of it all I had the pressure of putting on a good face as a pastor's kid, which didnt help.

As I got older I tended to become obsessed with things. When I was 11 I became addicted to anime and did things Im not proud of. It was a bad coping mechanism and I ended up wasting about 4 years of my life living in my room. Dont get me wrong, there were good times when I first started getting into it, but at the end of those 4 years I was a borderline fem-neckbeared I even had a fedora. I realized how much time Id wasted and manage to break the addiction, but the issues were still there.

My parents did there best to help me. I saw two different therapist one my parents made me visit as a kid and one I asked for as a teen. I stopped going to them for different reasons. My parents couldnt afford itanymore. And the second one was because I didnt see any change.

Both of these therapist were in my small town. Both were men, and both knew who my parents were. It made talking to them and opening up hard. So I stopped going.

Fast forward to six months ago. I started college and a new job. Both required my full attention forcing me to stop going to church and quit my volunteer work. I couldnt keep up and my anxiety was always present. Especially since I felt like I couldnt keep up with the fast paced required there. I felt like I was drowning and I couldn't take this feeling of being broken any more, so I asked my mom about seeing a therapist again. At first Mom was against it, I was at the point where I would take whatever medicine if it meant this insanity would stop. Mom is the type who doesnt rely on meds or people, she and God can fix it. She did eventually agree and we found a therapist. A wonderfull woman whose office is located in a learning center for autistic kids. Which is really cool.

The two of us instantly clicked and I enjoy my visits. I do my best to follow her advice. She has been the first person to truly tell me, your feelings are vallid. I can honestly say Ive improved more in my six months with her than I did in 18 years of trying to fix myself. My relationships and my life gratefull.

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imaginetonyandbucky · 6 years

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little bit of me, little bit of you

Part IV | Part I | Part II | Part III

He’s not proud of it, but after spending a week holed up in his apartment, curtains drawn and JARVIS on emergency-only mode, Bucky can’t deny that he’s hiding anymore. He’s been ordering food from the various restaurants in the tower to be delivered to his door, working out on the treadmill in his living room, watching a definitely unhealthy amount of daytime television, and feeling like shit through all of it.

It’s been days since he’s seen or talked to Tony and the boys, and he misses them. He’d been aware that he was spending a lot of time with them, but hadn’t realised just how much until the first day he’d found himself standing in his kitchen, done with everything he’d planned for the day, and it hadn’t even been lunchtime.

And it’s all his own damn fault, too. Tony kissing him had blindsided him, but he’d gone with it, and it had been amazing. Right up until Bucky’d remembered that he’d been lying to Tony for months, and a wave of guilt so intense he’d actually felt sick had nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d torn himself away, seen the blissed out look on Tony’s face starting to turn into one of hurt, and hadn’t even thought about it before literally running away, leaving Tony standing there on the sidewalk, lost and confused.

Like a total idiot, Bucky’d spent weeks and weeks keeping this huge, life changing secret from Tony, scared that he’d lose his friend, his newfound family, if the truth ever came out, only to end up not only losing them anyway, but also denying himself the chance to actually be with Tony.

(More after the break!)

Or ever be a parent to Gabriel. Because even if Bucky admits the truth now, there’s no way in hell Tony will just conveniently forget and forgive everything Bucky has and hasn’t done since meeting them.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, jeez,” Steve says, when Bucky tells him as much.

Bucky lifts his face from where he’s got it buried in a couch cushion to glare at him. It’s not like he’d asked Steve to come over—he had, in fact, tried very hard to avoid his dumb best friend, and his dumb, understanding face—but if Steve insists on being here, the least he can do is indulge Buck, and let him feel sorry for himself in peace.

“Shuddup,” Bucky grumbles, “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees, kicking at Bucky’s legs. “Because you won’t tell me what this super bad, terrible, absolutely unforgivable thing you’ve done actually is.”

Before Bucky can say anything, he holds up his hands, sighing heavily. “You won’t tell me because you don’t want to go behind Tony’s back, I know. And I respect that. But I don’t know how to help you if I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Didn’t ask for your help,” Bucky mumbles, muffled as he re-buries his face in the cushion. “You just showed up ‘ere.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Steve quips back, all sarcasm. “Next time my brother doesn’t answer my texts and calls for a week, I’ll just move on, and look for a new one instead of going to check what’s wrong.”

Because he’s a stubborn asshole, Bucky stays quiet. Steve sighs, again, and gets up, walking out of the room. But he comes back a few minutes later, setting a mug of, from the smell of it, Bucky’s favourite tea down on the coffee table near Bucky’s head.

The couch dips a moment later, and Steve’s hand lands on Bucky’s back, rubbing up and down slowly. “Listen, Buck. I might not know what exactly is going on, or what’s happened between you and Tony, but I know you’re hurting. Both of you. And Tony can be brash and even mean if he’s angry, but he’s one of the kindest, sweetest, most forgiving people I know. And I really think you owe it to the both of you to at least try and talk to him.”

Steve’s right, of course he is, and Bucky knows it. “Yeah,” he says, “I know. ‘S not easy, though.”

Steve gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Never said it was, bud.”

“Ugh,” Bucky groans, and sits up enough to grab his mug, and shoot Steve a look full of feigned annoyance. “Stop makin’ sense. It’s freakin’ me out.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says happily, smiling wildly.

Bucky stays on the couch even after Steve leaves, half dozing, and half trying to come up with a plan that won’t result in Tony never wanting anything to do with him ever again. He’s startled out of his thoughts by a knock on his front door. A quick glance at his phone confirms that it’s still a little early for his dinner to arrive, but he heaves himself up anway. He can go get it, and put it in the oven to stay warm, at least.

