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sim0nril3y · 3 months

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Meet the Family

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon has the joy of meeting your family and finding out why don't you see or talk about them all that much. This brings up some unwanted memories and feelings for him too. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), family drama, shouting, very small mention of Simon's childhood, family disapproval, family arguing, reader has family, reader has siblings, family names are established but no descriptions, canon-typical swearing.

It appeared that your phone was making more of a ruckus than usual later. It seemed to buzz and beep much more frequently, each time your eyes cast down to check it they narrowed, then rolled before you pushed the device far, far away from where you had to interact with it. Yet still it actively vied for your attention. “Everything okay, babe?” Simon quizzed, pulling the cork out of the wine he’d chosen and beginning to pour you a glass. “Fine.” You short answer replied, picking up the glass and taking a large gulp.

Taking a seat opposite Simon battled internally about whether to push this conversation anymore. He wondered, if the situation was reversed if you would have tried to get more information out of him. Bloody hell. You would. “I just couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little… upset by your phone.” Nodding his head in the direction of the device. “Is something up?”

For a moment you paused, mauling over the situation for a moment before letting out a low huff and answering. “My sister is having a ‘get-together’ for her anniversary…” You announced with a heavy amount of disdain in your voice. “We’ve been invited.” Of course, you’d mentioned your family before but until this point Simon had never met them and the opportunity had never been there. “Honestly, I’m surprised I’m invited Anna said it’ll just be close family…”

“Well, I guess you count as close family considering you’re her sister, love.” Simon pointed out and you let out a low huff again. “Who else is going to be there?” “My mum and dad. My little brother Peter. Obviously, my older sister Anna, her husband Barney and their son Hunter.” Simon couldn’t help but frown at that. It would be a lot of your family to meet at once. “And do you… want to go?”

Again, you didn’t have a response right away, eyes darting away before back towards him. “I… I don’t know…” Then shaking your head. “Anna is begging me to come, but I know that is only to get the heat off her because if I’m there then all my parent’s attention will fall to me and they will explain exactly where I’ve gone wrong with my life.” Simon couldn’t help but frown at that comment, he didn’t like the thought of your family speaking poorly of you. A heavy sigh escaped your mouth. “Would… you want to go?” The question came out tiny and vulnerable, like you might scare him off with that alone.

“They know about me?” Simon quizzed, he’d never met them and he’d never really pressed to do that, he was in love with you and that was all he needed in his life. “They do…” You replied evenly. “They don’t approve... It isn’t because of you.” You quickly add with wide eyes. “They don’t approve of anyone outside of the family. They hated any girl that Peter brought home and they tolerate Barney, but that is only because they gave them a grandchild to fawn over.” You explained before frowning. “Si, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come…”

For a moment he mauled over his options, he could go and accept whatever snide comments and berating came from your family, or he could send you to the wolves and stay home like a coward. Simon Riley was not a coward. “Tell her we’ll be there.” He leaned over to clink his glass against her own.

It was a bit of a drive to Anna’s home she shared with her husband and their son, but that gave you plenty of time to fill in all the dirty details about your family. You had started with your older sister, she was seen as the golden child and your parents bragged about almost everything that she did, her perfect marriage, her perfect children, her perfect house and her perfect holiday home. You explained, Anna had gone to a top University to study finance, but during her gap year galivanting about the US she’d met Barney who’d promptly fallen in love with her and got her pregnant. This wouldn’t typically be too big of a problem, apart from the fact that Anna been engaged before setting off and in a desperate need to escape the monotony of her relationship and her perfect life she’d thrown it all away from another lad.

It was a blow to her parents that their perfect eldest daughter had this mishap, however the fact that Barney came from an incredibly wealthy family and owned his own tech company certainly helped ease him into the family. Then their grandson Hunter came into the picture and everything was a perfect ending from there.

On the other hand, there was your younger brother Peter who had barely scraped by in his school and your parents had to persuade Universities to accept him. He spent more times in clubs than in his classes. Your parents saw him as a typical boy, causing some trouble and chasing the ladies. Boys will be boys; they’d excused with a hearty laugh as Peter would be trotted to the cells for indecent exposer or public indecency. Still even after all the trouble he’d caused Peter was still the apple of their eyes, your mother fawned over him and your father tried moulding him into his protégé.

Then there was you. With a sister that was perfect and a brother that they dotted on that left very little time or energy for you. It seemed like you just slipped through the cracks. Even when they did have time spare for you every decision, you’d made they hadn’t approved. In their eyes, you were simply the wild little fuck-up. It pained and riled Simon that anyone thought of you as anything but perfect and good and kind.

Once they arrived at your sisters’ home Simon was surprised to find that it was an expensive looking townhouse that had been renovated to have some modern features. This strangle matched the dreamhouse that you’d muttered to him one night in your post-sex chatter, it made Simon wonder who had desired the house first, maybe it was you and Anna had simply stolen that dream to taunt you. Approached the modern frosted glass door, it opened and out stepped an older woman with a disguised smile on her face, dressed in a smart, conservative dress with sharp kitten heels. Your hand squeezed his own as you approached, announcing nicely. “Mum…” Ah, your mother, Cynthia…

“Hello darling.” Her voice was soft but hiding something, like a sickly sweet venom that was encasing you both. You had mentioned that she was high strung and highly critical, that remained to be seen. If there was one thing that Cynthia enjoyed in life it was gossiping, followed by bragging about her family, or at least some of her family members, certainly not you, you’d joked to Simon but there was a pained reality to that snide remark. “Look at you, that is certainly an interesting dress…” She observed, cupping your face then. “You look very tired, are you sleeping well?” The snide remarks had already begun, Simon observed.

You complained lowly. “Mum…” Then looked towards Simon, eyes pleading for some form of help or safety or escape but only found his own dark set that matched your own fear. “This is-” Cynthia cut you off and turned her viper grin towards at him, those dangerous eyes scanned him and searched for any little weakness or vulnerability. “This must be Simon.” Cynthia let out an almost cynical laugh. “Now, I must ask your sister to set another place, we weren’t sure that you were real…” It was another little dig that made you wince.

Cynthia then allowed the two of you to follow her further into the house, a lounge area stood before them and three men lingered inside of it. An older man sat on the sofa, drink in hand and head drooping, another around Simon’s age stood behind a small make-shift bar, cleaning glasses and straightening bottles of the labels faced out and proud and then across the room a younger man was texting on his phone. “Simon, make yourself comfortable with the men. That is my husband, Harold. This is my son-in-law, Barney.” Cynthia even gifted him a snide smile, the same she had done to Simon, they were outsiders after all, not as important as blood, simply there to give her grandchildren. “And that is my son Peter~”

Turning to you and lowering her voice, Cynthia said. “Darling, don’t worry that you didn’t bring a present, your sister understands that you don’t make a lot of money-” “N-no, I just left it at home.” You attempted to explain but your mother just chortled lowly and squeezed your shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure… just like how Peter ate all your Christmas chocolate when you were 10, hmm?” Then she poked your tummy in jest. “But I think we all know where it went.”

Simon forced himself to grit his teeth, looking between and watching you purse your lips, accepting the vicious attack with a tight smile and glossy eyes. “Now, don’t make that face~” Cynthia smirked directly at you, as if knowing she was pushing your buttons. “Come, your sister will want some help in the kitchen, I’m sure you’ll survive being apart from your boyfriend for five minutes, hmm?” Then looking towards Simon and asking. “You won’t mind if I borrow her, will you?”

More than anything he wanted to deny her, snatch you up into his side and away from anymore of her cruel remarks, but her claw-like hands were already circling you and tugging you from the room before he had a chance. The next moment, a presence walked up behind him and Simon turned to see a very happy looking man stood there. “Hey man…” A thick American accent rolled from him. “My name is Barney, you must be Simon, right?” He was quick to shake his hand and comment. “Quite the grip there, you play golf?”

Shaking his head Simon followed him back to where he’d been lingering (or probably hiding) behind his bar. “Do you drink, man? What’s your poison?” Barney asked enthusiastically, very proudly gesturing to the array of bottles that were placed behind the bar, squeaky clean but hardly used. “Whiskey. Neat.” Then leaning against the bar and waiting for it to be made. Another approached, this time your brother, tucking his phone away into his pocket as he sidled up beside him, elbows resting on the bar too, matching him stance for stance. “Simon, right? The latest addition to our fucked up little family.” Peter commented, his tone just as snide as his mother’s – the apple didn’t fall far, he supposed. “I’m sure my sister told you all about me…”

“She mentioned a few things…” Simon answered evenly, reaching out to take the offered drink from Barney, drinking it down a little too quickly to appear casual. Bloody hell, he’d been on battlefields and felt less anxious. “Well, I’ve got a few stories about my sister that I’m sure you’ll want to hear too~” The young lad began before Simon glanced in his direction, testing and bothered by his presence.

Sensing the impending tension Barney let out a hearty chuckle and said. “Maybe another time, huh?” Then giving Peter a pointed look. “Simon… what do you do for a job?” He asked in a friendly enough way, this seemed to catch the attention of Harold who actually glanced in his direction, quietly accessing and judging, it felt like you were the only normal one to actually come out of this family. “I’m in the special forces.” Simon explained, keeping his answers short and sweet, not allowing too many details to slip out, it wouldn’t be professional. They all had different reactions to this little piece of information. Peter quirked a brow whilst Barney grinned and nodded. “That’s tight. Respect, man.”

“A solider…” Peter muttered. “Lieutenant, actually.” Simon corrected in a sharp tone. There wasn’t many things in life he was proud about but you and his career were among the only few.

Again, your brother seemed to stir from beside him. “So…” Looking at him, wanting to judge Simon’s reaction. “How many people you killed?” The question was so crass that it actually made Barney gasp before letting out a nervous laugh and saying. “Pete, I’m not sure you can ask questions like that, man…” Then another laugh before giving his brother-in-law a soft punch on the shoulder, followed by a pointed look, don’t push.

There was this clear power struggle that Peter was trying to win. This happened often with rich boys like your brother, they saw Simon as a threat because he was physically much more impending than them, feeling even worse when they discovered that Simon wasn’t as dumb as they thought he looked.

“Not something that I keep count of…” Simon answered keeping his face straight, remaining unbothered. It was a good answer, it was formal and dignified, not to mention filled with some honesty. It wasn’t like Simon could even keep count anymore, even if he had wanted to. Peter seemed unimpressed with that answer and simply huffed before saying. “Bet you could think of at least five different ways to kill me in here, right?” Again, this spiked the interest of Harold, glancing in their direction.

Another challenge. Another prod. Another opportunity to attempt to make Simon look unhinged. Attempting to break the tension Barney laughed awkwardly. “This joker-” “I could think at least ten.” Simon retorted, dark eyes watching Peter to see that smugness falter for just a moment as true fear sank in. From across the room for just a split second Harold smirked then it washed away as he finished his fifth drink of the night.

The room was thick with an air of tension as you stepped inside looking completely flustered. “It’s uh… it’s time for dinner.” You informed them, frowning as you tried to access the atmosphere, approaching Simon to rest a delicate hand on his forearm, wrapping yourself around the limb. The room cleared out as Barney escorted his in-laws to his dinning room. Gazing up at Simon, you asked. “You alright?”

Simon’s eyes seemed to focus on where Peter had been escorted from the room, watching that area on alert for a few moments before his gaze flittered back in your direction. “Told your brother I could think of ten ways to kill him in this room alone…”

You blinked. Slow and calculating. Attempting to understand the words that Simon had just rushed in your direction. “Excuse me?” You muttered, staring up into his eyes in confusion. “Why… why would you say-” “He was pushing me.” There was an edge of frustration to his tone. You brother had gotten under Simon’s skin a lot more than he was willing to admit aloud. Reaching up you cupped his face and looked into his eyes with such care and sincerity, it really did pain you to witness your family treating him in a way that left him so anxious and wound up. “I believe you.” You whispered. “I believe you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My fucking family… It’s my family, they make it their mission to push and prod and make your life misery. I’m sorry-”

A short huff came from Simon, leaning in to kiss your forehead gently and replying. “You don’t ever apologies for any of them.” He told you, voice firm and sure. There was no part of this that was your fault. You were born into a family of cynical fakers, wanting to make everyone else’s lives as miserable as their own. He hadn’t even been around them for an hour yet, but Simon could see that you were the only good thing to come from your family. He could force himself to survive the rest of the dinner party for you… but when this was over, he never wanted to see these people again.

