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tadpolesonalgae · 20 hours

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

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

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

word count: 16,175

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the trouble?”

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

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

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

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

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

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

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

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

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

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

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

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

“You know you should have told us.”

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

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

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

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

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

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen in from outside.

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

Use it wisely.

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

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

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

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

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

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

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

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

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

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

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

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

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

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

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

Where else were you supposed to go?

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

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

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

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

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

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what?”

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

You’re quiet. Silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

————

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

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

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

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He should ask her what it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

You’re back.

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

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

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

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

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

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

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

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

To wipe yourself from memory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ash stings your fingertips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

Mother murder you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s going to die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

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

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

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manheeiim · 16 hours

Text

revenge - rafe cameron

summary: someone hurts you and rafe gets revenge || warnings: y/n is hit and pushed, alcohol, rafe throws the glass, rafe kills someone but there are no details|| genre: established relationship, angst || word count: approximately 1120

I said goodbye to my friends, still crying after what had happened only 15 minutes ago. My friends asked if I needed them to come inside with me and hang out with me for a bit but I declined their offer, saying that I'd be fine.

I walked towards the front door of Tannyhill, and my friends car drove off, I knew they were all worried due to my condition.

I tried to calm donw a little as I unlocked and opened the front door and was met with a mostly dark home. I made my way over to the kitchen, where I could see that the kitchen light was on, going to see if my boyfriend was in there.

I was seriously nervous for his reaction but all I wanted was him.

I walked into the kitchen and I looked over at Rafe, who was sat at the island, scrolling on his phone as he drank some liquor from a fancy glass cup. He looked over at me and immediately furrowed his eyebrows.

"What the fuck happened to you, Y/n?" Rafe sternly asked he slammed the glass down on the counter, causing me to flinch. He came over to me and brought his hands to my face, holding onto it a little too roughly. "Who did this?" He asked.

"I don't know." I cried out, as he moved his hands from my face to my arms.

"Tell me what happened." Rafe instructed, his jaw clenching at my state, wanting to know who did this so he could kill them, and with Rafe, he wasn't exaggerating when it came to thinking that. He'd really kill them.

"I... I was at the party. Everything was going good." I shakily said.

Rafe nodded, giving me a soft, "Uh-huh.", just wanting to get to what happened to you.

"I got a drink for myself and turned around and accidentally bumped into a girl a splashed some of my drink on her." Rafe nodded, listening to me, still holding onto my arms. "She got really made even though I apologized right away and started talking all this shit." I explained. "I don't know, next thing I knew she slapped me in the face." I told Rafe and I felt his grip on my arms tighten a little.

"What'd you do? You better have hit her back." Rafe said in a serious tone.

"I- I didn't. I really didn't want to fight so I just pushed her away from me and went to walk away. Then her boyfriend came over.." I said and that's when I really felt Rafe's grip on me tighten, holding the grip. It hurt, especially due to the condition I was in. I didn't bother to say anything though, I could already tell that Rafe was fuming.

"I- her boyfriend came over and started yelling at me for pushing his girl, even though she started everything and slapped me first. I only pushed her away to get away from her. He didn't care though and so he came over, slapped me in the face, and pushed me to the ground. It was concrete so... that's why I'm all cut up." I told Rafe.

Rafe let go of me, I watched him tighten his fists into a ball as his jaw clenched. "Show me the damn cuts." H told me, already being able to see some of them but he wanted to see all of them.

I stepped back and showed him the cuts on my hands, arms, and legs from catching myself when I fell onto the ground.

"The one fucking time I'm not your damn ride to the party, this shit happens." Rafe angrily murmurs to himself, looking down, taking deep breaths as he paced around.

I watched him, standing to the side now. He huffed to himself and I could see that his mind was racing. Rafe then grabbed the cup with the liquor and threw it against the wall, causing it to shatter everywhere.

"I'm going to kill that motherfucker." Rafe angrily told me as he came over to me. "What'd he look like, huh? Tell me." He said.

"Rafe.." I softly said, scared of what my boyfriend would do.

Rafe gave me a look, "Don't, Y/n." He said. "Tell me what the fuck he looked like." He then told me.

"I- he had wavy brown hair and uh, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and these sunglasses." I said, trying to give the best description possible.

"Alright, alright. Yeah, okay." Rafe softly said, more to himself as he paced around again. He then down at me, stopping in front of me. "Don't go anywhere. I'm going to deal with this asshole." He then said in a low voice and I knew when he said that, he meant more than him just beating the guy up.

"Rafe.." I softly said again.