The last person he expects to see when he opens the door is Tony, but that’s exactly who he finds. “Uhm.”

Contrary to what Bucky had expected—dreaded, really—all week, Tony doesn’t look angry. Instead, he holds up a bag of takeout, and huffs out a little laugh at the undoubtedly shocked expression on Bucky’s face. “Want to let me in, big guy?”

Bucky steps aside wordlessly, gesturing for Tony to go sit on the couch while he goes to fetch plates and forks from the kitchen. And also take a moment to breathe, and tell himself that freaking out is not what he should be doing right now. Tony seeking him out has to be a good sign.

Probably.

Right?

His little pep talk proves to have been entirely useless when Bucky comes back into the living room, and nearly drops everything he’s carrying when he spots what looks like a copy of a very familiar report sitting on the coffee table next to the fried rice.

“Tony, I—”

“Sit down,” Tony interrupts, firm but not unkind.

Bucky does as he’s told, sitting down as far away on the couch from Tony as possible. He keeps his eyes down, on his own, white-knuckled fingers, unable to look at Tony. His face is burning, he can feel it, and he feels nauseated, not entirely sure he isn’t actually going to throw up if he opens his mouth.

But he doesn’t have to, anyway, because it’s Tony who starts talking while he’s dishing out the food. “Let me start by saying that it wasn’t Tasha’s fault, okay?” Bucky’s confused for a second until Tony continues, “She did what she was supposed to by putting the reports into the database.”

Shit. Bucky hadn’t thought of that; Tony’d started collecting everything they were able to find about HYDRA right after Project Insight, trying to get to the bottom of it, find out the full extent of the corruption and damage. A lot of it had already been public, thanks to Nat uploading it to expose HYDRA in the first place, but they still find new info during missions, from time to time. And dutifully log all of it.

Quietly, Bucky asks, “How’d you figure out that I know?”

“Apart from you literally running away after I kissed you?” There’s amusement in Tony’s voice, and when Bucky finally dares to look up, his eyes are crinkled, one corner of his mouth turned up. “Not to toot my own horn, here, but I can usually tell if people are attracted to me or not. And I was pretty confident that you were, so.”

“I was,” Bucky confirms, swallowing hard. Ducking his head, he adds, “I am.”

Tony nods, and picks up one of the plates. After swallowing a bit of chicken, he says, “So, I figured there had to be another reason. I was going to give you some space, some time—well, a little bit of time. The kids aren’t that patient yet.”

Bucky winces, because yeah. That’s one way to make him feel even more terrible.

Seemingly able to tell, Tony puts his plate back down, and scoots closer to Bucky, putting a hand on his thigh. “I didn’t mean—look. Was it a shitty thing to do, running away like that? Sure. But Bucky, I get it. I don’t particularly like it, and if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll let you deal with getting Theo to bed for a week, but I get it. All right? I do.”

Tentatively, Bucky covers Tony’s hand with his own. “‘M sorry.”

Tony links their fingers together, squeezing gently. “I know. Trust me, I know,” he says, chuckling softly. He cups Bucky’s cheek with his free hand, making Bucky meet his eyes. “Do you have any idea how you look at me? How you look at my kids? All of them, but Gabriel especially? I’ve always been able to tell there is something there, that you care about us—”

“I love you,” Bucky blurts, then winces. But, in for a penny, in for a pound. “I love you. You, the boys. All of you. An’ not just because of Gabriel, you have to believe me.”

“I do,” Tony reassures him softly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky closes his eyes, embarrassed by how close to tears he suddenly is. “I don’t remember. I’ve read that fuckin’ mission report so many times, but I still can’t remember. How do I—what do I—he’s mine, an’ I can’t even remember that night.”

He lets Tony pull him in close, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s waist. He buries his face in Tony’s neck, breathing hard, while Tony strokes his hair, lips pressed against the side of Bucky’s face. “Hey, ssh. It doesn’t matter, it’s okay. You’re here now, you’re here with us. We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

“I shoulda told you,” Bucky chokes out, clinging harder. “After I found out, I shoulda told you.”

“You should have,” Tony agrees. He pulls back, but only enough so he can see Bucky’s face again. “And I wish you would have, but let’s be real; I wouldn’t have known how to do it, either, if it’d been the other way around. Hell, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d found out you’re Gabriel’s father, and hadn’t immediately realised that you already knew. It’s kind of a big thing to have to tell someone.”

Gabriel’s father. Bucky’s Gabriel’s father. It’s not like he hadn’t known, before, but it’s something entirely different to hear Tony say it. Going by the way Tony’s mouth curves up into this tiny, teasing smile, he knows exactly what Bucky’s thinking, and, well.

Bucky really has no choice but to kiss him.

Tony lets out this breath of a laugh against Bucky’s lips, but kisses back eagerly, pressing in close. They keep it chaste, by mutual, unspoken agreement, but it hits Bucky hard nonetheless; there’s no more hiding, no more nagging guilt, because Tony knows, and Tony is happy about it. Tony’s happy that Bucky’s Gabriel’s father, and Tony wants Bucky back.

It’s a heady feeling.

The kiss ends much too soon for Bucky’s liking, with Tony moving back this time around. Bucky makes a noise of complaint, chasing after Tony’s mouth, which makes Tony laugh, and quickly peck his lips again before gently pushing him away.

“Sorry, it’s just,” he says, huffing a little, and turns to look at the front door, which, Bucky notices, is standing slightly ajar. “You’re supposed to be with Steve and Sam.”