“Come on, now…” Your mothers voice entered the lounge and she lingered in the doorway, big fake smile on her lips and glass of wine in hand. “You were late to the party and now you’ll be late for dinner too…” Cynthia chortled, clearly still holding that grudge. “I swear, my darling girl would be late to her own funeral too…” The comment was made as she swayed down the hallway towards the dining room, Simon simply grit his teeth and continued to bite his tongue. A few more hours, he reminded himself constantly.

The dinner that was severed was nice enough. Honestly, the only cooking that you actually enjoyed nowadays was anything that Simon served up for you and it was something he was more than happy to take care of for you. It was mundane and simple and peaceful, just for some time he could force his noisy brain to shut off, it simply wasn’t warfare.

You sat beside him, food pushing around your plate, probably each little biting comment from your mother stripped away any hunger from you. Cynthia had persuaded your siblings to list all their recent achievements to you, which they seemed all too happy to do. Maybe they knew that if all that vitriol that poured from your mother was aimed at you, then they’d continue to escape it… or maybe they enjoyed it because they were just as cruel as she was.

“Are you enjoying the food?” Cynthia quirked a soft brow at Simon, it was a strange observation but Simon noted that your mother wore a face so similar to your own, maybe more than the rest of your siblings but not even one of your expressions matched. There was so much pure and true joy and easiness in your smile, but each time your mother did the same it seemed like it might crack her face into tiny pieces. “I’m sure you aren’t used to a good homecooked meal, hmm?” Then laughing lowly. “Especially with this one’s cooking…” Pointing a fork in your direction.

“It’s fine.” Simon responded evenly, clearly not to exaggerated praise that your mother had been expecting, simply narrowing her eyes and taking back another gulp of wine. “I like to cook for us…” His hand then rests on your knee beneath the table, reminding you that you weren’t alone facing your horrid family, but that Simon had your back. “Between the two of us, I have more time to cook, anyway.” Then he shrugged, gazing in your direction and seeing your desperation to find safety and warmth within him. “With all the hours that she works and then the time she spends on her art, I like to keep her fed…” Too afraid to continue aloud, Simon thought, keep her warm, provided for her, keep her happy, keep her satisfied. Just… keep her.

A deep scoff came from Cynthia then, another big glug of wine until her glass was empty. It seemed that Simon had given Peter the opportunity to speak then, smirking from across the table. “Speaking of work…” Those dangerous eyes loomed as you sat a little straighter in your chair. “Heard from a friend that you missed that interview dad set up…” The comment was thrown out there so casually but you were left reeling as you knew the chaos that simple comment would cause. Besides, how did he even know that? There wasn’t a chance in the world that Peter had friends to be able to tell him that information, so what? Was he following you? Keeping tabs on you? Before you even had the chance to interrogate him Cynthia spoke first.

“No, no…” Placing down the wine bottle onto the table with a heavy thud, eyes fixed on you. “Please tell me that isn’t true.” Raising her brows, as if waiting for you to deny Peter’s allegations but you remained sheepishly quiet. “You lied to me.” There was a fiery rage in her eyes now and you knew that you were in for it. “You told me that you went. I can’t believe you would lie to your own mother…” Your mouth opened then, as if to defend yourself but Cynthia was much too quick to continue her tirade. “We have spoken about this again and again… I made it clear it is time to give up on this silly little fantasy that you’ve been holding onto. It is time to grow up and join the real world. You need to be more like your brother and your sister…” Gesturing wildly to them as Anna sat almost ashamed with her gaze down to her lap and Peter sat there with a smarmy smile the instigator of this.

Again, you opened your mouth, but her hand came up sharp in your direction. “Do you know the strings your father had to pull to organise that interview?” Then gesturing towards Harold who seemed completely unphased, cutting his steak into another bitesize piece whilst his wife continued to berate their daughter before the audience. “You are such an ungrateful brat and you always have been. When will you understand? You have absolutely zero desirable qualities so finding a decent job will be very difficult for you… who in their right mind is going to want to hire someone like you, hmm?”

Everyone apart from Cynthia and Peter appeared mortified, Anna looked to you with horror on her face and then Barney spoke, careful smile on his face. “She still had plenty of time to figure out what she wants to do, right? Anna took a gap year during college… Pete did the same… So, she isn’t going abroad or whatever, instead she’s trying to… to… figure out if she can follow her passion, I think it’s-” “Be quiet.” Cynthia growled at him then, teeth grit. “Don’t talk such nonsense… Peter and Anna were working hard at college and needed a break to find themselves and after returned to college and get their degrees. What does she have? Nothing. I couldn’t even convince her to apply to any colleges… She is a lazy, stubborn, silly little girl and you are chasing a hopeless dream-” “Enough.”

Every set of eyes then turned to look at Simon who sat with a furious look present on his face. At the beginning of the evening, he could maybe accept those biting little comments, he could certainly accept the way that Peter had provoked him, Simon could even accept the way that your mother had sat there bragging about your siblings but he wasn’t going to allow her to utterly humiliate you like this. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her that way.” Carefully from beside him, you muttered his name, a soft plead to try and calm the fight that seemed inevitable now. “No.” He told you firmly, quietly, gazing down at you with a set jaw and narrowed eyes. “I won’t just sit there and let her fuckin’ talk to you like this… I wont… I can’t…”

It wasn’t like Simon had grown up in a good household. It was clearly different from your own. Simon had witnessed his father completely decimate any good in his family and he was too young and too small and too scared to stop him or do anything. This is why he is the man he is today; he wouldn’t allow that again and seeing your family ripping you to shreds, tearing apart any good and hope and light inside of you was too much for him. Not you. Never you.

“Simon, please. You simply don’t understand...” Cynthia began. “My daughter lives in this word of make believe where she thinks she is going to become and artists and be able to make money and buy big houses like her sister. It’s just ridiculous. I’ve tried getting through to her, but-” “Your daughter is a fuckin’ adult.” Simon growled then, leaning into the table slightly so he could talk across at her. “She doesn’t need you to find her a job and she doesn’t need you to approve the choices that she makes in her life.” Simon growled, feeling this need to protect you and keep you safe, that very same one that had grown for his mother in his childhood. Different, but… the same. “Your daughter… your daughter is fuckin’ amazing. There isn’t a thing about her that needs to change. She’s intelligent and she’s soft and kind and she’s really fuckin’ talented and I wonder how all of that managed to happen when she grew up around you cunts-” The entire table seemed to gasp in unison.

There seemed to be this stunned silence before everyone erupted, Peter almost fell off his chair laughing, whilst baby Hunter wailed from the commotion. Cynthia stood stark upright, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Unacceptable! Disgusting! Unacceptable! He’s an animal! He’s feral!” Stalk through the house on a tirade of insults aimed in his direction with her husband trailing behind her. Anna was trying to hopelessly clean a puddle of wine from where it had teetered over onto the table. “It’s fucking vintage!” There were real tears in her eyes, much to Simon’s surprise.

Just then Barney stood up, bouncing his son in his arms and looking between you and Simon. “I think… I think it would be best if you guys left.” There was sorrow in his eyes as he suggested it, not wanting to be unkind but just not wanting anymore drama. It was probably for the best even if Simon did have a few more choice words for them.

The entire car ride home you were unusually quiet beside him. He was actually a little lost on how to handle this situation. There weren’t a part of him that was sorry for what he’d said to your family, or more specifically your mother. Simon just couldn’t handle the fact that she could talk to you in such a vile way. There was only so much that Simon was willing to take and he’d lost it. Fuck, had he scared you? Were you mad at him? Were you sad for causing a rift in your family? Had he even caused a rift? Clearly, they hadn’t thought very much of you before he’d been there…

A small sniffle from beside him caught his attention, glancing in your direction and under the glow of the streetlamps Simon saw your face wet with tears. Without hesitation Simon signalled and pulled his truck onto an empty road, clambering from the driver’s seat and around to yank open your door. A moment later his arms were around you, hand supporting the back of your head burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. “You’re alright. Shh. You’re alright, babe.”

After a few moments of allowing, you to just sob into his shoulder, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Don’t ca-care what they s-say about me-” “Well, I do.” There was a thick edge to his voice, pulling back to cup your face and looking for any sign of fight towards your family but you seemed defeated, you seemed emotionally drained. Where was that witty girl that had corned him on a night out? Where was the one that had to almost twist his arm to open up? Where was that fight for her own pretty self? “I care about what they say about you because they are dead fuckin’ wrong, babe. No one deserved to be talked to like that. I won’t allow it.”

There was something deeper simmering here behind all this. There was something that Simon didn’t want to confess or discuss. The berating. The belittling. The treatment of less than… This was something that Simon wouldn’t allow for you because he had experienced it and much worse. “You don’t deserve it.” It was like Simon was talking to all the people in his life that hadn’t deserved the fate they were given. You. Him. His mum. His brother. His friends he’d lost. The soldiers that had died in his arms. “Okay?” “Okay.”

Masterlist | Ask | 04-02-2024

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dramaticwine · 1 month

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Items for Lord Dionysus’ altar

Wine

Grapes

Statues and/or images of Dionysus

Apples

Goblets

Wine glasses

Ethically sourced furs

Statues of leopards, tigers, snakes, and/or bulls

Theater masks

Play programs

Phallic imagery

Fake or real plants

Pinecones

wildflowers

Wine corks, bottles, or labels

Bottle caps

Pride flags and/or pins

Condoms

Candles

Scripts

Garnet

Ruby

Amethyst

These are all suggestions and common associations of Dionysus. If you do not have some of these or don’t feel comfortable owning some of these, that is valid. We all have different practices and how you do yours will differ from mine.

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luuuuucyscorner · 6 days

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𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞- 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

Chapter Three. Info: Y/n and Spider's hangout goes differently than expected.

Tags: 18+, SMUT!, oral (fem recieving), drinking games, alcohol, kissing, swearing

word count: 16K

A/n- Can we js pretend the film has the accents, Letterboxd had nothing😭🙏 I am also painfully aware that curisers are not strong. especially Australian ones. I'm also really unhappy with this chapter.

Gif by me

After school, Spider arrives at your house, eagerly knocking on the door. When you open it, he flashes his signature grin. "Hey, Y/n. Ready for our little soiree?" He asks excitedly, stepping inside. He glances around the living room, taking note of the decorations. "Not a bad pad ya got here. Reminds me of home a bit, actually." He chuckles, trying to ease the tension. "So, what's the plan? Movies? Music? Or maybe a game night?" He suggests casually, attempting to gauge your mood. Unable to contain his nerves, he sits down on the couch, occasionally glancing at you.

Y/n sits next to him, "hmm well what are you feeling Spider?" she shifts, pulling her shirt neckline down accidentally,

Spider's eyes are immediately drawn to the glimpse of cleavage, his pulse accelerating. He quickly looks away, trying to maintain his composure. "Well, I reckon it depends on you, Y/n. Whatever you want is fine by me," he replies, struggling to mask the sudden rush of desire. He shifts awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he speaks. "Though...maybe we could start with somethin' simple? Wine and a movie, perhaps?" He suggests, hoping it'd set the mood for the evening. Despite his earlier proposal, seeing your bare skin had changed his priorities somewhat.

"wine? yeah, I'll see what we have. You planning on getting drunk tonight Spider?" you smirk teasingly.