"Shut up, Y/n!" Rafe yelled, causing me to flinch. "He thinks he can touch you like that. No fucking way. Stay here, I'll be back." My boyfriend then harshly told me. "I love you." He then said, leaning down and giving me a quick and harsh kiss before walking past me, grabbing his keys off the counter aggressively as he stormed out of the house.

I cleaned up the broken cup Rafe had thrown while just crying to myself about everything. When I finished, I went upstairs, showered, wincing at the feeling of the soap on some of my cuts, before getting into a nightgown and getting into bed.

I lie there for about an hour, completely lost in thought and worry, before the bedroom door opened. I sat up and saw Rafe coming inside, the room was dark so I couldn't really see anything but his figure. I turned the lamp on my nightstand on, looking at Rafe as he let out a sigh, taking his shirt off. I saw some bruises on his body as well, probably from the guy who'd pushed me.

I watched as he got in his pajamas before getting bed with me. I got closer to him in bed and turned the light off. He turned to face me, putting his arm over my torso.

"I took care of him, you won't have to worry about him anymore." Rafe lowly said.

I didn't know what to say. So, he really killed the guy. I suddenly felt really tense, my heart racing at the thought.

"I love you." My boyfriend told me.

"I love you too." I said back and I meant that, even if it was wrong, especially after what he'd done. He'd done what he did for me. To protect me. So, yes, I loved him. I always would.

-- link to my masterlist

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joonsbubu · 9 months

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sigma and nikolai as saiouma(for sketch request!)

this caused a bit of a ruckus on instagram

#my art #bsd fanart #bungou stray dogs #danganronpa #sketch #request #sigma bungou stray dogs #bsd nikolai gogol #so many people on their story reposts talked abt jumping it was crazy #its okay guys its just the dr relapse #saiouma #i had to explain myself 15 times to my friends #drv3 #siglai

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katnissgirlsmakedo · 7 months

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i have a crazy movie planned for tonight btw. it’s either going to slay so hard. or be mid as fuck and i’ll be upset about that all weekend but like in a chill girl way like i’ll move on. but i’ll be bitter. hoping for the best prepared for the worst. the thing about this movie is just that it simply didn’t work out that i watched it as a kid the stars simply just didn’t align no other explanation exists it just didn’t happen. and then at some point people started telling me to watch it or genuinely being surprised i hadn’t seen it or like. very passionately recommending it to me. and i understand why you all would, it seems exactly my vibe i understand that. however. the reason i was not absolutely jumping on this movie the moment i found out about it’s existence is very simple here it is. a) protagonist is a man. b) that man is played by an actor who i will always and forever know for his one episode guest starring role in the worst show ever made where he played a character i wanted to kill with my bare hands at age 14. so you can understand where this doesn’t work out. fortunately i’ve recently found a new peace within my soul about that tv show and i don’t really think about it or care anymore so i’ve decided it’s okay now <3 we’ll see

#we’ve talked about it before but i won’t get into specifics until after i’ve seen it #actually i think i’ve talked about it specifically with helena and they assumed the reason i didn’t want to watch it was because ben barnes #is in it a little. and i let them assume that because well how am i supposed to explain myself here it’s ridiculous #sometimes you just need to let people assume things or just straight up drop a subject halfway through talking #i did that today when my friend and i were in bath and body works #and i started a sentence about the french lavender scented antibacterial hand spray #and i just had to stop talking and say nevermind #because like. how are you supposed to explain to someone that that hand spray smells like a movie you were weird about when you were 15 #like it’s a whole thing.#beth.txt #anyway. movie time now

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plounce · 3 months

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researching stuff for a post about misinformation regarding girl scout cookies and man this article (10/28/23) about this palestinian-american girl scout nearly made me burst into tears

In her short 17 years on earth, Amira Ismail had never been called a baby killer.

That’s what happened one Friday this month, Amira said, on New York City’s Q58 bus, which runs through central Queens.

“This lady looked at me, and she was like: ‘You’re disgusting. You’re a baby killer. You’re an antisemite,’” Amira told me. When she talked about this incident, her signature spunk faded. “I just kept saying, ‘That’s not true,’” she said. “I was just on my way to school. I was just wearing my hijab.”

Amira was born in Queens in the years after the Sept. 11 attacks. She remembers participating as a child in demonstrations at City Hall as part of a successful movement to make Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha school holidays in New York City.

But since the Oct. 7 attack by Hamas, in which an estimated 1,400 Israelis were killed and some 200 others were kidnapped, Amira, who is Palestinian American, said she has experienced for the first time the full fury of Islamophobia and racism that her older relatives and friends have told stories about all her life. Throughout the city, in fact, there has been an increase in both anti-Muslim and antisemitic attacks.