The door bangs open fully as Max bounds into the apartment, looking extremely proud of himself. “We snuck away!” he exclaims, and then, gaze zeroing in on the food, asks, “Are there spring rolls?”

“Spring rolls!” Theo chirps excitedly, from his position in Gabriel’s arms. “Food, food, food!”

Gabriel rolls his eyes—and Christ, does he look exactly like Bucky knows he does when he does that—and unceremoniously dumps Theo on the carpet next to the coffee table before plopping down in the seat next to Bucky.

Max and Theo happily dig into the food, but Gabriel is looking between Tony and Bucky, brows furrowed. “Did you make up?”

Tony looks up from where he’s trying to keep Theo’s fingers out of the noodle carton, face going all soft and fond. “Yes, sweetheart, we did.”

Gabriel relaxes visibly, but keeps looking at Bucky for confirmation. Bucky has to clear his throat before he can say, “We’re fine, I promise.”

“Finally,” Gabriel mutters, but he looks pleased, and only complains the normal teenage amount when Bucky pulls him into a hug, and messes up his hair.

Bucky has no idea when or how he and Tony are going to tell him and the little ones about the changes in their relationship, or about Bucky being his biological father, and about how Gabriel came to be. But he knows, whatever happens, however they decide to handle it, he won’t have to do it alone, because Tony will be right there by his side.

And that’s enough for now.

- Potrix | AO3

A/N: No more cliffhangers, and just the epilogue left! Prepare for fluff. So much fluff.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #kid fic #mpreg #past mpreg #misunderstandings #tiny adorable versions of tony #finally they talk #happy ending #prompts #potrix

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manonblckbeak · 6 years

Text

Temptation: Part VI

wow. whoa, what? Gin’s actually finally posting another part of temptation?

okay, kidding aside, i just wanted to say how sorry i am about the time it took to post this. i explained before that i was going through some weird things in my life and i wasn’t feeling any of my writing and to be honest i didn’t want to post anything for you guys if i didn’t actually love it. i’m better now, and i managed to write something i’m really proud of and i hope you guys like it! Thanks to @nightcourthighlordrhysand for everything really.

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

As winter grew colder and Christmas drew closer, Feyre dove into her art projects like they were her only means of survival. She knew she should use this time, this magical time of year to get closer yet to her friends, but after that day at Hiems… she just didn’t trust herself around Rhys. Didn’t trust herself to make the right calls, to be strong, to keep her heart safe.

So she did homework, practiced her drawing and her painting and her sketching, but never, not even as she realized the very thing that was supposed to keep her mind off of him had betrayed her once more—not even as she realized she had drawn his face, his body, his lips—thought of him.

It was for the best. This, all this, was for the best. She knew where the road that lead her to him would take her, and it was not a peaceful or pretty place.

And it was not selfish, she had come to realize. Because she was no longer thinking about herself, no longer thinking about how much she would hurt and bleed and suffer. No, not at all. She thought of him, of how she would ruin a… piece of art. Rhys—Rhys was so pure, so perfect—like a painting: splashes of colors and feelings and pain. And she couldn’t add up to that. Couldn’t change it, no matter how much she wanted to…

No. She wouldn’t go down that road.

Feyre sighed, dropping the charcoal she had been drawing with. She could start to make out an elegant face on the paper beneath it, the lines on it beautiful and strong. Again. She had done it again. With a growl of irritation, Feyre ripped out the page off her drawing pad—which, if she was to be honest, had seen better days. She had been doing this too much lately.

Dropping the balled up paper in the trashcan beside the desk, Feyre stood up, arching her back in an effort to stretch cramped up muscles. She wondered for a moment when Mor would be back, if she would find her asleep again, if she would complain the next morning about how they never got to spend time together anymore.

Things between her roommate and her had been… complicated since the visit to Hiems. She’d tried at first. After all Mor had told her, after what she had shared as well, it had seemed like they would be stronger than ever, but—Mor could relentless in trying to make things right. And right for her wasn’t the same as it was for Feyre.

So she had started to avoid her, avoid her plots and plans, her matchmaking, her efforts that, despite seeming well-intentioned and harmless, could hurt her so deeply. And with avoiding Mor, came avoiding Azriel, Amren, Cassian and, of course, Rhysand.

And she had never felt so lonely. This, this was what she had expected her life at Prythian Academy to be like. It was like the world was collapsing in on itself and she couldn’t help but stand in the middle of the crossfire.

She sighed again, checking her phone for the time. 7:30. Too early to go to bed yet, but definitely too late to go to the cafeteria for any remnants of dinner. Gods, what was she doing with her life? Mor was probably somewhere with the gang drinking the expensive wine she’d bought at Hiems—a never ending amount, it seemed, for she was always taking more and more and more from the bottom drawer of her closet. And yet, here she was: alone, unhappy, and fully aware that this—all of this—was her own choice.

She was about to put her phone away when the ringing tone sounded.

***

Feyre had come to fear the ringing of her phone. In the bitter, lonely weeks that followed Hiems, not once had Tamlin called, and yet, every time the damned thing buzzed, it was a near heart-stopping phenomena.

It was not that she disliked having the thing with her. The phone was a commodity, a privilege. It kept her company when humans did not. But even when said nightmare did not happen, the phone itself, old and battered, held so many memories. Photographs and messages and even a makeshift love letter typed into the notes of the phone, signed with “much love, Tamlin”.

It was a constant reminder of a life she did not want, did not need, did not deserve. But a reminder she kept close, for it let her know, with each touch of her skin against the cold screen, that love could be a poison. That love could be dangerous. That love could be wild and hurtful and tricky.