Spider returns your smirk with one of his own. "Depends on how much you've got, mate," he quips, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "But I'm up for a few glasses, yeah. Can't complain about winding down with a beautiful woman and some decent vino." He saunters towards the kitchen, peering into the fridge. "Whatcha got? Red? White? Maybe something in between?" He chucks a bottle onto the counter, examining it critically before popping the cork. "This should do nicely."

Carrying the bottle and two wine glasses, you sit down together on the leather couch.

"what film are you feeling? what does Spencer White get down to?" you tease.

Grinning slyly, Spider replies, "Well, Y/n, I'm into most films. But let's keep things PG-13, shall we? Don't want any awkward moments with your ma comin' home early." He grabs the remote and flips through channels, eventually settling on a romantic comedy. "There we go. Pretty harmless." He sinks into the couch, leaning close enough to brush against your side. "Now, what did ya wanna know about ol' Spence?" He asks teasingly, a devilish glint in his eye.

"I want to know if he actually enjoys crap like this" you motion to the film, a slight laugh in your tone.

"Ah, love," Spider begins, feigning offense. "I may be a rough Aussie bloke, but I appreciate a good rom-com from time to time." He chuckles softly, nudging you playfully with his elbow. "Gotta have some heart-warming stuff in life, right?" He settles back into the couch, draping an arm along the backrest near you. "Wanna snuggle up, or remain professional over here?" He indicates the space next to him, inviting you closer.

"Is that an invite Spider?" you challenge teasingly.

Spider's cheeks flush a bright red, clearly taken aback by your comment. "Uh, yeah, I guess it was," he stammers, stuttering slightly. "I didn't mean anything by it, Leia. Just thought we could watch the movie together, y'know?" He fumbles with his glass of wine, trying to hide his nervousness. "Sorry if I made ya feel uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention." Despite his embarrassment, there was a hint of excitement in his voice. "You decide, though. Want some distance? I'll move over." He offers, ready to adjust accordingly.

"Nah I'm just fucking with you, Handsome" You laugh nonchalantly and shuffle up to him.

Relief washes over Spider's face as he adjusts his position to make room for you. "Alright, love. No need to scare a fella like that," he chuckles, trying to regain his composure. He nestles further into the cushion, allowing you ample space beside him. "Glad we're clear on that front. Never wanna ruin a good time with awkward nonsense." He settles in for the movie, though his thoughts drift elsewhere. Your proximity only fuels his desires, making it difficult to focus on the screen.

the movie ends and the bottle of wine has been drained. "can I put on another film? all good if not!" you ask

"Yeah, go ahead, love," Spider agrees enthusiastically. "Your choice, after all." He relinquishes control of the remote, handing it to you with a nod. "Even if it's a docu about kangaroos, I'll sit through it." He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. As you switch to your preferred selection, he leans in closer, his arm brushing yours gently. "Fancy another drink while we wait for this to start?" He inquires, reaching for the empty wine bottle.

you start scrolling for the film "Sure, there's vodka cruisers if you want something stronger. grab anything!"

"Vodka cruiser, eh?" Spider raises an eyebrow, intrigued by the suggestion. "Never had one of those before. Gimme a sec." He ambles towards the fridge, returning with two cold bottles. Handing you one, he pops the cap off his own. "To a great night, Y/n," he says, clinking it against yours. Taking a swig, he winces slightly at the potency. "Fuck, that packs a punch!" He chuckles, wiping his mouth. "So, whatcha got in store for us?" He inquires, leaning back on the couch expectantly.

"fight club! the one with Brad Pitt! god he's so fine" you say excitedly

Spider's brows furrow as he watches the opening credits, a hint of jealousy creeping into his expression. "Brad Pitt, huh? Bit of a looker, that fella," he mutters under his breath. He takes another sip of his cruiser, attempting to ignore the pang in his chest. "Still, there's only one Spider White, love. Can't replace the original." He tries to laugh it off, but the unease lingered. He settles into the couch, attempting to enjoy the movie despite himself. "Guess I'll just have to outperform him then, hey?" He jests, trying to diffuse his feelings.

"well you're not doing too badly Handsome" you confirm, smiling

His gaze flickers to you, meeting your eyes momentarily. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, Y/n. Means a lot comin' from you. But don't worry, I ain't here to compete with Hollywood heartthrobs. Just here for a good time." He resumes watching the film, but his mind keeps wandering back to your compliment. A warmth spreads through him, both flattered and uncertain how to handle such praise.

"well how about an Aussie heartthrob like you chooses the next film?" you whisper into his ear flirtily, admittedly a little tipsy.

Startled by your whisper, Spider's heart races. He turns to face you, a mixture of surprise and desire clouding his eyes. "An Aussie heartthrob, huh?" He whispers back seductively, leaning closer. "Well, how 'bout this? I pick the next film, and you gotta do a shot every time someone speaks in an accent other than ours." He grins mischievously, challenging you. "Sound fair, love?" He waits for your agreement before standing up, searching for alternative movies.

"That seems unfair. I'm so in" you whisper, impossibly close to his ear

Smiling triumphantly, Spider nods. "Alright then. Deal's struck." He reaches for the remote, clicking through options. "Let's see...how 'bout The Great Gatsby? Plenty of accents in that one." He selects the movie, turning to face you. "Ready to lose your inhibitions, Love?" He teases, holding out a shot glass filled with vodka. "On your mark..."

"get set..." you continue, staring right into his brown eyes.

As your gazes locked, Spider's pulse quickened. His fingers tremble slightly as he lifts the glass to his lips, downing the shot in one gulp. "Go," he murmurs hoarsely, setting the glass aside. With newfound boldness, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "Don't forget - every non-Aussie accent equals a shot." He whispers seductively, his tone laden with promise. The heat between you grew palpable.

"and don't forget every non- British accent is a shot too Handsome" you flirt.

Spider chuckles softly, appreciating your challenge. "Alright, love. Every non-Aussie or non-British accent, then." He confirms, adjusting his grip on your waist. "Best keep count, though. Could get messy." The movie starts, and you both down your second shot promptly. DiCaprio's rich American drawl earned a third drink. By the end of the first twenty minutes, you'd already consumed four shots. Spider couldn't help but grin deviously. "Looks like this is gonna be a wild ride."

"you don't say" You bite your lip, drunkenly.

Spider's gaze falls to your lips, his heart pounding. "Mmm, looks like it," he agrees, his voice low and husky. The alcohol heightened his senses, making it impossible to ignore the electric atmosphere. He tilts his head, brushing your hair away from your face tenderly. "Better start hydratin', love," he suggests, offering you water. "Can't have you passin' out on ol' Spence now." His hands shake slightly as he hands you the glass.

"Nah, after the film handsome, I'm British, not a lightweight"

Spider swallows hard, his throat dry from anticipation. "Alright, alright. Fair enough, Y/n." He relaxes slightly, sipping his own drink. "Just remember what we agreed upon." The film unfolds, each foreign accent leading to another round of shots. As the tension mounted, Spider's nerves intensifying. He couldn't shake the desire simmering between you. Yet, he knew better than to push boundaries too far. For now, he'd bide his time and enjoy the ride.

After the film, and over fifteen shots later, Spider was helping gather empty shot glasses and returning bottles to the fridge, his movements careful and considerate. "Well, that was quite the experience," he muses, wiping down the coffee table. "Think I might need a break from all these accents." He gives a soft chuckle, cleaning up remnants of the evening. As he passes you a trash bag, your fingers brushed briefly. "Thanks for havin' me over, Y/n. Had a blast, even if I lost track of those damn shots." He tries to maintain his cockiness, but the warmth in his chest betrays him. "Look forward to our next adventure."

she drops the trash bag and pulls him closer by his wrist. "spence.." she whispers, dunkenly

Spider freezes at your touch, the intimacy overwhelming him. His breath hitches as he looks into your eyes, his resolve wavering. Though he knew better than to cross lines, the temptation proved too much. "Yeah, Love?" He rasps, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. His body leans involuntarily towards yours, curiosity tugging at him. The air crackled with unspoken desire, leaving him suspended in uncertainty.

"you should kiss me" her voice bearly audioble.

For a brief moment, Spider simply stares at you, dumbfounded. Then, his resolve crumbles. Leaning closer, he cupped your face gently. "Fuck it," he breathes, sealing your lips with his. The kiss was passionate yet cautious, laden with untamed emotion. He tasted the vodka on your tongue, feeling your slight resistance melt away under his touch. This unexpected turn left him both exhilarated and terrified, unsure where it would lead. All he knew was that he wanted more.

Spider motions for you to jump and he grabs onto the back of your thighs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. placing you onto the kitchen counter, standing between your spread legs, out of breath

Spider's heart pounds in his ears as he stands between your legs, panting lightly. His eyes lock onto yours, searching for permission. "You sure, Y/n?" He asks quietly, his voice shaking. This sudden shift left him both thrilled and apprehensive. He aches to explore further, yet respect your boundaries. Sweat glistens on his forehead, a testament to his nervous energy. "If you change your mind, let me know." He whispers, uncertainty marring his bravado.

"shut up Spider, just kiss me" you say, the cold of the kitchen counter pricking your thighs.

Emboldened by your words, Spider silences his doubts with a deep, lingering kiss. Despite his anxiety, he allows himself to indulge in the moment. Gently, he explores your body with his hands, tracing delicate contours beneath your shirt. When you broke the kiss, he hesitates but listens attentively. "Your call, love. Whatever feels right for you," he promises, swallowing hard. He kneels between your legs, his hands trembling slightly as he undoes your jeans. His anxiety giving way to determination, focusing on pleasing you instead of himself.

"oh Handsome" you moan as he takes off your jeans.

Hearing your moan sent shivers down Spider's spine. He pauses for a moment, taking in the sight before him. "Jesus, you're gorgeous," he whispers hoarsely, his gaze fixed on you. Gently, he trails kisses along your inner thigh, igniting a fire within him. Every inch revealed stoked his desire, yet he remains focused on satisfying you. As his tongue darts out, he tastes your sweetness, savoring each sensation. Your moans fueling his efforts, driving him to perform better.

"Spencer, that feels so good" you're spread out on the counter and your hands are tangled in his hair.

Spider's breath catches in his throat at your praise. Encouraged, he delves deeper, eager to make you feel good. His heart hammers against his ribs, adrenaline coursing through him. Each pull of your hips and gasp of pleasure drives him further. Despite his own anxieties, he finds release in pleasuring you. Your hands tightening in his hair only emboldened him, the connection overwhelming yet gratifying. With renewed vigor, he continues his exploration, losing himself in the rhythm.

You gasp violently, moaning and tugging at his hair "I'm so close handsome. oh my god spencer"

"Comin' for me, love?" Spider questions urgently, his voice thick with lust. He picks up pace, matching your intensity. Your cries fueling him, pushing past his own discomfort. Sensing your climax, he surrendered to the moment, giving you everything he had. With a final thrust of his tongue, he feels you convulse beneath him. Relief washes over him, satisfaction filling the void of self-consciousness. Breathless, he rests his forehead against your thigh, heart pounding wildly.

"holy shit" you breathe out, smiling. you pull spider up by his hair and bring your lips to his, tasting yourself on him.

Taken aback, Spider feels a flush rise to his cheeks. He hesitates for a mere second before returning the kiss, a mix of surprise and excitement courses through him. Tasting yourself on him adds a layer of intimacy that he can't deny is hot. Your actions stirring something primal within him, pushing past his inhibitions. As the kiss deepens, his hands roam freely, exploring every curve. In that moment, he forgets about his insecurities, embracing the passion fully.