In heavily Muslim parts of Queens, she said, police officers are suddenly everywhere, asking for identification and stopping and frisking Muslim men. (New York City has stepped up its police presence around both Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods and sites within the five boroughs.) Most painful though, she said, is the sense that she and her peers are getting that Palestinian lives do not matter, as they watch the United States staunchly back Israel as it heads into war.

“It can’t go unrecognized, the thousands of Palestinians that have been murdered in the past two weeks and even more the past 75 years,” Amira said. “There’s no way you can erase that.” That does not mean she is antisemitic, she said. “How can I denounce one system of oppression without denouncing another?” she asked me. The pain in her usually buoyant voice cut through me. I had no answer for her.

Many New York City kids have a worldliness about them, a certain telltale moxie. Amira, a joyful, sneaker-wearing, self-described “Queens kid,” can seem unstoppable.

When she was just 15, Amira helped topple a major mayoral campaign in America’s largest city, writing a letter accusing the ultraprogressive candidate Dianne Morales of having violated child labor laws while purporting to champion the working class in New York.

“My life and my extremely bright future as a 15-year-old activist will not be defined by the failures and harm enabled by Dianne Morales,” Amira wrote in the 2021 letter, which went viral and helped end Ms. Morales’s campaign. “I wrote my college essay about that,” Amira told me with a slightly mischievous smile.

In the past two years, Amira has become a veteran organizer. Last weekend, she joined an antiwar protest. First, though, she’ll have to work on earning her latest Girl Scout badge, this one for photography. That will mean satisfying her mother, Abier Rayan, who happens to be Troop 4179’s leader. “She’s tough,” Amira assured me.

At a meeting of the Muslim Girl Scouts of Astoria last week, a young woman bounded into the room, asking whether her fellow scouts had secured tickets to an Olivia Rodrigo concert. “She’s the Taylor Swift of our generation,” the scout turned to me to explain.

A group of younger girls recited the Girl Scout Law:

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place and be a sister to every Girl Scout.”

Amira’s mother carefully inspected the work of some of the younger scouts; she wore a blue Girl Scouts U.S.A. vest, filled with colorful badges, and a hot-pink hijab. “It’s no conflict at all,” Ms. Rayan told me of Islam and the Girl Scouts. “You want a strong Muslim American girl.”

At the Girl Scouts meeting, Amira and her friends discussed their plans to protest the war in Gaza. “Protests are where you let go of your anger,” Amira told me.

Amira’s mother was born in Egypt. In 1948, Ms. Rayan told me, her grandfather lost his home and land in Jaffa to the state of Israel. At the Girl Scout meeting, Ms. Rayan was still waiting for word that relatives in Gaza were safe.

“There’s been no communication,” she said. When I asked about Amira, Ms. Rayan’s eyes brightened. “I’m really proud of her,” she said. “You have to be strong. You don’t know where you’re going to be tomorrow.”

By Monday, word had reached Ms. Rayan that her relatives had been killed as Israel bombed Gaza City. When I asked whom she had lost, Ms. Rayan replied: “All of them. There’s no one left.” Thousands of Palestinians are estimated to have been killed by Israeli airstrikes in Gaza in recent weeks. ... Ms. Rayan said those killed in her family included six cousins and their children, who were as young as 2. Other relatives living abroad told her the cousins died beneath the rubble of their home.

As Ms. Rayan spoke, I saw Amira’s young face. I wondered how long this bright, spirited Queens kid could keep her fire for what I believe John Lewis would have called “good trouble” in a world that seems hellbent on snuffing it out. I worried about how she would finish her college applications.

“I have a lot of angry emotions at the ones in charge,” Amira told me days ago, speaking for so many human beings around the world in this dark time.

I thought about what I had seen over that weekend in Brooklyn, where thousands gathered in the Bay Ridge neighborhood, the home of many Arab Americans, to protest the war. In this part of the city, people of many backgrounds carried Palestinian flags through the street. Large groups of police officers gathered on every corner, watching them go by.

The crowd was large but quiet when Amira waded in, picked up her megaphone and called for Palestinian liberation. In an instant, thousands of New Yorkers repeated after her, filling the Brooklyn street with their voices. My prayer is that Amira’s generation of leaders will leave a better world than the one it has been given.

i believe she recently got her gold award (which, if youve never been in girl scouts, is really difficult - way more difficult than eagle scout awards), or is almost done with it. i hope she's doing okay.

this article (no paywall) about muslim and palestinian girl scout troops in socal also almost made me cry (it's like 2am). i really really hope all these kids are doing alright. god. they and their families all deserve so much better

#chirps

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betterbooktitles · 2 months

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"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

Consider subscribing to the Screen Time newsletter.

Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

#writing #essay #essays #lit #literary #funny #lol #drugs #books #humor #reading #better book titles #dan wilbur #bibliophile #pot #d.a.r.e #just say no #comedy

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project-sonadow · 4 months

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My [15M] rival [15/50M] has been weirdly aggressive towards me ever since he lost his memories for the second(?) time. Should I be worried about him trying to kill me again?

Summary

A post on r/relationship_advice by u/Chili_Dog1991

EDIT 1: Stop saying I'm Sonic I'm not.

EDIT 2: Okay I am Sonic. I don't see how that matters.

EDIT 3: Stop trying to figure out which of my rivals this is.

EDIT 4: Stop telling me to contact the police about his attempts to murder me or his age. It's complicated in regards to his age but he's essentially 15 and I can already defend myself way better than the police can in regards to his murder attempts. Also the police would probably try to arrest me too because they're either useless or make things actively worse.

EDIT 5: Stop DMing me to ask how murder attempts can be fun. I shouldn't have to explain this.

EDIT 6: Stop implying I'm a masochist.

EDIT 7: Stop implying I'm an adrenaline junkie. If I just wanted adrenaline I've got tons of other people who could give me that.

EDIT 8: To everyone who actually responded with advice, thank you. I attempted to talk to him about it, we fought again, and it turns out he's been acting aggressive because he doesn't know how to show affection so he just defaults to violence. We ended up holding hands after we physically couldn't fight anymore. It was a great night and I think we're together now.

EDIT 9: Which of you motherfuckers sent this to Tails.

ORIGINAL POST

Hi everyone, using a throwaway account to make this post because my little brother knows my main and the embarrassment would kill me if he ever saw this.

So for context, I've known this guy for a while now, at least in the context of my life. I've got a pretty hectic life and I'm a traveler, so I've met a lot of people and he's one of the few that's been able to keep up with me. Our first meeting was during a bit of a stressful time because he kind of inadvertently framed me for thievery (we look kinda alike and the police are stupid, it's not his fault but I was pretty pissed at the time) and got me arrested, so we ended up fighting about it in the middle of the street. I'm used to fighting and pretty good at it, so it was a surprise when he turned out to be basically my equal at it, which is pretty rare even among my other rivals. He got the upper hand on me for long enough that the police were able to arrest me again. I was pretty mad but also impressed. Our second meeting was even more stressful because I had just got out of jail after being arrested for the second time, and I was still angry about it so we fought again. I was about to win but then it turned out we were both in danger along with some friends of mine so we both left as fast as we could. Both of these times I could tell he was taking the fight seriously, but I could also tell he wasn't trying to KILL ME kill me. Y'know?

Anyway, in our next meeting he was definitely trying to kill me. Outright said it to my face. I won that fight thankfully, and I'm not even angry about it because a lot of people have tried to kill me over the years and also he has some kind of goal I was getting in the way of, and he didn't even succeed. He ended up changing his mind about that goal though, and when we next saw each other we were on the same side trying to deal with a mutual threat.

And it was at that point I kind of realized I was in love. I've never really wanted a relationship because I thought it would get in the way of my lifestyle, but with this guy specifically it wouldn't be a problem. I would have told him about it, but then I thought he died and I didn't see him for a while. I wasn't too broken up about it because we only knew each other for a couple days, but I was still sadder than I thought I would have been.

He ended up coming back to life though, and he had lost his memories for the second time in his life (long story I'm not gonna get into) and he didn't really remember me anymore. I know from a mutual friend of ours that he remembered me well enough to be annoyed by my name, which made me irrationally happy, and I think he did end up getting his memories back, but when we first saw each other he definitely didn't know who I was. We fought again, it was a tie, and then we ended up teaming up to take down a mutual enemy again.

Things have been a bit less chaotic since then. We've fought a couple more times but nothing serious, he's saved my life, I've saved his, you know how it goes. We haven't really talked about anything that happened, but that's fine because neither of us have ever been much for verbal communication and we understand each other just fine. I've tried getting over my crush on him, but that's never really worked because we see each other a lot due to our lifestyles and we have some mutual friends in common, and I like spending time with him anyways, even if we're just beating each other up most of the time.