So when her phone rang, the buzzing sending shivers up and down her spine, she jumped. Because she wasn’t ready to keep the reminder that close to her heart. She wasn’t ready to talk to Tamlin again, especially not alone, not after everything she’d done to bring herself up from the blind panic he’d set her upon at Hiems.

But her fast breathing slowed down to a stop when she saw the number on the screen. For it was not Tamlin calling… But Nesta.

“H-hello?” Feyre said, hands trembling with the fear of yet another heart-breaking moment, another piece of news that could change her life as she knew it, another slap in the face. You know, figuratively.

“Hey, Feyre.” Her sister’s voice was as rough as she remembered. But oh, it was so nice to hear it. If not for the feeling of being home, for the simple reason that she had not talked, properly talked to another human being in so long. Weeks. It’d been weeks since she’d last had a conversation that hadn’t involved how absent she was or how her projects were going or what the fresh hell she was doing with her life. So, yes, the roughness and familiarity and just the fact that this was a simple, non-Rhysand related conversation was… nice. Very nice. “I trust you’re doing well?”

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall out into the planes of her face. Oh, how simple it would be to tell the truth. How simple it would be to confess that everything had turned, most definitely, to shit, and she was not well, not in any way. But things were not simple. Life was not simple.

And so, she simply said, “Yes.” Feyre reached over to turn the light of her drawing table off, leaving only the room light on. She stood and walked over to her bed, throwing herself at the linen sheets before adding, “Yes, everything’s fine.”

“I’m glad. But Feyre,” Nesta said, voice sharp. “You haven’t called in months. Dad’s been worried sick. You don’t call, don’t answer our texts, even Dean Falsum seemed helpless trying to get ahold of you.”

Guilt buried itself deep inside of Feyre. She’d been trying so hard to make it all bearable for herself that she had forgotten about everyone else, it seemed. But she guessed she couldn’t pin it all on Tamlin or even Rhys. This was months of carelessness. This was just her avoiding her family for the very reason she was avoiding Mor: they, too, thought they knew what was best for her and she knew what was best for herself. “I’m sorry, Nesta.” She said quietly. “It’s just been… hard.”

“Yes, well,” Nesta seemed angry at her. Not that she could really blame her. Her sister could be a bitch sometimes, but she was nothing if not protective of her family. “It’s been hard for us, too, you know? Dad’s rarely ever around, and since you aren’t here anymore…” she sighed, as if reminding herself that that hadn’t exactly been Feyre choice for starters. “Since you aren’t here anymore, I have to take care of Elain.”

“How’s—”

“And your beau,” Nesta ground out. “He keeps coming around. Begging—begging for us to bring you home.”

Feyre trembled. Oh, Gods.

“I can’t take it, Feyre.” She said, and Feyre could swear she heard some desperation in her sister’s voice. “I can’t take it anymore. Elain’s scared to bits. The last time I had to call the cops on him.” There was a sigh here, and it sounded so tired, so distraught, that Feyre wondered for a second if it had been herself that had breathed it out. “I don’t deserve this, Elain doesn’t deserve this. We can’t keep suffering the consequences of your mistakes.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“It’s time for you to come home.”

***

Breakfast came all too soon.

But Feyre didn’t talk as she picked up her food. Didn’t speak as she tried, and failed, to eat, and stared out the window beside their usual table, and blatantly ignored everybody. Her mind was still reeling with Nesta’s words, with the promise in them, with what the future now held for her.

She went about her day as if everything was still the same, walking the halls of the Academy like a zombie out for brains. It had taken its time, but by now, the confusing halls made some sense to her. It wasn’t like she could trust Mor to be her guide anymore.

Art class was usually the one joy in her life these days, Alis being the one support she needed most. The teacher was so giving, so kind… But her mind was elsewhere today. Miles away, actually. Back where she could still hear Nesta’s voice calling, as if a hair’s breadth away, I don’t deserve this.

And she didn’t. Not really.

Nesta had never been the best sister, had never cared for her as she had obviously cared for Elain, but Feyre loved her all the same. She was her sister, Gods damn it. And she was right, she didn’t have to keep paying and paying for what was surely Feyre’s momentary lapse of judgement. No matter that it was much more than that. No matter that it was haunting her, turning her life into shit.

Because that, well that Feyre could deal with. She could deal with Tamlin ruining her life if it came to that. But her sisters… She had done too much to keep them healthy of mind and body and soul to lose them to him now. She had simply done too much. Tamlin could take her pride and her innocence and her youth, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t take her sisters.

She knew what she had to do. Because she knew how his mind worked, knew how guys like him ticked. It was simply a matter of how to do what was necessary, because she had pushed everyone away and now… now everything had just turned to shit. And she couldn’t do this alone. She knew this now. Together we stand, alone we fall and all that shit, right?

Right.

***

I need a favor.

Feyre didn’t look as Rhysand unfolded the note she threw at his desk, her rushed calligraphy shaky with the thought of what she was about to ask him. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see one groomed brow tilting upwards at the words before he wrote something down in his own notebook, ripped it out and threw it back at her.

So, you’re talking to me, now, are you?

Great. This was going to be phenomenal if this is how it was going to start out.

Rhys… Just, meet me in my dorm room after class. Please.

This time she did look. She stared deep into those violet orbs as they read the words scribbled into the note and the smirk on that exquisite face faded—just a tiny bit. Yes, they seemed to say to her. I will.

As the bell rang, Feyre didn’t bother getting a written confirmation that Rhys would show, trusting him out of pure will. She would have to trust him, or this wouldn’t work. Or this would just crumble into dust.