Spider gasps at your sudden move, his world spinning. Your scent enveloping him as you kiss him, raw passion evident in your touch. In that moment, all doubts dissipated. He returns the kiss fervently, surrendering to the newfound intimacy. As you pull away, he grins, slightly embarrassed yet pleased. "Didn't think I'd be takin' you to the kitchen counter, love," he joked weakly. "But guess some things are worth breakin' rules for." He laughs nervously, trying to regain composure.

you reach for his belt buckle trying to undo it "let me return the favour" you slur

Realizing your intentions, Spider freezes mid-grin. "Whoa, whoa, hold up there, tiger." He pants, stopping your hand. "i just like making you feel good." he says. "Wanna keep things fair, right?" He attempts humor, wanting to avoid awkwardness. shifting uncomfortably he says "But thanks for offerin', Y/n."

"you sure handsome?" you bite your lip and shift back and forth on the counter.

Spider studies your expression, seeing disappointment clouding your features. "Swear on me mum's grave, love," he assures you sincerely. "Just gotta work through somethings first." He tries to smile reassuringly, reaching for your hand. "This was incredible, though. Not many can say they had a kitchen counter rendezvous." He squeezes your hand gently, hoping to lift your spirits. "Next time, okay?" He offers tentatively, yearning for another chance.

"okay, spider ill see you at school " you say, showing him to the door and with that, he leaves and begins to drive home.

Spider watches you close the front door behind you, a mix of emotions churning inside him. The night was unlike anything he'd experienced, leaving him both elated and humbled. As he drives home, thoughts swirl in his mind. He can't shake the image of you, nor the taste of your skin. He feels grateful for the encounter yet frustrated by his limitations. One thing was clear: despite the hurdles, he wanted more with you. As he parks outside his house, he takes a deep breath. "Dammit, Y/n," he murmurs to himself, heading indoors. "Next time, it'll be different."

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imagines--galore · 2 months

Text

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twelve

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

A/N: ...................I was not expecting this chapter to turn out the way it did.................Hope you guys enjoy! And if you wanna be added to the tag list just lemme know! Oh and do tell me your favorite scene so far!

The walk back had been quiet. Neither teenager felt the need to say anything.

But then there was nothing to say now was there?

She had been attacked by someone who could've hurt Iroh and Zuko, and yet Orora had not said a single word. Despite her own fear, her priority had been to protect the both of them. Besides the fear hadn't been for her. The fear had been the result of her mind conjuring up the various dark outcomes that would come to play should the identity of the two Royals be discovered.

He had pushed her out of the way of an attack, taking the blow meant for her. Granted Orora could've handled herself, but with how scared she had been, and the way he had seen her trembling despite her effort not to, Zuko hadn't wanted to leave it up to chance. His main thought was that he didn't want her getting hurt.

Least of all while protecting him.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he was a little surprised to see her walking with her head slightly bent. What was she thinking, he wandered, eyes dropping briefly to the string linking them together. It hung slightly loose, though was rather short, given how their hands were only a foot or so apart.

He looked away. And not a moment later, Orora turned her head slightly to glance at him. The streets were nearly empty, given that it was late in the evening, and yet she found herself walking right next to him. A rather common, yet unconscious, occurrence since they had arrived in Ba Sing Se.

Reaching their building of residence, Orora motioned for him to go ahead. "I need to fill my satchel with fresh water." She gestured to the community well that everyone used.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "And leave you to be attacked by another crazy guy?" Though his gaze was serious, Orora could almost detect a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Playful sarcasm, she hoped.

Her eyes flashed with something akin to annoyance and.........gratitude? Was that it? Jet hadn't sneaked in a kick to his head had he?

While Zuko recalled if what he had seen was real or just the light coming from a nearby open window, Orora quickly bended fresh water into her satchel. Closing the cork she waved her arms, allowing more water to bend up from the well, enough so that she could splash her face with it.

Sighing at the feeling of the cool liquid, her body instantly relaxed. Having water touch her skin had always had a calming effect on her, and she needed to regain her composure after the plethora of emotions she had felt within a span of an hour. Tilting her head to allow the little rivulets of water to run down her face and neck, her eyes focused on the moon above. Inhaling deeply, the young girl smiled, arms hanging loosely at her side as she allowed herself to simply bask in the presence of it.

The sound of water splashing had him glancing in Orora's direction from where he had been looking around, keeping watch. His usual mask of seriousness slipped away as he watched her standing there. Her eyes were focused on the moon, so there was no chance of her catching him looking.

So he continued to gaze upon her.

After a couple of minutes, she walked back to where Zuko was standing. She didn't bother wiping her face, or even bending the water droplets from her skin as she passed him and walked up the stairs.

It was after a few steps when she realized Zuko wasn't following her. Glancing over her shoulder, a hand on the railing to keep her balance, she blinked at the Fire Nation Prince who was staring right at her.

"Aren't you coming?" She asked.

The words seemed to startle him out of whatever daydream he was in. He met her gaze, before abruptly looking away and bolting up the stairs, nearly pushing past her as he did.

Orora frowned in confusion, completely missing the obvious redness that adorned his cheeks given the embarrassment he felt at being caught staring at her so openly.

Then again, he couldn't help himself, his treacherous mind reasoned, she had looked so peaceful and calm in that moment.

Almost serenely pretty.

Shaking his head, pushing his hair back from his forehead, he stepped into their home. It was dark, a problem he remedied by lighting a couple of candles.

With his fire-bending.

An act that prompted Orora to reach out and grasp his wrist from where he had been aiming at another candle.

"What're you doing? You were nearly discovered tonight. Do you want to get caught?" She hissed right in his ear. Zuko only scowled at her. "I wouldn't be careless with my bending Orora. And I checked outside to make sure we weren't followed."

She pursed her lips, looking annoyed once more. An emotion that was a normal occurrence for the two teenagers when it came to dealing with each other. "Be that as it may, I would prefer that we not test with our luck. At least not tonight."

Stepping away from him and dropping his wrist, trying to ignore how comforting his warmth had been for the brief moments she had touched him, she quickly lit more candles. Using spark rocks this time.

Once done, she turned to Zuko, hands on her satchel.

"Take off your shirt."

Having been in the process of drinking some water from the pitcher, Zuko spluttered. Coughing, water dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt, he stared at her wide-eyed and slightly panicked.

"What?!"

Realizing just how she must've sounded, Orora shook her head vigorously, even as her cheeks tinged pink. Despite her dark complexion, the evidence of her embarrassment was still visible.

"Spirits Zuko! So that I can check your chest. Jet hit you pretty hard." She clarified, bending water and coating her hands with it. Wiping the spilled water from his chin, his face still burning, Zuko shook his head. "I'm fine. I don't need you to look at it."

He moved to walk away. "I'm going to bed."

Nostrils flaring in anger, Orora allowed her arms to snap forward, creating twin whips from the water she had meant to use to heal him. The whips wrapped around his wrists and yanked him back. "Hey! What?!" He stumbled but managed to recover his footing as Orora brought him to stand in front of her.

The firebender rounded on her, golden eyes alight with an anger that would send any other person running for the hills. But not Orora. She stared back, calm and cold. A cold anger, he would often muse to himself.

"What was that for? I told you, I don't need your help." Having dropped the whips, she bended the water back inside her satchel, never once letting her eyes stray from his furious face.

"Why do you have to be so reckless about this? About everything?" She demanded. "I'm offering to heal your injury. What if you're hurt badly? What if your injury gets worse if left untreated?"

Zuko scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from her intense gaze. "You're only offering because you feel guilty that I got hurt pushing you out of the way."

That had to be the only reason. She didn't care about him enough to actually be worried about him.

Orora was silent for a beat, blinking at him before she huffed. "You're right. I do feel guilty." He smirked smugly.

He was right.

"But I'm also worried about you."

His mind, or maybe his heart, came to a sudden halt.

Now that he had certainly not been expecting.

Mouth slightly agape, he turned his gaze back in her direction, noting how this time, for once, she couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes found the white patch of hair. An overwhelming feeling overcame him. One that nearly compelled him to reach out and touch it. His fingers twitched at his side, and he would've done it too.

If Orora hadn't looked back up just then.

"You didn't even comprehend the situation before you decided to fight Jet. What if he had been a better fighter then you?" She asked. Though she had claimed that she was worried for him, her tone sounded angry.

A feeling he reciprocated as the scowl returned to crease his forehead. "But he wasn't. And I won. Besides, he was about to attack, Orora. If I hadn't defended myself, I would've definitely gotten hurt worse."

"We could've talked to him." She tried to reason, prompting Zuko to let out a laugh of disbelief. "Are you honestly that naive? Do you think he would've listened to you?"

She was nearly fuming with anger at his tone and his words. Condescending would be the best way to describe them both. She could even see it in his face from how close he was standing to her. Only a small step away. "Its not about being naive, Zuko. Its called avoiding a physical conflict where it can be avoided."

"We're here to build a peaceful life." She continued. "And that means not getting into physical fights with the first threat that comes our way. Fighting isn't always the answer."

Zuko glared at her before moving to turn away. "I've spent the last few years fighting Orora, and it's whats kept me alive and helped me survive." So saying, he started to walk towards their bedrooms once more. He didn't want her to be satisfied by the fact that what she said was true. Zuko was almost afraid she would be able to read his mind and see what was in his heart if she looked at him hard enough with those intense blue eyes of hers.

But Orora wasn't having it.

She was tired. Tired of the half-truths and the lies. Tired of not getting the full picture. Tired of being unable to understand him.

But what frustrated her the most? Was that she couldn't help him.

And she wanted to. So badly.

"So thats it then is it?!" She called after him, her voice raising slightly. "You're just gonna keep fighting until it gets you killed?" Her words brought him to a sudden halt, an act that prompted her to keep speaking. "You fight all the time Zuko. And not just with me or your Uncle. You fight life. You fight against what fate has planned for you in that moment. You never allow yourself to simply......be!"

She could see the tension in his shoulders before he turned to face her. "Well life hasn't been kind to me Orora, its why I fight back." He responded, his voice matching her tone. "I have to fight, because if I don't I'll only loose more pieces of myself like I have over the years."

"You'll loose yourself anyway just by fighting so much. Not to mention all the good things you'll miss in life." Silence followed her words, several moments where the both of them just stared at one another.

"You don't have to fight all the time Zuko." She said, her voice soft and gentle.

He clenched his fists and nearly bared his teeth. "Yes, I do!"

She threw her arms in the air, a breathless laugh of disbelief falling from her lips as she did. "Spirits, why do you intend to fight with me even on this?! I know you think I'm right. I can see it in your face. I've known you long enough to read you Zuko."

"Don't pretend like you know anything about me, Orora." He all but growled, stalking forward so that they were nearly nose to nose. "You know nothing."

She had to tilt her head back to look at him properly. "Alright then fine, tell me. Why do you fight all the time then? Why are you so intent on attacking anything or anyone, even if its someone who offers you kindness and love?"

"Because its who I am."

"Thats not an answer."

"Yes it is!"

"It's not and you know it. You're always giving your opinion on everything why not this huh? Why do you insist on being so stubborn? Why do you always fight back?"

"Because the last time I didn't fight back, I had my face burned off by my father!"

Silence.

A horrified silence followed his outburst.

Zuko's eyes widened in horror as his mind caught up with what he had said. And while his mind worked a mile a moment, trying to come up with something that would help him take back what he had just said, what he had just revealed, Orora's mind was sluggishly trying to process what she had just heard.

His father.

Her face paled.

The scar.

Her pale blue eyes found the marred skin widening in sheer horror.

His father had burned his face?!

She opened her mouth, looking as if she were about to say something.

But what?

Behind Orora the latch on the door pushed up, the door opened, and Iroh stepping in carrying several bowls of food on a tray. "The restaurant by the tea shop were kind enough to offer us food for the night and I could not refuse." He stopped short at the sight that greeted him.

His nephew and his pupil both in fighting stances, Orora with ice daggers clutched in either of her hands, and Zuko looking ready to throw a fireball.