Personality wise, he's basically my polar opposite, but we get on pretty well despite that. I think aside from my general attraction to danger and his ability to match me in a fight and a race that might be the main thing that draws me to him. I've got a lot of friends, but never one so different from me and yet so similar. He's just always been special to me.

But the main reason I'm making this post is because despite all we've been through, he still acts like we're enemies at worst and temporary allies at best. We fight almost every time we meet unless something less serious is going on, and he's pretty grumpy and mean to me all the time. I like this about him, but it does make me question if he even sees me as anything more than a rival, and I don't know how to ask him because we don't talk about weird emotional stuff. I also think that asking him directly could maybe lead to another murder attempt, which would be fun, but it's not what I'm looking for anymore. I don't mind all the fighting, but just once I'd like to kiss him on the mouth instead of punching his teeth in, y'know?

#sonadow #fanfiction #sth #sonic the hedgehog #project writes #long post

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nyx-is-missing · 4 months

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hello! Can you write a Clarisse La Rue x reader where they met before Clarisse got sent to camp halfblood when they were little and were best friends then Clarisse left for camp with no explanation then years later reader goes to camp and sees Clarisse for the first time in years and it’s kinda awkward but cute

thanks :)

This is kinda long sooorrry, to help, the part where she gets to camp (kinda) will be in green

Girls on film 📷

Clarrise la rue x fem!reader

Warnings and explanations: bad words (take the kids out of the living room she swears) gender is specified cause it was written as wlw, but it doenst actually makes a diference, fluff, like two sentences, there is a kiss in the picture but they dont actually kiss sorry.

Unspecified parent gender for both sides so yall can pick wichever

Trying not to kill myself.

That was what i was doing 15 hours ago, just as any normal teenagers living (or as i prefer saying fighting for the soul to stay on the body) during finals week.

In my room there was nothing but piles and piles of normal work, piles for extra credit, piles of old quizzes to try to get me prepared for the new ones and a dumb incomplete project for photography class that was due tomorrow.

Okay ill admit, i had a month to make that, and all i needed to do was shoot pictures, but that was the problem, i prefer taking pictures of people, their emotions, whatever they might be, just never ceases to amaze me.

And my dumb project made take pictures of....landscapes.

Not too bad, if i had any actual real talent for that type of photography, but i dont, every picture gets ruined somehow, its the lightning, the lack of it, my camera falls, gets full of dirt and i get so mad that i just give up.

That whole speach was necessary for me to explain what i was doing 14 hours ago, and that would explain what i was doing 5 minutes ago.

14 hours ago i decided to shoot the photos, i could try many times before it got dark, and if o was lucky enough i wouldnt go insane before the golden hour, and could actually get some nice pictures.

I grabbed my totte bag taking with me only the necessary, camera stuff, the camera, some snacks and my notebook to upload the pictures before i went mad.

13 hours ago i was running to save my life.

And do you know that moment went you go through so much your mind decides to erase it?

That happened, now, what i do remember, i was sitting in a bench by a calm road not too far from the town, i had got some actually good pictures, some of me, some of the trees, some of a butterfly, maybe three cars had passed by since i was there, driving slowly, always saying hi and doing a thumbs up, normal, friendly people from the town.

And then i heard a noise that shook the trees.

I remember seeing something, but never what, i remember running to home as fast as i could, feeling my heartbeats in my neck, i remember the noise, but the people in the streets looked at me like there was nothing behind me and i went crazy

I remember getting home, having a desperate talk with my parent while they got my suiticase ready, and i dont remember a single word.

I remember a funny looking guy my age that got to my house, with goat legs and a more desperate look, and i remember one last hug before i left.

And thats all, aside from a hell of a lot of running nobody cares.

Aparently i passed out from shock or exaustion because i woke up in a unknown place, at night, in a hospital bed, with no actual doctors other than 15 year olds teenagers.

And a horseman standing in the corner, with quite a intelectual look actually.

And let me tell you guys that after the talk we had, if somebody told me i would marry queen Elizabeth within 4 days, i would just belived it.

Because nothing ever in my life would ACTUALLY beat up the level of crazyness of finding out i DO have another parent, they are just, A FUCKING GOD. GREEK. GODS. AH.

Then, after telling me my whole life was in fact, a big fat lie, the horseman... left.

Telling me i should sleep in the infirmary this night for precaution and that he was going to get me to a cabin tomorrow.

Like that was the most normal thing to ever happen to a human, he said goodnight and left.

While i sat there just trying to...basically form a sentence that wasnt "for fucks sake what the fuck was that"

I would have loved to say that i did slept that night, dreaming about glory and greek myths but that did not happened, at all.