Gods, maybe she should’ve asked someone—anyone—else.

But, alas, now it was too late for that.

And she wouldn’t regret it. This was the obvious choice. She had something with Rhys, be it something she wanted or not. And she could work with that. That spark, that flame that sprung to life every time they touched… it would save her. It would save her sisters. Because if she knew something about people like Tamlin, if she knew something about territorial, abusive bastards was that they didn’t touch what was someone else’s.

***

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Nine words. The first nine words that she said to him in weeks and they were… a mess. Gods, what was she playing at? What was she thinking? But no, she knew what she was doing, she reassured herself.

Still her gut felt like it was hanging out by a thread, and her head spun and she couldn’t think besides the feeling of second guessing every decision she had made since coming to Prythian Academy. She couldn’t help but think about how badly this could end, how incredibly wrong. Still she needed it. Needed it to work. Because if it didn’t… well, that wasn’t a choice.

“What?” Rhys was caught between laughing and staring incredulously at her, hand messing up his blue-black hair.

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.” She repeated, walking her way around him to sit on the bed. She patted the space next to her for him to sit down and, when he didn’t move, sighed impatiently.

“No, I—” Rhys said. “I heard you the first time. I just can’t understand you around all the crazy of what you’re saying.”

Feyre laughed bitterly. Rhys thought about how much it didn’t suit her, that laugh, and for a second they were just two people having a normal conversation, before he remembered what they were actually talking about. “Well, the situation is a bit… crazy. So, what is it they say?” Feyre smiled sadly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Oh? So dating me is desperate, now, is it?”

Feyre punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes.

“Feyre, I—”

“No,” She said, begging him with her eyes, all blue and sad and woeful. “Please, Rhys. I need this.”

“But why?” Rhys finally sat down next to her, taking her hand in his, holding it tightly, like it would spill all her secrets. “What could you possibly gain from this? Everyone here at the Academy already kind of thinks of us as an Item. What could come of this?”

Feyre sighed. “That’s just it. I need you to come home with me.”

Rhys stared at her with his violet eyes, understanding and not. “You’re—you’re leaving?”

Feyre sighed, looking down. This—this was where it got complicated. If this didn’t work—and she had to be practical about this, because these were her sisters and she couldn’t leave any room for the unexpected, she had to work, had to think and feel and plan strategically—well, if this didn’t work, it’d come down to Feyre going back. For good.

She didn’t want it to come to that. She didn’t want to leave. As lonely as Prythian Academy had become, as much as she’d never wanted to come here in the first place, the thought of going home—going anywhere else besides right here, right next to this man besides her had become unbearable.

“Yes.”

Feyre was distracted. It was all Rhysand’s fault, really. All his damn fault. His damn eyes, and his damn lips, and his damn hands. She followed the lines of his face and how the light illuminated each inch of his sun kissed skin, down to his neck, to his collarbone, to the planes of his chest and the tattoos that lay beneath his shirt just a hair’s breadth away. Her breath trembled.

“Feyre?” He said, waving a hand in front of her face, startling her out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” Feyre sounded sheepish, almost shy as she blushed deep red, betrayed by her own thoughts. Her feelings were everywhere, it seemed. Splattered out into the world and crashed into nothingness, leaving her feeling empty and full all at once. She felt so afraid. For her, for her heart—for Rhys.

“When do we leave?” Rhysand asked. It was the first confirmation he’d given her that he’d actually go, and she could’ve sworn she had actually felt her heart skip a beat. So selfless, this man. So—giving. He had asked her nothing in return as she told her the story of her life with Tamlin. How they had met—in a school camp out in eighth grade—and fallen deeply in love, and how that had been lovely and warm and good for a while. And how bitter it had all become, how sad.

She smiled, “Next weekend,” grabbing both his hands in hers, she squeezed them tightly before saying, “You have no idea how much this means to me, Rhys. I won’t forget this.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, refused to let him see just how much he could affect her. “Thank you.”

“I would go to the stars and back for you, Feyre Archeron.” He simply answered. “This is nothing.”

***

The week went by without much incident. Feyre wished she could somehow apologize to Mor, but she didn’t know how—didn’t know what to say, how to say it. She was just lost, broken. And perhaps it was just too late. Mor had opened up to her and she had closed down. She had shut her out completely, and for what? The fear, constant and unwavering, of being hurt, of hurting, of everything in between. Feyre had been a terrible friend, and she knew it.

It was Saturday morning when Feyre decided that she had to put an end to this. She could not stand the silence anymore. This room, their room, had been a safe haven for so long and now—now it was a cage. It contained her, it provided her with a place to hide and sleep and draw but she could no longer be happy in it, no longer laugh or share any sort fond memories here.

So as she prepared for the day, hauling a simple red sweater and ripped jeans over her head, and put on some mascara and red lipstick, Feyre made a decision. Today, she was ending this miserable phase of her life, be it for good or for bad.

She shook Mor awake. It was early, earlier than her roommate would probably like to be woken up on a Saturday, but she didn’t have much time before she had to leave for her trip with Rhysand and she had to do this before she left—had to, or she wouldn’t have the strength, wouldn’t have the courage to do what was necessary. You see, your courage didn’t lie in your actions, not really. You gathered it up in every one of your bonds, be it with family or friends or lovers. That’s what gave you courage.