Iroh's heart clenched in his chest as he took in the two children. This is what the war had turned them into. Being on guard every moment of the day, ready to defend themselves against the enemy. "You need not be so tense, the danger has passed." He tried to reassure them, and though they did drop their defensive positions, the tension in their bodies remained.

"I'm going to bed." Zuko stated, and before Iroh could even ask him about dinner the young prince had disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Is he alright?" The concerned man asked, to which Orora gave a small shrug. His face settled into a concerned look. Something had happened, he sensed, between the both of them.

And it would be best if he not step in, he mused to himself as he and Orora ate in silence. Allow them to work it out between themselves, he reasoned as he watched his pupil play with her food rather then eat it.

He did notice how she put a plate on top of Zuko's bowl of food, in an effort to keep it warm.

————————–

It was well past midnight, she was sure.

And yet she couldn't sleep.

She hadn't even bothered going to bed. Instead, once Iroh had retired, she had opted on making herself some tea. Clutching the smooth clay cup, she had settled on the floor, back against the wall. She had removed her dress for the day, leaving her in a loose shirt and baggy pair of trousers. Her shoes were discarded on the floor, and she had removed the comb from her hair. At every other interval she would lift the cup to her lips to take a sip of the sweet concoction she had brewed, but other then that, she remained still.

Her mind, however, was racing faster then she had ever thought possible. And yet, none of them seemed to be making sense. She would start thinking of something, before another thought would overtake it.

The only thing all her thoughts had in common was that they were all centered around her soulmate.

A sudden thump from above had her nearly jumping out of her skin. Dropping the nearly empty cup with a small clatter, she was jumping out from the window just behind her and had swinging herself up onto the roof.

Only to stop short when she saw what, or rather who had made the noise.

Zuko stared back at her, looking just as startled as she felt. "I'm-I'm sorry. I just thought it was someone attacking again." She quickly explained, feeling a little embarrassed. Why was she so paranoid about the smallest of noises? She hadn't been this way while they were roaming the countryside.

For his part, Zuko shook his head. "Its fine." He was sitting the slightly slanted roof. His hair was mussed, as if he had been tossing in bed, and his sleep clothes were rumpled. He was wearing nearly the same style of clothing she was, though his shirt had no sleeves to them. Her curiosity got the better of her as she asked. "What're you doing up here?"

The banished prince shrugged in response. "Couldn't sleep." There was an almost resigned tone in his voice as he spoke. Orora nodded. "Yeah, me neither."

Their eyes met, a mutual understanding passing between the both of them. Finally, Zuko, being the first to look away, sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I suppose, you have some questions." Biting her lower lip, Orora gave a small shrug. "Only if you want to answer them. I don't want to force you or anything."

He shook his head. "No, I think....well....you've stayed by us for so long. You........you deserve to know." Not wanting to see her reaction to his offer, especially if it was negative, he turned away.

A small stretch of silence, one where Zuko thought that maybe she didn't want to know. Didn't want anything to do with him. Then again, who would? His own father had banished him. His mother had left him. And his sister had never liked him.

But then he felt her coming to stand next to him before settling down. She mirrored his pose, legs against the chest, arms wrapped around them, chin placed between the valley of her knees. His arms rested atop his knees though, both their gazes trained towards the skyline of Ba Seng Se.

"Did your father really...." She trailed off, shifting her head so she could look at him. For his part, Zuko didn't move his gaze, however he did nod. "He did. It was punishment, for speaking against him at a War Council."

"Kind of a harsh one don't you think?" She muttered, to which Zuko shook his head. "I deserved it." The three words slipped so easily out of his mouth that Orora literally froze from the shock of it. How could he even think he deserved to be punished so brutally? Zuko was oblivious to her inner turmoil as he continued. "I spoke against him in front of the entire War Council. It was not my place to question him or doubt his decision."

"But you're the Prince. Aren't you allowed to give your opinion?" She asked, wandering just how politics worked in the Fire Nation.

He shook his head. "Not when it goes against the Fire Lord's word."

Orora frowned. "But what if his word is wrong?" Her question had the Prince tensing up, something that she caught prompting her to ask her next question. "He was wrong wasn't he?" Had Zuko been burned because his father didn't like to be called out when he did something wrong?

"One of the Generals suggested they send new recruits as a diversion. Sacrifice them, use them as bait." A dark frown marred his forehead. "Fresh meat he called them."

A cold feeling erupted in her spine, traveling down to the very tips of her toes, and racing through her veins. "How could they do that? They were just soldiers following orders." She spoke, her voice soft with disbelief, eyes wide.

Zuko turned his head to look at her, a surprised look playing about his features. "That's exactly what I said, but it wasn't my place to speak out. I disrespected the War Council, which in turn meant I disrespected the Fire Lord. I challenged them, and a challenge in the Fire Nation means-"

"An Agni Kai."

He stopped short, giving her a surprised look. "I didn't think you would know about that." She gave a small shrug. "I used to read a lot. And that included reading about all the other Nations as well. Didn't have anything else to do at the North Pole." She admitted with a small smile. Zuko returned the smile before continuing, the curve of his lips disappearing.

"So yeah, I had to fight an Agni Kai. I had thought I would be fighting the old General who had come up with the plan. But when I faced my opponent, I found out it was my father."

Orora released a startled breath, eyes widening in horror. "Spirits. Is that when he burned you? While you were fighting him? Wait no, you said you didn't fight back against your father." She corrected herself, remembering their conversation from earlier.

He nodded. "Yeah, I didn't fight him. I could never fight my father. I begged for forgiveness, told him I always had the Nation's best interest at heart but it was no use, and well," He turned his head to look at her fully. "You see the result of it everyday."

Orora had to remind herself to breath as she allowed her gaze to land on his scar. Just because he had spoken what was right, he'd been burned, scarred for the rest of his life.

"And if that wasn't enough." Wait there was more? "He banished me from the Fire Nation. Said I had dishonored him, and the only way to regain my honor, and be welcomed home was if I found and captured the Avatar."

She frowned. "But Aang only appeared a few months ago. How long ago did your father banish you?" She asked, trying to figure it out in her head.

"Well, I was thirteen when I was banished, spent almost three years traveling the world looking for him, chased him for months up to the North Pole. Lost my ship and my crew. My sister declared us traitors to the Fire Nation and since then we've been living as fugitives." He let out a dry chuckle. "Its been a few eventful years."

Orora waved her hand. "Wait wait! Go back, I'm still stuck on the first part. You were thirteen?!"

He frowned but nodded. "Yes?"

"You were only thirteen years old when your father burned you and banished you?" She confirmed again, her voice breathless in her disbelief.

He frowned. "Whats so difficult to understand about that?"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Orora looked like she was about to tackle him. "Whats so difficult?! Whats so difficult!?" Her voice rose slightly as she moved to sit on her knees beside him. "Whats difficult for me is that I don't understand how your own father scarred you for life, before banishing you from your own home?! How could he do that?"

He blinked at her, looking a little startled at her outburst. "Didn't your father banish you too? Just because you were fighting for the right thing like I was?"

She stopped short. "Oh." Where she had been speaking so passionately before, she slumped where she sat. "Right, I forgot."

Zuko blinked at her. "How could you forget something so important?" He asked, sounding just as incredulous as he looked. She shrugged. "I mean I do remember it from time to time, but I don't let it define who I am."

She gave him a meaningful look, one that had him pursing his lips and looking away. "And at least I wasn't a kid when my father threw me out." She reasoned, to which Zuko gave a small smirk. "We're still kids Orora. I mean teenagers are considered kids right?"

Nodding, she hummed. "Thats debatable, for the both of us. I mean we've both been banished by our fathers. You were scarred. I was disinherited. You're wanted by your Nation. I nearly died. And I'm sure attempts have been made on your life." She looked at him in a questioning manner to which he gave a small nod.

Sighing Orora closed her eyes, before shrugging. "I don't think I would use the word kids to describe us Zuko." She finally stated, straightening so she was sitting facing the skyline once more.

Though this time, she sat much closer to Zuko then before. The lull in conversation allowed her to think on what she had heard so far. But the lack of mention of someone had her frowning in confusion.

"You've talked about your father, your sister and I know you have an Uncle, but what about your mother?"

She could physically feel him tense up beside her. Turning her head, she watched as an unbearably sad look overcame his features. For once, he didn't bother to hide his emotions. "She disappeared a long time ago. No one knows where. The official story is that she died, but she just....left."

Spirits, she had never heard his voice sound so broken and hopeless.

"Were you two close?" She asked, her voice soft and barely above a whisper, as if afraid any loud noise would shatter the moment. He nodded. "I.....she was.....is the only person who really knew me. I've never been that close with anyone. Not even Uncle."

There were still parts of himself that he had no intention of sharing with his Uncle, though he knew the old man was already aware of them.

"My parents weren't soulmates, so it was easy for her to leave I suppose." He added, feeling that all too familiar anguish settling in his chest whenever he would think about his mother leaving him behind too.

Something warm and soft pressed against his arm, before slowly sliding up to cover his hand. He turned his head to see Orora right beside him, her eyes trained to where her hand covered his.

"I'm sure that whatever reasons she had for leaving, it broke her heart to leave you." Earnest ice blue eyes raised to meet his amber gold hues. "I'm sure she loved you Zuko. Maybe, one day, you can go and look for her."

A blush stole across her cheeks, a nervousness overcoming her, but she continued. "And when you do, if you'd like, I can be there with you to help however I can." Zuko stared back, mouth slightly agape. He couldn't understand why she would offer to do something like that. Help him. No one had ever offered to help him voluntarily. He had always had to fight for his right to be heard, seen and, at one point, even to live.

Feeling that perhaps she had overstepped a little bit, Orora shifted her gaze to look out to the sky once more. It was beginning to change color. Dawn was approaching. "But only if you need it." She added, her grip on his hand not letting up. "I don't want to overstep any boundaries or anything."

"Why?"

That one word had her frowning in confusion as she looked back at him. "Why what?"

He had a rather adorably confused look. "Why would you want to help me?"

Orora blinked. "Oh." She pursed her lips before answering. "Because its the right thing to do."

Though her answer was spoken in a kind tone, Zuko couldn't help but feel disappointed. About what though, he had no idea. Brushing a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, Orora sighed and continued.

"And also because, somewhere during these few months, despite how we met and whatever animosity has been between the both of us, I've come to see you as a friend Zuko." Spirits, her face felt like it was on fire!

For his part Zuko wasn't any better. While her blush was subtle given her tanned skin, his was more then obvious. The sight of Zuko blushing did have an involuntary laugh falling from her lips. The two of them lapsed into silence, watching as the sky grew lighter in color, and as the first beam of sunshine appeared, Zuko felt his entire body thrum with energy at the sight of the rising sun.

"Well so long as you can tolerate the ugly scar and bad temper, I suppose you can come along." He tried to joke, though the mention of his scar had her frowning darkly.

"Its not an ugly scar Zuko." She stated firmly, moving so she could sit on her knees again. This time she held his hand in both of her own in the space between the two of them. "You got the scar because you were trying to protect innocent lives. The person who gave you the scar? They're the ones who are truly ugly Zuko." He looked like he was about to argue, but she didn't let him.

"Even if I hadn't heard this story, I would never think of your scar as ugly, because I never would've judged you on your appearance." Her gaze had not left his during her entire speech, but now it did. A kind smile played at her lips as she reached out with her other hand, to place it atop his chest, where she could feel his heart beating under her touch.

"You are a beautiful person Zuko. You've proven it so many times since the day we met at the North Pole. And no scar is going to hide your kind heart."

Zuko felt as if Orora's voice was echoing in his ears, her words sounded strange. No one had ever associated such words with him. Yet here was a girl, he had not even known a few months ago, looking at him so openly, kindly and earnestly that he felt that this was nothing but an illusion.

Clearing his throat, the young prince averted his gaze, unable to continue looking at her. "Th-thank you, Orora." It was a miracle how he was able to form just those simple words. Spirits, he was going to be permanently red in the face if she kept saying all those things to him.