I walked around the infirmary for hours, opening every cabinet and trying to make my mind to something, i searched for my stuff, and thankfully found my camera, with some pictures i hadnt noticed i had taken, one specific had a blurred thing in the forest.

When the first rays of sunlight appeared i got dressed, and decided that, in order to prove to myself (and probably to the mental hospital afterwards) i was not insane, i needed proof that i was actually living, actually there, being a demigodess, thats what they called.

Very few people were up already, and i did received some weird looks, it was clear nobody knew me, that was fine, i didnt knew anybody either.

I walked around taking some pictures, sometimes getting lost, but everything amazed me, the forest, the cabins, the stables, i found the entrance to a beach too, and then i got to the training area, aparently, i stayed far away, god forbid i woke up from this nightmare with a spear in my head, oh no, that would be bad.

Openning my camera i zoomed in the people, my speciality, it was sweet, seeing them trully smile, and not pretend for the picture, it was a genuine feeling the camera would keep forever, i zoomed around other peoples faces, but my camera focused on a face i could never forget, and she looked back at me, and realized i was there, but not that i was me, because she came towards me with a angry look.

Ill admit, the look scared me as hell, so much i tried to pretend i was never taking pictures of her, i slightly changed the angle and kept my face hidden behind the camera.

Do i need to say that did not fucking worked? No? Thank you.

"Who the fuck do you think you are taking random pictures of pe-"

She yanked my camera off of me mid sentence and stopped completely, looking like she had seen a ghost for some seconds.

"(Y/n)?"

"Clari?"

"How- what are you doing here!?"

She asked, with a worried look, still kind of confused, she did this look since we were little girls, and for a moment i had a big deja vu.

Two little girls running around, playing all day, telling each other secrets and stories, running to hug each other eveytime they were close, i still saw that girl in her eyes, but by her previous look, she did not.

"What am i doing here? What are YOU doing here? One day you dissapear without a trace, and your family said you went to a new school even though it was the summer, and now i find you sparring with a spear? You are that too? A demigoddes, i mean?"

I spoke fast, nervous, as if my time in the world with her would end just as it did once.

Instead of responding me right away, clarisse did something that maybe would scare every single soul she knew in the past years.

She hugged me. Hard.

Breathing me in, and not letting me go exactly as you would expect of someone who hasnt seen me in years.

"I couldnt tell you anything... it wouldnt be safe...im sorry, i missed my friend... i missed you."

I just looked at her for some seconds, and then hugged her again, this time i was the one making it extra tight, i was the one going insane by the reconforting smell of her shampoo, praying that she couldnt feel my heartbeats against her chest, and how strong they were.

"Just.. dont leave me again okay? And ill forgive you, i promisse"

#fanfic #lesbian #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo #clarisse la rue

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musclesandhammering · 7 months

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And another thing-

All of the little details about OB just break my fucking heart, like

-him being so excited to see Mobius again even though the only interaction he ever had with him was Mobius accidentally showing up in his workshop once and then immediately leaving

-it being 400 years since his last visitor

-when Loki asked past!Ouroboros if he could call him OB and he says “OB? I like that :)” because he was happy that someone would want to give him a nickname

-him explaining what the TVA guidebook was after realising that no one in the group had ever read it and then quietly saying “I wrote it myself.”

-him saying “it’s great being part of a team :)” after explaining that he takes care of all the engineering stuff for everybody and no one ever interacts with him, and then hopefully asking “how’s the team doing up there?” like he’s sort of desperately trying to reassure himself that he is, in fact, important and a part of the team

-in one of the tube things in his workshop (I think this is in the credits sequence) there’s just a moldy banana and the work slip says it’s from a hunter, which maybe sort of implies that the hunters play mean jokes on him :(

-there’s also a prop poster on his floor that says sending inappropriate notes, live animals, and some other stuff down in the tubes is prohibited, which implies he’s had that happen enough times to make a poster about it. Which also implies the other workers just like to mess with him

-the fact that he seems to be the only TVA worker that didn’t have his memories wiped- which could mean he’s some all powerful being or something- but I’m pretty sure it just means that even Kang didn’t find him significant enough to brainwash, and he probably knew OB stayed alone in the basement all the time anyway so there was no chance of him blowing the ruse

-the way that all the other people at the TVA (even B-15 and Mobius) had to be convinced that pruning people was bad, but when OB mentioned deleting a bunch of timelines and B-15 said “that would kill all those people, we can’t do that.” he immediately just agreed and said he’d find another solution

-Mobius asking how tf he’s supposed to hoof it in that suit and OB saying “You have to!!” Like he has no reason to care about Mobius dying but he does

-there are “Danger!!! Maximum radiation!!!!” signs all over the walls of the loom room or whtvr but OB’s office is just like… feet from it. And he stays in there all the time. And no one seems to care ?