“Mor,” Feyre said, a hand on her friend’s shoulder. One brown eye opened to look at her sleepily, brow furrowing. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Feyre?” Mor wiped a hand over her face, blinking the sleep away. She sat up in bed, stretching her arms and back, looking at Feyre confusedly. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Oh—yeah. I’m fine.” Feyre didn’t know what to say now. Mor was still looking at her with a confused look in her eyes, like Feyre had grown an extra head. It was weird, for Feyre to wake her like this, after weeks and weeks of silence and avoidance, she knew. But she also knew that her roommate deserved this, even if she didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. Mor deserved so much better than her, so much more. “It’s, um—can we talk?”

“Um, sure,” Mor patted the place on the bed next to her. “What is it?”

“I wanted to talk to you before I left…” Feyre sat down, wondering what on Earth she could say to make this better, what she could say that wouldn’t sound completely selfish and cruel and self-centered. She came up with nothing. Eventually, she said, “I’m so sorry I’ve been distant. I—I was trying to protect myself, and you, and everyone, but I just made a mess of things.”

Mor put a hand over hers. “Feyre,” she looked into her blue eyes, trying to capture some semblance of meaning in those words, trying to understand. “We would never hurt you, not on purpose anyway. And don’t you know by now?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, the ride is worth the risk of getting hurt.”

***

The drive home went smoothly.

Feyre had met Rhys outside the gates of Prythian Academy since, for once, she did not feel like meeting everyone for breakfast. Patching things up with Mor had gone okay, great even, but it was all she could take for one day, she guessed. She had texted him and gone outside, barefoot once more, to feel the wind on her skin, the earth on her feet, the sun on her face.

She was happy right now. Right now—because time, for her, was a very fragile thing. At any moment things could change. And they probably would, too. She just hoped it was for the better.

Feyre hadn’t explained to Mor what exactly her and Rhys were going to be doing. She could only guess her roommate would be questioning him at breakfast, and hoped he wouldn’t say anything too incriminating. She couldn’t take it if she knew how dangerous her situation was—Mor knew about Tamlin, about how he had treated her, or rather, mistreated her, and how he still thought she was something of his to just take as he pleased. And her friends, well… if she knew her friends, she knew that they would stop at nothing to keep her from going home when she didn’t want to. Because they were good people, and that’s just what good people did, even when the people they did it for didn’t really deserve it.

She didn’t say much to Rhys as he arrived, hurrying inside the car for the long journey back home. But she wondered if he had told their friends about what they would be doing, what lay ahead for them. It would be easy to ask him, to just say the words, but the silence was so welcoming, so simple that she did not dare break it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rhysand’s eyes were on the road ahead, his voice low and smooth, like a stream of warm water.

Feyre blinked, shaken out of her reverie. She’d been watching the plains of trees outside the window, how they blurred into splashes of greens and browns and blacks, doing anything she could to ignore the warmth that radiated from the man beside her. The smell of citrus and the sea. And the thoughts that seemed to plague her mind, those dangerous, betraying thoughts of how those arms had felt wrapped around her, how those lips had touched and burned and kissed, how those hands had marked her. “Oh,” she tried to think of what to say, what to do besides tell him the truth, and came up with nothing. Eventually, she said, “I was just thinking—I haven’t told you much about my sisters. I think I should prep you for this meeting.”

“I need… prepping?” he smirked, aware of her blush, and put a hand on top of hers. “I’m kidding. Prep me up, darling.”

“Prick.” Feyre laughed. She slapped his shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes. But her mind was reeling, wondering how to do this, how to begin explaining things. Her relationship with her sisters was so—complicated. So strained. And she didn’t want his pity, and didn’t want him to think she didn’t love them or that they didn’t love her either. They did, they all did. It was just—complex. And weird. And hard.

Relationships, Feyre had come to realize, took work. Especially when the people in question didn’t fully trust you with their heart. And Nesta—well, Nesta didn’t trust anyone with her heart, not even her own sister. There was only one person that truly had hold of her soul, and that was Elain.

But even with Elain’s help and the years of building up trust, after Tamlin, there was too much anger, too much disappointment, too many secrets between them. You see, for Nesta, there was no such thing as water under the bridge. And she wished she could fix this, she wished Elain could stop walking on eggshells and Nesta could stop her quiet bravado, but there was nothing she could do. Nesta wouldn’t listen, not to words or promises. But actions—well, actions were another thing.

And that was her plan. Not only to stop Tamlin—though, that was the most important part. But these months of being alone at the Academy had taught her one thing, and that was that alone, she was nothing. She was just a shell of a girl. Without friends, without family, without the loving of those around her, she didn’t have a reason to live at all.

So, yes, she did want to scare Tamlin away. But her plan, well, it consisted of more than that. She wanted to show Nesta that she was not weak, she was no longer the girl Tamlin had strung along and hurt and fucked up, over and over and over. She was her own woman, she was strong and smart and worth something. She had friends that would fight for her, friends that would be with her as she fought for herself—friends that would even pretend for her, it seemed.

And it didn’t matter that Tamlin still haunted her, it didn’t matter that everything he did and everything that happened the following months was still embedded deep within her, because she was all the more valiant for it. All the anxiety it had caused was just a misfortune of fate. And she would show them, she would show them all.

***

It was about midday when Rhysand pulled up at the Archeron driveway. He stretched his neck to look at the house, his violet eyes focusing on the creamy walls and clear windows of the property.

On the drive here, Feyre’d told him everything there was to know about her sisters. He categorized what she’d told him, or, at least, what he’d gotten from it. Elain Archeron—sweet and gentle, worked at a dog pound and could always be found gardening. Nesta Archeron—hard as steel, cold as ice, book andstreet smart.

He was not sure he was ready to meet them. The people that had so completely undone Feyre, the people that had told her she was not enough, that she was entirely to blame for whatever mistakes she had made in the past. But he had to do it. For Feyre, for himself, for a future where her family was united and strong. So he said, “You ready?” He looked at Feyre, violet eyes flashing with emotion.