Sensing that maybe she had embarrassed him enough, the young waterbender retreated her hands from his person, though neither of them missed how his hand flinched when her hand left his. Almost as if he were about to reach out and grasp it again.

"I should get down and get a few hours of sleep before we have to work." She stated, slowly standing up and brushing the front of her clothes. "See you later, Zuko." Her heart was lightened for once. She hoped that what she had said would help him somehow.

He had to say something! Anything! Anything to assure her that her words didn't fall on deaf ears, that her kindness to him wasn't something he was about to throw right back in her face. He had done that too many times, and she was right. Maybe it was time to accept the kindness people showed him from time to time.

"Orora?" He called out to the parting waterbender, trying not to recall just how warm her hand had felt enveloped in his own a few moments ago.

"Hmm?" She turned around to look at him, a smile on her lips.

One that he mirrored as he said. "I'm glad that we're friends." He admitted, prompting the girl's smile to widen even more.

"So am I Zuko."

Deep down they had both come to care for one another, and not just because they were soulmates, but because they were friends.

————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos @violet-potter @rennysketch @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10

#zuko imagine #prince zuko x oc #prince zuko x reader #zuko x reader #prince zuko #zuko #zuko x y/n #prince zuko x y/n #zuko x oc #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #avatar the last airbender #the thread of fate

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corxoran · 29 days

Text

#tgaa #cork doodles #kazuma asogi #asogi kazuma #asougi kazuma #kazuma asougi #barok van zieks #barok kazuma worsties #dgs #dgs spoilers #masked disciple #masked apprentice

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catscidr · 4 months

Note

Can you make a scenario with obedient reader who is getting experimented on by Dottore please ☺️

nonnie i started writing this at 1 in the morning yesterday because i couldn't stop thinking about it and i may or may not have gone over my self imposed word limit. however....... hot doctor. so. hope u enjoy because ik i sure as hell did ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore being just a biiit creepy, slightly suggestive (?), normal tension + sexual tension asgnfns includes: fem!reader, dottore wc: 1,9k

“Stick your tongue out.”

Dottore places his gloved thumb on your tongue, knocking you out of your daze.

As per your routine, the doctor performs a quick, partial check-up to assess your physical state before diving right into his scheduled experiments. What he had planned you never knew; such was the joy of being one of the second Harbinger’s playthings.

He gazes into your mouth with an almost bored expression as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. Being so close to his face, you could feel the warmth of his breath tickling your cheeks and the sharp point of his mask just barely grazing your jaw. When finally satisfied, Dottore mumbles something about nothing that’ll skew the test results and pulls his hand back, wiping your saliva off on his coat. You shut your jaw and look at him expectantly, waiting.

He turns his back to you and rummages through a drawer, taking out an assortment of what appears to be wires coming out of a small rectangular box with even more wires sticking out of that. You glance at the machine and then back up at Dottore, a question burning on your tongue that he answers before you get the chance to voice it out loud.

“This right here,” he sets the machine down on the table and plugs some cables into his laptop, “is a polygraph. Do you know what it is?” he asks with the ghost of a smile, hands buried in his pristine lab coat. You nod silently.

“A lie detector,” the doctor says, disregarding your answer. He takes out a vial from his pockets and brings it up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, observing how the liquid shone at the right angle. Letting his arm fall to his side, he takes a few steps around the table and towards the chair you’re sitting in, bending down to your height.

“Do you know what this is?”

He brings his hand up to show you the vial in question. A purple, slightly translucent solution that came halfway up the thin glass, shut tightly with the help of a small cork seal. You already knew what you had to do with it, but not what the liquid itself did. Slowly, you shake your head and tear your gaze away from the liquid, looking back up at the man in front of you. His expression doesn’t change for a second, observing your own carefully.

“Simply put, it’s a truth serum. Anyone that drinks this will find that they will be rendered unable to lie. Of course, the serum itself is still being tested, which is precisely why you’re here,” he says, his smile growing just slightly. You part your lips, hesitant to speak.

“So, you... want me to drink the potion and then take a lie detector test to verify whether it worked or not?” you ask with a small glimmer of hope in your eyes. The doctor nods curtly, his expression unwavering. You internalize a sigh; looks like you lucked out today and won’t have to endure any physical torture this time around.

“Now drink,” he says, emphasizing the order by taking out the cork top with a quiet pop, bringing the vial up to your lips. Your hand reaches up to grab the glass but right as you reach it, Dottore uses his free hand to swat your hand away. You tear your gaze away from the serum and look up at the doctor- his expression flat, lips devoid of the small smile that was previously on his face. He pushes the vial closer to you, the edge of the tube pressing against the plush of your lips, forcing you to tilt your head back ever so slightly.

“Drink,” he repeats, his deep voice rumbling your nerves.

You part your lips and tilt your head back even more, allowing the Harbinger the space to push the vial past your lips. Your throat bobbed as soon as the serum made its way down, Dottore’s stare unwavering from your face. The purple serum slid down smoothly; the lack of any discernable taste only being slightly unnerving, all things considered.

Dottore stares at you long enough for you to start becoming nervous by his presence. However, as soon as your pulse quickens, he leans back and puts an acceptable distance between the two of you as he puts away the, now empty, vial back in his coat pocket.

“How do you feel?”

That makes you pause. How did you feel? Nervous, anxious? Awkward, even? The answer was an obvious all of the above. However, this was in response to Dottore’s unusual closeness, not in result of the serum changing your body in any way, shape or form. In fact, you didn’t really feel anything other than your heart racing in your ribcage. You felt strangely normal, which only fueled the slight agitation boiling in the pit of your stomach; feeling anything less than discomfort when subjected to Dottore’s experiments was nothing short of unusual. But, knowing he couldn’t care less for an answer that doesn't regard the effects of the serum, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I feel fine,” you say as normally as you could. Dottore narrows his eyes, observing your behavior with interest, but doesn’t push further.

He directs his attention back to the polygraph on the table, wires hanging loosely off the side of the surface. Grabbing the four cables, he peels off the protective film off from the sticky sides and sticks two cables on your temples and one on your wrist. Holding the last cable, he looks down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Tilt your head back for me,” he says quietly, voice unassuming.

You do as he says and, as soon as your throat is revealed, Dottore plunges his hand into your shirt. He sticks the last cable to the top of your left breast, fingers grazing the plush skin for a moment before he retracts his hand and rounds the corner of the table. Your heart pounds in your ribcage, your poor, weak mind reeling at how physical he seemed to be getting despite the psychological nature of the experiment. He makes no further comment as he opens his laptop and does whatever it is he needs to do in order to start the test.

“Keep staring at the wall. I’m going to be asking you a series of questions. You are to answer with the first thing that comes to your mind, in the most natural way possible. Understood?” Dottore says rigidly. You nod quickly, replying with a quiet yes, sir.

“Then let’s begin. What is your name?” he asks, leaning his chin into his palm.

You tell him your name which, obviously, doesn’t make the lie detector go off. He nods and continues, asking questions that range from “where are you from”, “when is your birthday” and “how tall are you”.

However, the more he speaks, the more his questions become increasingly... risky to answer.

“What do you think of my experiments?”

Holding your tongue, you mull it over for a moment. Even though you knew that no matter what you intended to say wouldn’t matter, that you’d just tell the truth no matter what, you wanted to think carefully either way. After a moment you part your lips, still staring at the wall like he instructed at the start, and speak.

“Sometimes they can be painful, but I know you’re doing what’s best for me and... everyone else.” You felt the way your hands clammed up from sweat, the plastic chair becoming increasingly uncomfortable for you to sit in without shifting your weight. Dottore looks at the screen of his laptop and grins, his gaze finding your tense figure once again.

“What do you think of me?” he asks, and even though you can’t see his expression, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You respond without allowing yourself to stress over what your truth is.

“I think you have a strong work ethic, and I... admire you for it.”

His lips stretch into a wide, uncharacteristic smile. Dottore stays quiet, stalling for the next question to let you simmer with what you just said. He shifts his position on the table, leaning forward over the computer with both hands clasped in front of him.

“And what do you think of me, not as a Harbinger but as a simple, regular man?” he asks coyly, his mask hiding the way his crimson eyes pierced a path into your side profile.

“That you’re attractive,” you blurt out, head tilting to the side away from him to hide the way your cheeks immediately warmed up. The doctor scoffs, amused by the sheepish display merely a few feet in front of him.

“Hm. Good,” he hums to himself, straightening his back to lean into the chair he sat on. “Look at me,” he orders firmly.

Not even giving yourself the time to process his words, you automatically turn your head to look at your captor. The sight of his pleased, seemingly innocent smile made your heart flutter. He grabs the side of his laptop and turns it around so you can look at the... blank screen?

Before you can question what exactly it is you were looking at, Dottore speaks up.

“I wasn’t tracking your answers. I lied to you. What did you say you felt after drinking the serum?” he asks with a tilt of his head, amusement clear on his face. You freeze, brows raising ever so slightly as the cogs turn in your head.

“Nothing...?” you murmur quietly, slowly understanding what he meant.

“Nothing, because you just drank water. With a dash of food coloring, sure, but water nonetheless.”

“Ah.”

Looking at his intricate mask then back down at the blank laptop screen, you felt yourself become increasingly embarrassed the longer the silence between you two stretched out. Dottore chuckles heartily, the sound revibrating in the small room as he stood up to loom over your figure.

“Technically, you could still call this an experiment. What if you did lie? There’s a possibility you did since nothing forced you to tell the truth. However, I know you wouldn’t.”

He leans down to your height, a gloved hand coming up to tilt your head back, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re always so good to me, you know. So obedient, compliant and malleable,” he sighs, a soft and eerie smile on his face. “My favorite test subject,” he whispers.

Glued in place, you do nothing aside from staring up at him with wide doe eyes, your cheeks flushed as a result from the attention he gave you.

“What a good girl you are,” he mumbles to himself, but still loud enough that you can hear. The doctor was so close that you could just barely feel the warmth of his body against you aside from his hand holding you still, his lips ghosting over your own.

With a chuckle, Dottore straightens his back and looks down at you with a knowing smirk, acutely aware of the effect he had on you. He hums, faking being lost in his thoughts, conscious that you sat there, waiting, silently begging for more.

“How about a reward, then?” he suggests in a low voice. “Prove yourself to me, prove that you spoke nothing but the truth, and I’ll reward you handsomely.” Dottore tilts his head in a way that can only be described as condescending, smiling at your bashfulness. Slowly, he takes off the wire stuck to your body, his hand lingering beneath your shirt, over the cable stuck to your chest.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that, my pretty test subject.”

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x fem!reader #dottore x afab reader

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waxingrunes · 5 months

Note

I understand if you’re too busy to answer this or don’t want to, but i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling us some of your non-explicit headcanons or just some traits you think wolfstar have in general? Your explicit ones are sososo hot but today I'm feeling low and need some comforting. Yiur blog is just a safe space for me but I totally understand if not! I love your work <3 all my love x

There are so many nondescript hc’s I have that this has the potential to turn into a formal essay with cited sources, so I’ll go for more of a generalised dump of info I have for each in a hope that it lifts some of your fog Anon. Maybe bullet pointed because it’ll be easier to read than my usual untidy form of communication. Hope you feel lighter soon.