-how he was just so solemn and frantic and emotional throughout the whole astronaut Mobius scene, when again, none of that should even matter to him. The only thing he needs to do is close the loom door- all this fixing Loki business is extraneous.

I just love him. He has so much heart, he has such a big personality. And we’ve only known him for like 50 minutes so far 😭. I require this show to end with a found family, and I require Ouroboros to be part of it. He deserves friends, damn it!!

#ouroboros #ob #loki 2x1 #loki spoilers #loki season two #loki season two spoilers #loki 2x1 spoilers #loki meta #loki series

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7 K Warnings: None Prompt: It'd just one more day before it's full moon again, you must make sure you've got the smell of the pack... This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 38: Let the Good Times Roll

Wednesday, December 22nd. 2:15 AM

When the party was over, you went up to your room alongside Lily to change. She wasn’t talking to you yet. You tried to give her some space, but you didn’t like not being able to talk to her. You weren’t even sure if you should apologise to her, and if you did, For what? For saying nasty things to Severus? You certainly weren’t sorry about that. Maybe for implying her in? That had been unnecessary, even if you knew it would spite him.

You sighed as you walked in, Marlene and Mary were fast asleep, and you cast a quick silencing spell over their bed so neither you nor Lily would wake them up. You looked at the redhead as you raised your wand and she walked towards the bathroom to change, avoiding your gaze altogether.

Your gaze fixated on the closed door, a subtle crease forming on your forehead, and after a brief, contemplative moment, you bit your lip and walked over to your trunk to find something to change into yourself, giving one last look at the door before focusing completely on your task. She was out while you finished putting on your socks, leaning down on the bed as you stared at the floor. You missed the way she looked at you, only for a split second, but it was a longing stare.

You also didn’t notice she had walked over to your bed until you felt it dip by your side. The feeling prompted you to sit upright, turning to look at her as quickly as possible. She seemed to be hesitant to speak so you broke the silence instead, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, love–” she said as her shoulders slumped. She was about to say something else, but then you interrupted her, speaking almost a little too fast as you attempted to order your thoughts at the same time as you spoke.

“I shouldn’t have implicated you in my fight with Severus. I was very mad at him for pushing you and James but using your name and his pent-up feelings for you to piss him off was disrespectful. To you more than him. And I did not consider how it might have affected you then, and I’m really sorry if I made you upset–”

“Hey,” she said softly, licking her lips before placing a hand on your arm, much like Remus did often. “I’m sorry too.” You let out a short, relieved breath at the contact, she doesn’t like it when we fight either. “James told me how hard he was shoved,” she explained, “He broke most of it with his arm and the door so I wouldn’t get hurt, but you and Remus must have seen it first hand, of course, you’d be mad.”

“It was pretty bad,” you agreed, if Lily had gotten the full extent of the blow, she might have been sore now.

“And I shouldn’t have lashed out at you either. I’m not excusing you for saying the things you did but I wasn’t just…” she seemed to hesitate for a second, as if she wasn’t sure which words she should use. “I wasn’t just angry at you, I was angry at Severus and at how much he’s changed through the years. He’s insufferable now, and I’m sorry you had to be the one defending me against him when I should be the one standing up for myself, but you didn’t know him then, he was different.”

“He called you a mudblood,” you said, “James a bIood traitor and Remus a–” You didn’t even dare to say it. “I shouldn’t have used you, but there will never be a moment in which I won’t defend my friends, Lily. Even if it’s from their own friends.”

It was her turn to sigh, “I know, it’s what I admire the most from you.”

You leaned your head to the side, a soft smile drawing itself on your lips. “I admire your noble heart,” you said. “And your ability to stay calm in these kinds of situations. You’re like Remus, all warm and calm and conciliating–”

“Oh, come on, you’ve seen me mad plenty of times.”

“Well yes, but you still manage to keep your head cool, I mean if Severus had–” you stopped yourself, you did not want to upset her further, instead you mumbled. “Might have punched him.”

“And be the aggressive Mudblood?” she asked you, your gaze almost fell at her words. She smiled bitterly, “I don’t have the luxury to retaliate like that.”

You swallowed thickly. “It would be more than justified I–” you sighed. And then gave her another worried look, reaching your hand to grab hers. “I never even factored that in.”