Feyre took a deep breath, looking at the house where she had grown up, where so many memories and so many emotions had occurred. She blinked, “Y—yeah.”

He seemed to read the nervousness in her eyes, the tremble in her voice, because he put a hand on top of hers as he said, “It’s going to be fine, Feyre.”

“No, I—I know.” Feyre shook her head, seeming to shake away some kind of thought as well, and he didn’t think he should ask what had been on her mind. Her eyes looked sad, forlorn. Like she had been remembering a life not so long ago.

Rhys sighed, stroking her hand before he let it go, moving out of the car and around it to open her door for her. “Milady,”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to ignore the feeling that swept over her when he called her ‘milady’, as if she were his, as if she were more than just a girl that had nothing at all to offer him other than hurt and poor excuses and unhappiness.

As they walked to the door, Feyre’s hands trembling with nervousness. He grabbed a hold of her hand, squeezing it tight in his own. “Hey,” he said, “It’s okay.”

She nodded, taking another deep breath before moving forward and into the doorway. “Are you sure you want to involve your sisters in this lie?” he finally said, before Feyre could ring the doorbell. “It’d be easier to just tell them we were involved as well.”

She seemed to think it over, even though they’d talked about it before, but eventually said, “No, I—I want them to know the truth.” She looked at their hands as if she were about to let go of his, but, for his surprise and wonderment, didn’t. “There’s too much between us—between Nesta and Elain and me, for me to lie to them. They’re my sisters, Rhys. As easy as it would be to just lie, I need them to support me.”

It was his turn to nod.

Feyre rang the doorbell, squeezing his hand for reassurance. “Just a minute!” comes a voice from inside that she recognized as her sister’s. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a breathless Elain, holding her cat, White Socks, in her hands. She smiled widely and said, “Feyre!”

“Hello, Elain.”

***

Feyre could tell how uncomfortable Rhysand was.

Nesta held him under an unwavering stare, eyes steely and cold. “So,” she said, moving her gaze to his hand, currently intertwined with her sister’s for some kind of comfort in this strange, somewhat hostile situation. “You’re not together?”

“That’s right.” Rhys answered, all business. Feyre squeezed his hand, as if to say Relax, you’re safe, and nodded her agreement to her sister. Nesta didn’t seem much convinced, not with their weird displays of affection, but then again, nobody ever was. They had a—special connection. A bond that most people would think went beyond friendship and maybe—maybe it did. But it didn’t exactly mean the opposite either. They weren’t lovers, weren’t anything but two people who would fight for each other no matter what, even if it meant that they wouldn’t be together at the end of the day.

“You seem pretty chummy to me.” Nesta drawled out, eyes still on their hands.

Feyre sighed, letting go of her friend’s hand to bury her face in it for a moment. She recomposed herself as she said, “Look, Nesta,” she looked at Rhys for support, and he smiled encouragingly at her. “The situation is this—Tamlin won’t ever stop. He won’t ever give up chasing after me, not while he thinks I’m still his.” She gave her friend a little grateful smile, because she was so thankful, so incredibly thankful that he had agreed to do this. “And that’s why Rhys is here. My relationship with him has nothing to do with it.”

Nesta snorted deprecatingly before saying, “So you admit,” she drawled, “There is a relationship?” her gaze was studious, as if she wanted to pick apart any and all information she could from the sight before her. But there was nothing to see, nothing to discover—was there?

No, Feyre was clear on one thing and that was that her relationship with Rhys was just friendship and nothing more, no matter her feelings. No matter how much she—no. She wouldn’t go there.

Feyre sighed once more, exasperated. “No,” she ground out. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying at all?”

“Fine.” Nesta moved her gaze to Rhys again, exploring the planes of his face with that careful mistrust, “And you?” she asked. “What’s in this for you?”

“I’m sorry?” he spluttered, looking at Feyre for help, unsure of what to say, how to explain that while for her there was nothing in this, no feelings, no relationship, no love—well, for him it was different. Rhysand was deeply embedded in his friend’s life, for better or for worse and he wished, oh, how he wished, there was more for them, and he would do anything for her. He loved her, he was in love with her, he had fallen and she had not caught him, but that was okay, too, because he was more than equipped to deal with pain.

“Well,” Nesta said, studying him once more, that fatal curiosity filling her steely eyes. “You come here to help us having nothing offered to you other than friendship. What is your angle here?”

“I think you undervalue your sister.” He said, sounding angrier than he’d intended. He figured it just got to him, seeing the very people who were supposed to protect and provide a home for Feyre treat her with such disregard, but he knew it wasn’t his place to judge. He’d come to help, to make amends between them, not to harm their relationship further. “I do what I must to keep my friend where she wants to be.”

“Can I—” Elain finally quipped up from where she sat at the end of the living room, propped up on a chair with White Socks on her lap. “Feyre, why don’t you just come home? You didn’t even want to go there in the first place—you say you want to keep her where she wants to be, but isn’t that with us?”

It seemed to pain Feyre to answer the question, seemed to burn her with every breath she took, but she gathered herself up and said, “I wish—I wish that I wanted to come home. But home, for me, home is elsewhere now.” She begged her sister to understand with her blue, deep eyes, and continued, “I didn’t want it to be like this. When I first went to the Academy, I thought it was going to be hell. But I found the best friends I could ever wish for and—Elain, I can’t begin to explain or apologize or—”

“Then don’t.” Nesta interrupted, softer this time. “Just—fix this.”