Sirius

• will lick a yoghurt pot if there’s no clean spoons. There’s the option to go for fruit instead, but he wants the yoghurt and by god he will get his yoghurt

• is a fucking terrible driver, gives Remus and any passenger white knuckles due to speed issues and not using a lower gear when taking corners

• is however, in complete control when on a motorcycle; very hot, very controlled and will take his passenger’s safety very seriously

• professionally trained in ballroom and ballet, the latter which he is sometimes mocked in jest for, even by Remus, until he one time caught him stretching elegantly on the floor one morning with his upper body laid flat between long, toned, wide spread legs, ‘morning moony’, a healthy blush on his cheeks

• private crier, doesn’t cry easily

• goes quiet when angry as an initial defence but it doesn’t take long for him to start dropping breadcrumbs of sarcastic comments; can also be snobby and bratty, perhaps sometimes will get nasty and direct (bringing up things he shouldn’t to score points in the heat of the moment)

• suffers immeasurable guilt (helped by the point above) but is always masking a weighted feeling of guilt no matter what he’s doing, so much so it’s manifested into quite a serious anxiety problem in the wrong crowds

• he fidgets a lot, not in a chaotic way, just always has to have his fingers busy with something

• likes the smell of gasoline

• once had to talk himself down from throwing a child in a dustbin

• loves the colour red; blood red and cherry red to be precise but secretly loves dark blue even more because it’s what looks most handsome on Remus despite him not wearing it often

• sighs a lot

• pretended he couldn’t speak English to get away with jumping a queue

• hates the smell and taste of liquorice (unless heavily strawberry/cherry/raspberry flavoured)

• on one particular messy night out he got so impatient waiting at the bar, he reached over and grabbed a discarded bottle of alcohol the server had left open and swigged it

• digs his nails into his skin when anxious and is often reminded to relax the tension in his joints

• stargazes often

• once linked his pinky finger with Remus and asked him to pinky promise not to tell anyone what he was about to tell him, since which a tradition of trust was born where Remus will offer his pinky or the last two fingers for Sirius to hold or squeeze when he’s feeling unsure in public, or in any situation where verbal reassurance isn’t appropriate

• gets a weird thrill at the sound of cork popping from a bottle

Remus

• collects beer mats and keeps them in a drawer, thinks about making them into a display

• got tired of kids playing ball against the wall of his place (after repeat offences and him asking very nicely for them to stop) one day so went out, retrieved the ball and threw it so hard against of the cars it set the alarm off

• owner of said car came running out the house and Remus blamed it on the children. Never had the same issue again

• has a wildly sweet tooth and will always drop one or two packets of sugar into any warm beverage

• stares into space and gets involuntarily caught on someone’s face one too many times which makes them uncomfortable from the ‘Death Stare’ phenomenon when in reality, he’s lost in lala land

• can cook, is actually a proficient cook, but will not cook for anyone but Sirius, James or Lily

• will crack his knuckles, wrists and neck absentmindedly, all of which makes his company squirm because it’s often very loud and ‘pop-py’ but Sirius fucking loves it

• stays very calm during an argument but can shout louder than most and when he does, ears ring from the silence that follows

• prefers tea over coffee

• will eat liquorice any time he wants to piss Sirius off

• cries more than Sirius, but still a private crier

• always has to be the old boot in Monopoly

• loves words that are vowel heavy or double voweled because those are the ones where the scraps of Sirius’ lost French accent surface the most

• has a gentle touch, is aware of his size and nature of his lycanthropy, therefore always somewhat reserved

• loves socks, has a collection of ‘dad socks’

• has the messiest writing out of all the Marauders but loves handwritten things, owns three very different fountain pens for very different purposes

• is polite, but as he’s aged doesn’t tend to ‘fake smile’ a lot, feeling no need to fill uncomfortable silences for the sake of others

• has a chair he favours and often dozes off in it. Most of the time waking up to Sirius on top of him

#ask #wolfstar #might tag this properly #remus lupin #sirius black #remus #sirius

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travelingthief · 5 months

Text

Dionysus Offerings/Devotional Acts

There'll be NSFW themes as he is the god of wine and ecstasy!

Offerings

Wine/Intoxication

Alcohol, specifically wine

Grapes

Wine corks

Wine glasses

Shot glasses

Goblets

Corkscrews

Sparkling cider

Grape flavored things

Cheese

Weed/hallucenigens

Nips (small alcohol bottles)

Bottle opener

Beer/soda tabs

Alcohol bottles with cool labels

Fruit/fruit seeds

Theater/Plays

Play/theater scripts

Play/movie tickets

Masks

Costumes

Nature

Pine cones

Fennel

Wildflowers

Fig/fig newtons

Ivy

Leopard/cheetah print

Honey

Bull imagery

Donkey imagery

Bones

Antlers

Dead/preserved animals

Hiking gear

Seeds

Dolphins

Depictions of big cats

Wheat

Barley

Ecstasy

Concert/festival tickets

Various drugs (use safely!)

Sex toys

Your favorite music

Misc.

Locks of hair

Shaven beard hair

Pride swag

Extravagant clothes/clothes that make you feel good

Devotional Acts

Wine/Intoxication

Drink alcohol/get drunk

Go to a wine tasting

Make wine

Eat grapes

Trip intentionally/spiritually

Learn about substance abuse/recovery

Destigamtize drug users

Learn about harm reduction

Use drugs safely

Theater

Attend a play

Write a play/film/musical

Make home videos

Write poetry

Act

Dress up

Go to the movie theater

Nature

Go to the woods

Dance/sing in the woods

Meditate in the woods

Learn wilderness safety and first aid

Learn what to do when encountering a wild animal

Go off the beaten path

Explore new areas

Pick up litter

Forage

Recycle bottles

Grow fruit

Try new fruits

Ecstasy

Attend concerts/festivals

Attend/throw parties/celebrations

Have sex

Masturbate

Have threesomes/swing/whatever your in to

Finally give into that one kink you’ve been repressing (you know the one)

Do drugs (responsibly)

Learn about consent/establish boundaries with partners

Death/Rebirth

Dionysus is a god of rebirth and resurrection. This association comes from his birth stories and has resulted in epithets like “twice-born.”

Learn how to preserve dead animals

Learn about different life cycles (plants, animals, etc)

Learn about your ancestry

Foreigners

Dionysus is also seen as a foreign god with unknown origins. He also traveled through and invaded India.

Learn about immigration in your area

Learn about different cultures

Try foreign foods

Learn a new language

Learn about your ancestry

Help immigrants in your area

Misc.

Grow your hair out

Manifest/Keep a manifestation journal. Sexual/creative energy is linked and can be used to manifest

Shed your old self

Self-reflection/self-exploration

Identify areas where you may overindulge (food, substances, spending, etc.)

#dionysus worship #dionysus #helpol #greek gods #paganism #hellenic polytheism #bacchus #witchblr #dionysus offerings #offerings #wine

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acourtofthought · 7 months

Text

242 Reasons Why Lucien is the GOAT of the ACOTAR Series

“I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

Lucien smirked. “Apologies, Feyre.”

I finally found Lucien astride a black gelding, grinning down at me with too-white teeth.

“I admire your balls, Feyre—I really do. Or maybe it’s stupidity

“A valiant effort,” Lucien said with a smirk.

Lucien snorted but didn’t say anything else

“I might die of surprise,” Lucien said behind me. “You made a joke, Feyre.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

Lucien remained sitting on the blanket and lifted the bottle of wine in salute. He took a slug from it as he sprawled on his back and gazed at the green canopy.

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

“I didn’t keep my mouth shut when I should have, and was punished for it.”

“Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day.”

He winced. “Shit, Feyre—I’m not that old.”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons.”

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

Lucien sighed as he looked me over. “Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?”. “Do you ever stop being such a prick?” I snapped back. But Lucien grinned at me. “Much better.”

The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons.

It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

“I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border—official emissary business,” he said, setting down the hunting knife he’d been cleaning, a long, vicious blade.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smiling with feline delight.

Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people.

Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

The metal eye narrowed on me while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d given me before. “I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.”

He reached for something at his side and tossed it to me. I had to fight to stay in the saddle as I fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife. / I’d never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced.

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin.

“Idiot!” he yelled at me, then glanced behind him toward where the other faeries stared. “Useless human fool.” Without further word, he slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes.

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

“Faerie pig!” I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

Lucien, claiming that he had miserable emissary business to attend to,

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t.

“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it

He used the dagger to clean his nails. “I’ve been busy. So have you, I take it.”

Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. “She looks positively Fae.”

“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien countered, “tonight’s just a party.” “Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?” Lucien winked at me.

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. “And dallying,” he added with a wicked grin.

“Remember the last time you ignored my warning?” He poked me in the neck, and I batted his hand away.

“I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself,” I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I’d had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick—enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool.

His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered,

“Idiot,” he said when he looked at my face. “Drunken idiot.”

I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said

Lucien lead me to the window, where he pushed me against the velvet drapes. / The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent.

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. “Watch your filthy mouth.”

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us.

“You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leeched from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground.

Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs.

“Well, at least we don’t have to lie to you anymore. Let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me.

“Her name, Emissary?” Amarantha asked of Lucien. But Lucien only glanced at Tamlin before closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

He unclasped his cloak and set it around my shoulders.

“It’s why I couldn’t come sooner,” he said, his throat bobbing. “She used her—used our powers to keep my back from healing. I haven’t been able to move until today.”

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

“Tam!” Lucien cried over the chaos. A sword hurtled through the air, a shooting star of steel.

Lucien hunted down five naga yesterday.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Last week, I’d finally asked him if she’d set her sights on him, and Lucien had merely given me a look, snarling softly, before stalking off

the right hand of a High Lord and another High Lord’s son.

“I didn’t lie,” Lucien said tightly. “I technically did fall off my horse.” He patted his mount’s flank. “After one of them tackled me off her.”

I am the first one the others look to—I set the example.

“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

He assured me that he hated the gatherings as much as I did, and that Lucien was the only one who really enjoyed himself,

Lucien intervened calmly, “I already have my sources looking into it.”

Lucien sighed a bit and said to Tamlin, “If we perhaps trained her in secret—”

Lucien muttered something that sounded like a plea to the Cauldron.

Lucien took a deep breath that sounded a lot like: “Here we go.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.”/ Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless—

“How long have the claws been appearing?” he said softly. "There's only so much I can do,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll ask him tonight. About the training. The powers will manifest whether we train you or not, no matter who is around. I’ll ask him tonight,” he repeated.

They will hunt her, and kill her, Ianthe had hissed at Lucien. Lucien had growled back, They’ll do it anyway, so what’s the difference?

We are not assassins, Lucien had cut in. Rhys is what he is, but who would take his place—. Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance...

His red hair was tied back, and there wasn’t a hint of finery on him: just armored leather, swords, knives

Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.”

“That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

“She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place.

But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

It was Lucien who answered, studying my painting as if it held the proof I knew he was searching for.

Lucien remained leaning against the door across from mine. His room. I didn’t doubt he’d ensured I now stayed across from him. Didn’t doubt that the metal eye he possessed was always turned toward my own chambers, even while he slept.

“She’s going to spin a story that you’ll want to hear,” Lucien warned. / Lucien halted me with a hand around my elbow. “You’re smarter than that.” I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” / “Tell me anyway. List all of them.”. “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.”

Lucien only nodded. But I felt his gaze on my back, fixed right on my spine, as I headed downstairs

Lucien answered, “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.”

Lucien seemed to be trying very, very hard not to roll his eyes.

I could practically feel the snide remark simmering in Lucien.

“My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

“The gap in the wall is right up here,” Lucien was saying, sounding about as thrilled as me to be in such company.

Brannagh studied how closely I stood to Lucien; how he shifted slightly to shield me, too.

Lucien sat against a nearby tree, folding one booted ankle over another. “Whatever you’re planning, it’ll land us knee-deep in shit.”

“I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.”

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”

But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

“This situation is terrible,” I said, and it was the truth. A low snort.

And despite Jurian, despite the sneering royals, a corner of Lucien’s mouth tugged upward.

I gave Lucien a subtle, pleading look, and he barely hid his smirk as he sauntered over to me. Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

Ever the courtier, he bowed back.

He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but …” I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court.

I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it. Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me.

Lucien answered on the second knock. “I heard you—what’s wrong.” He scanned me, russet eye wide as he noted my disheveled hair, my sweaty nightgown. / I swallowed, a silent question on my face, and he nodded, retreating into the room to let me inside. Bare from the waist up, he’d managed to haul on a pair of pants before opening the door, and hastily buttoned them as I strode past.