***

“Are you sure about this?”

Feyre couldn’t think. Not with him standing so close to her, not with the smell of him, the citrus and the sea, the overwhelming sureness that this was wrong, so wrong, yet—it just felt right. Rhysand let out a breath, leaning over to put a hand on the tree trunk behind her as she stepped back, not allowing her an inch of detachment from him. She could almost laugh at the irony, almost feel the mockery of how alike this was from the first time they had kissed. It mimicked the very surroundings, the feel of the bark against her skin, the wet grass under her feet, the warmth of his body against hers.

“Yes,” she couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep her eyes from his violet orbs, staring at her with a hunger she almost wished she didn’t know. This is just for show, this is just for show, she reminded herself over and over, gulping. “I’m sure.”

Rhysand nodded, finally looking away to the building in front of the small park they stood in. “When does he get off again?”

Feyre exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the presence of him, feeling like she could not stand on her own, without the tree, without his arm around her middle, without the grass supporting her up. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of him—as if that were possible. She’d been trying for months now. Sighing, she took her phone off her back pocket and checked the time. “In about five minutes.”

He nodded again, still looking at the building.

It was a law firm, one of those that never did pro-bono jobs unless they had to because that never led to any “progress” for the firm. Or, as Rhys liked to call them, douchebags in suits. Feyre had explained to him that Tamlin’s father had worked there all his life and finally bought out a part of the company a few years back. He’d wanted his only son to continue his work once he retired and so, he’d managed to get him an internship. At the time, Feyre’d found it wonderful.

But that’s when it’d started.

Tamlin’d screw up or drink too much with his office buddies and his father, being the proper, old style kind of guy he was, thought he could beat it out of him. He’d changed so much in a matter of months. Become hollow, and angry, and sad. And then there had been the drinking.

Tamlin had never been one to drink too much. He’d liked beer, sure, but never gone for vodka or anything like that. But afterwards, Feyre would find him outside her house with a bottle of scotch, mumbling about how much he loved her and how she could never leave him and how he would tear apart anyone that dared come between them.

After a while it started to scare her. And she tried to break things off, she did. But he just kept coming around and calling and making these damn threats and promises that she wasn’t sure he would keep and was honestly scared he would because he had become scary and she was now so unsure of how exactly she had fallen for him. But she knew, she knew that this—this was a different person than she had once knew. Occasion and fate and terrible choices had made him into a monster and she did not deserve him. Not anymore. Or maybe—maybe she did, because she didn’t help, either. She’d just run, scared. She didn’t call the cops when she’d seen the scars or the bruises on him, she didn’t do a thing.

“Feyre?” Rhys’ voice shook her out of her reverie. She noticed how wet her eyes had become, and shame swept over her. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not right now—not ever. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I know,” She shook her head, “I just—I wish I could just forget all this.” Feyre sighed, wiping at her eyes, before saying, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” he said, hand coming up to cup her face. He stroked her cheek gently, like he was going to lean in and kiss her at any moment, but just whispered. “You don’t deserve to suffer. You don’t deserve to have your past follow you around wherever you go.” Rhys pressed a kiss to her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. Because this, this wasn’t for show. This was the two of them—the two of them against the world. “You are a bird that’s forgotten how to fly, Feyre Archeron. And we will set you free.”

“Here he comes.” She whispered, a hair’s breadth from his lips.

Rhys studied her face, looking for any trace of doubt, of fear, of second guessing. She tried to convey certainty, but she could only guess her eyes were as sad as she felt as he hesitated.

She wasn’t sad for herself. She wasn’t unsure or confused or afraid. In fact, she wanted this, and her reasons for wanting it were quite selfish. But she knew how much it would hurt him, how much it would mean to him to have her and then not.

And yes, Feyre knew how self-centered that sounded, but that was simply true. She was aware of his loyalty and his affections for her. And that’s what made this that much harder. To dangle herself in front of someone who could never have her. At least, not while she was so broken. So sad, so unbelievably unfixable.

She glanced at the man approaching, tall and blonde and muscular. Before Tamlin could notice her looking, she turned back to Rhys, cupping his face, putting a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s okay, Rhys.” She said, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes, breathing deep. She took in the intoxicating smell of him, the warmth of his body, the solid feel of him against her as she added, “Set me free.”

And then, it was just the feel of lips against lips, their tongues clashing and claiming, and the taste of each other, the touch of his hands to her hips and neck as he pushed her against the tree trunk, the pulsating heat of their bodies as they moved ever so slightly. She forgot where she was, who she was, why she was here. She forgot just why—why on earth this couldn’t be.

Rhys let one hand wander under her sweater, feeling the warm, creamy skin beneath, and Feyre let out a low moan. As another mimicked action from the night in the woods, she came up for air and he didn’t stop kissing her, trailing a line down her throat, to her neck, to her collarbone. He licked upward and nibbled on her ear and Feyre giggled—a strange new sound. “Ticklish,” she whispered, smile visible in her voice.

He just engulfed her in another kiss, biting down her bottom lip, running his tongue through her teeth, the roof of her mouth. She had to remind herself that they were in public, that they were here for a purpose besides this—whatever this was. Because she was not sure it was a ruse anymore at all. And maybe it hadn’t been for a while now. Maybe she felt for him, maybe—

“What the hell is going on here?”

Feyre pulled back as if burned, Tamlin’s very voice scaring her beyond measure. But she wasn’t paying attention to him at all, didn’t care for once that he was here because the man before her, because Rhys, still had his arms around her and his eyes on her lips and—

She almost gasped as the realization ran through her, as it hit her.

Feyre was in love with him.

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