“What did you dream of tonight?” he asked quietly./ Lucien rose, stalking to me. / Lucien paused half a foot from me. He didn’t so much as object as I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest. / Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back

His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight.

His silence was heavy—sad. I hated the lie, hated it for how filthy it felt to wield it. “I’m sorry,” he said

It’s why we avoid bargains unless it’s necessary: even the scholars at the Day Court don’t know how it works. Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.”. “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope. And we didn’t dare let Rhysand get wind of what we were doing, in case he found a way to interfere. To stop it.”

“You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

“Even if they’re now our allies,” I mumbled, “I still hate them.” A snort. “Me too.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

Then at us, their eyes widening further as they noted Lucien’s cruel beauty.

Lucien stared him down. “We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, well aware that Lucien carefully watched from the shade of a nearby oak.

Lucien had gone to the stream to get more water

Lucien woke me the next morning with a hand over my mouth, warning gleaming in his russet eye. I smelled it a moment later: the coppery tang of blood. / Lucien slid from the tent, limbs loose and ready to shift into a defensive position. He’d been trained, he once told me—at the Autumn Court and at this one. Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien laid his own cloak across the remains of the two young women.

“They are our allies,” he growled at me, at Lucien, both of us seated in armchairs flanking the mantel. / “And you should have left it alone for me to deal with.” Tamlin heaved a jagged breath. “Not retaliated like children.” He threw a glare in Lucien’s direction. “I expected better from you.” / “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared. /Lucien had tracked it down—and we’d lured it, carefully, over hours, back to that camp. Right to where Dagdan and Brannagh had been gloating over their kill. / Lucien cleared his throat. Stood as well. “Tam—those humans were barely more than children. Feyre gave the royals an order to stand down. They ignored it. If we let Hybern walk all over us, we stand to lose more than their alliance. The Bogge reminded them that we aren’t without our claws, too.”

He exploded. Furniture splintered and went flying, windows cracked and shattered. / My knees slammed into the carpeted floor, and Tamlin was instantly in front of me, hands shaking— The doors burst open. “What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside. He let Lucien shove him aside and help me stand. / “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lucien said, an arm around my shoulders as he eased me from the room.

the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

But Lucien was there. Her focus wholly on me, on taking from me the beauty I’d burned from her, Brannagh did not see him winnow until it was too late. Until Lucien’s sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“I know a place,” Lucien said, walking toward the cave that would take us to his home.

I let Lucien lead the way,

“It doesn’t lead anywhere. It curves away in the back—it’ll keep us out of sight.” I let him go inside first nonetheless.

Flint struck, and I found myself gazing at a makeshift camp of sorts. The candle Lucien had ignited sat on a natural stone ledge, and on the floor nearby lay three bedrolls and old blankets, crusted with leaves and cobwebs. A little fire pit lay in the sloped center of the space, the ceiling above it charred. No one had been here in months. Years. “I used to stay here while hunting. Before—I left,” he said,

“It’s too risky to eat,” I admitted, evading his question. Lucien was having none of it. “I knew. I knew you were lying the moment you unleashed that light in Hybern. My friend at the Dawn Court has the same power—her light is identical. And it does not do whatever horseshit you lied about it doing.”

His eye seemed to simmer. As if being in his own lands set that molten ore inside him rising to the surface, even with the damper on his power. “Glad to see the mask is off, at least.”

“You have the gall to question my priorities regarding Elain—yet what was your motive where I was concerned? Did you plan to spare me from your path of destruction because of any genuine friendship, or simply for fear of what it might do to her?”

His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye.

he waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. / Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.” I

“As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.” He eased to his feet with a groan, his unbound hair glimmering as the midday sun overhead set the blood and wine hues aglow. “I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.” A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket.

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.” “We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

he saw the sweat beading on my temple, my upper lip, as my blood heated. A slight bob of his chin was his only sign of understanding.

“Run,” I gasped out, but Lucien was already at my side, a steadying hand under my arm as I burned that flame hotter and hotter. It wouldn’t keep them contained for long, and I could indeed feel someone’s power rising to challenge mine. But there was another force to wield. Lucien understood the same moment I did. Sweat simmered on Lucien’s brow as a pulse of flame-licked power slammed into the stones just above us. Dust and debris rained down. I threw any trickle of magic into Lucien’s next blow. His next. / Lucien and I brought down the cave ceiling.

I’d been wearing my cloak, but … he’d indeed given me his. He shivered against the cold as we dragged and clawed our way up the mountain slope, and did not dare stop.

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

“And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

“You left us.” Us. Not Tamlin. Us. The words echoed into the dark,

"You fit into the Spring Court as little as I did, Lucien. You enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.”

“Run,” Lucien breathed. / “Faster,” Lucien ordered. “Don’t look!” he barked as I began to turn my head to see if they’d followed. He lashed out a hand to grip my elbow, steadying me before I could even register that I’d stumbled. / “Zag,” Lucien panted. “We need to—” He shoved me aside, and I staggered, arms wheeling. Just as an arrow ricocheted off the ice where I’d been standing. “Faster,” Lucien snapped, and I didn’t hesitate.

Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

“Which one?” I asked carefully. Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth. Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

Lucien survey our surroundings.

But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate. At last, Lucien looked at me. At us. He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.” I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

“I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste. / Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply / Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death. The painting flashed into my mind.

Lucien only shifted on his feet. Wary. Considering. I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

Lucien weighed my offer—and the three males monitoring his every blink and breath. He only nodded. Another wise decision.

“And you love him. And he—he truly does love you.” Lucien dragged a hand through his red hair. “And all these people I have spent my centuries hating, even fearing … They are your family.”

And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

We were almost to the door, Cassian already in the hall, when Lucien said to me, “Thank you.” I didn’t dare ask him for what.

"set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

“What did you do with yourself this afternoon?” “Slept,” he said. “Washed. Sat on my ass.”

His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise.

Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them. He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?” / Lucien studied my mate, then me. “I assume Feyre is going.” / “Are you planning to hide her powers?” / Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.” / Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows—if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Rhys swirled his wine once, set it down, and said to Lucien, “You and Azriel should talk. Tomorrow.” Lucien glanced toward the shadowsinger—who only nodded at him. “I’m at your disposal.”

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, “After lunch, we’ll meet.

“You trust Lucien.” Rhys angled his head at the not-quite question. “I trust in the fact that we currently have possession of the one thing he wants above all else. And as long as that remains, he’ll try to stay on our good side. But if that changes … His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

“He’s not a bad person—he’s not evil.” “He certainly isn’t.”

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough. Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

Azriel seemed like a decent enough male

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug. Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta’s vacated one. “There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing. He’d told the shadowsinger all he knew—of his surviving brothers, of his father. His mother … he’d kept some details, irrelevant and utterly personal, to himself. Everything else—his father’s closest allies, the most conniving courtiers and lords … He’d handed it over. Granted, it was dated by a few centuries, but in his time as emissary, from the information he’d gathered, not much had changed. They’d all acted the same Under the Mountain, anyway. And after what had happened with his brothers a few days ago … There was no tinge of guilt when he told Azriel what he knew. None of what he felt when he looked toward the south—toward both of the courts he’d called home.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” / “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.” Then he walked away.

“Mother above,” Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

It wasn’t just about what he thought—it was the … feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing

Cassian had come off the roof at some point to join Lucien in the sitting room, the books from the wall spread on the low-lying table between them

It felt like days ago. I rested my head against the embroidered back of the chair and watched Lucien take a seat on the rolled arm of the nearest couch. “Long day?” I grunted my response.

He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.” I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

Madja didn’t deign to answer Nesta until we were at the bottom of the steps. Lucien was already waiting in the sitting room, Mor still lingering in the dining room. Both of them rose to their feet.

Lucien muttered something about not needing to be monitored, and we all looked at him with raised brows. He just lifted his hands, claimed he wanted to freshen up, and headed down the hall.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” “It—it was a tug. On the bond.” / Then Nesta was standing in the threshold. “What did you do.” The words were as sharp as a blade. Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

“And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” “Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien’s attention slid behind me, to the various letters on different styles and makes of paper. That golden eye narrowed. As Tamlin’s emissary, he no doubt recognized them. “Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache.” Mor frowned. “Any suggestions?” Lucien tied back his hair with a strap of brown leather. “Do you have a map?”

Lucien had indeed given us an initial location, and several more when those were struck down. But that was to be expected, Lucien had said, as if he’d arranged such things countless times. Rhys had only nodded in agreement—and approval.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I’d been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but … he seemed eager. More than eager—he seemed to be itching to head into the city on his own.

Lucien, stationed by the front window, turned from watching the street. Monitoring it. A sword and dagger hung from his belt. No humor, no warmth graced his face—only fierce, grim determination.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.” / “What makes you think you could find her?” Rhys asked. Not rudely, but—from a commander’s perspective. Sizing up the skills Lucien offered against the risks, the potential benefits. “This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others … can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said. “But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies—there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can … bring help.” / “You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

Lucien had indeed been studying all those maps lately. Perhaps at the quiet behest of whatever force had guided us all. My mate added, “Thank you.” Lucien shrugged. And it was that gesture alone that made me say at last, “Are you sure?” He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions. “Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can.”

I asked Lucien, “When do you want to leave?” “Tomorrow.” I hadn’t heard him sound so assertive in … a long time. “I’ll prepare for the rest of today, and leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.” He added to Rhys, “If that works for you.”

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

“You know precisely where you want Rhys to take you?” I asked at last. Lucien nodded, glancing to where my mate now waited by the front door. He’d bring Lucien to the edge of the human continent—to wherever Lucien had decided would be the best landing spot. No farther, Azriel had insisted. His reports indicated it was too watched, too dangerous. Even for one of our own. Even for the most powerful High Lord in history.

“It was time,” Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. “For me to do something.”

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Their gazes locked and held. / Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“I—heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.” She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,” she added quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.” No wonder he’d been so eager to head alone into Velaris that day he’d gone to help us research. I shot a look at Rhys. Seems like Lucien can still play the fox. Rhys didn’t look at me, though his lips twitched as he replied, Indeed.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him. His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir.

“Lucien,” I breathed. “Who?” Drakon’s brows narrowed. “Oh, the male with the eye. No. He met up with them later on—told them where to go. To come now, actually. So pushy, you Prythian males.

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you,” he said, squeezing me tightly. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.” “Is she really—” “Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” / “The human queens are still out there,” I said. Maybe I’d hunt them down. “Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.” “You sound like an acolyte.” Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.” I nudged him in the ribs. But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

I said to him, “So where now? Off with Vassa?” I wondered if he’d heard of Tamlin’s role—the help he’d given us. A look at my friend showed me he had. Someone, perhaps my mate, had informed him. Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?” I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”

Tamlin just shook his head, loathing simmering in his green eyes, and walked past. Not a word. I looked at Lucien in time to see the guilt, the devastation, flicker in that russet eye.

But Lucien remained standing with us as Tamlin found his place in the sitting room to our right. Did not glance at his friend even once. Lucien wasn’t foolish enough to beg for forgiveness.

I didn’t dare look through the ruined doorway to where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing

Another tidbit that Lucien had told us.

Send Lucien then. As our human emissary.

"Where's our dear friend Lucien?" "Off hunting for dinner."

"You brought presents". "It's Solstice tradition here, but isn't it?"

An uncontrollable instinct - for a male to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair

Somehow in living with Jurian and Vassa in the manor, he'd run into Elain's former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of his sapphire jacket.

"He is a good male", I repeated.

He raised his fist to the door, but the wooden slab pulled away before he could touch it. Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared, his golden eye whirring. “I thought I sensed someone else arriving.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

“Easy,” Lucien said. Cassian snarled. “Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

“No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. “We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

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