The weight of your privilege, the one bestowed upon you by your father who was keen on keeping up appearances of bIood purity, suddenly bore down on you. The privilege of not having to worry about your abilities, or having to prove how good you were simply to belong had never been more evident to you.

Of course, you had your own battles to fight, the world was still not fair for you, for any of your friends, really. But what Lily had to go through, the kind of bigotry she was exposed to and how she had to behave because of it, made you see her in a new light. Hours ago, if anyone told you, you’d admire Lily more than you did, you would have called them mad, and here you were, looking at your beautiful redhead friend and feeling nothing but utmost admiration for her.

She smiled at you. “Thanks for being my knight in shining armour.”

“Thanks for being the pure heart that holds me down when I’m about to go mad,” you responded with a smile.

And then, laughter rippled through the room, a shared moment of catharsis. You let yourself fall on the bed, both you and Lily now staring at the wooden headboards and red curtains surrounding it. “Lily,” you began, your voice carrying a genuine warmth, “I don’t want to ever lose you as a friend.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll latch onto you like a leech, I’ll be worse than Sirius even, you cannot get rid of me that easily.”

“Not even if I hex Severus?”

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh, but she quickly turned to look at you. “You’re not planning to hex him though, are you?” she asked in a worried tone.

You just laughed in return. “Don’t worry about that, he’ll be suffering his own little issues tonight,” you said in a rather mysterious tone.

She gasped, “What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing.” You answered honestly. “In fact, it was he who stole the treat I was about to eat.”

She threw you a look, “And you had nothing to do with it?”

You shrugged, “Not my fault he and his gang are such gits.”

Lily shook her head disapprovingly even if she had a smile plastered on her face. You stayed next to each other for a while. Eventually, she yawned, and you followed closely after. “You can stay on my bed if you want.”

“Mhm?” She asked as she accommodated herself so her feet would be up on the bed and not resting on the ground like they had been previously since the two of you had been sitting on the edge, “You’re going with the boys? Because of the moon and the experiment Peter suggested, right?”

You nodded in response, and then realised her eyes were closed, “Yes.”

“Good night then,” she said and yawned again. You stood from the bed and brought over some covers from hers to place them on top of her since you had both laid on top of yours. As you did you leaned over to look at her and accommodated her hair behind her ear, you could see some of the freckles she always tried to hide with potions but that you found truly endearing. No wonder James liked her so much, your friend was gorgeous, but that was something you’d always known.

You were too emotionally stirred to see the difference, while you considered both Lily and Remus your closest friends, and while you were attracted to girls, you didn’t even once look at Lily the exact same way you had looked at Remus through the night. The hunger that you felt for the latter was nothing compared to the sheer love and admiration you felt for the redhead. Two very different emotions, and they were there for two very different reasons, but you were still too blind to see. The blindfold, although slowly becoming sheerer, was still there.

“I’m glad we’re still friends,” you whispered as you finished tucking her in. Then you made sure the rest of the girls were asleep before going back to the boy’s room.

Now, it’s not that you were eager to go back to Remus. In fact, you thought you had ogled him enough with the horny potion still running through your system throughout the party –and it wasn’t gone entirely yet– but, just like Lily had mentioned, tomorrow was full moon.

And while the couple of nights you had bunked with the boys had been enough, according to Remus who confirmed Vixen smelled like part of the pack, you had all agreed that the night before the full moon would be the most important. For a couple of reasons: first of all, the closer you smelled to the pack when Moony showed up, the more chances you would have to be accepted by him. Second, after the party, there was a high chance other people’s smells had been mixed in with your own, and thirdly, Remus said it would make him feel at ease knowing that Vixen smelled like nothing other than the pack.

You wanted Remus to be at ease, especially in the particularly complicated time he had just before the moon, so you had all decided you’d meet again after the party was over. James had even lent his cloak so you could sneak out of your room and into theirs quietly.

“What are you doing?” You heard someone whisper in your ear which had you jump a few feet back as you looked around. You had the cloak on, there was no fucking way… “Saw your door open.” The voice explained.

You frowned, finally recognizing him, “Richie?!”

“Boo,” he said as he became visible right in front of you, you stayed safely under the cloak.

“What– what are you doing in the Gryffindor tower?”

“Can’t a ghost roam around freely in the castle?” He asked, with a slightly dramatic tone, ever so characteristic of him. And then looked to the side pointing at the spot where your voice was coming from. “Kinda rude you don’t show yourself after I have.”

You rolled your eyes, even if he couldn’t see it. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m quite literally in the middle of sneaking out of my dorm at three AM, of course, I cannot step out of my hideout,” you whispered.

He hummed at that, “I still think it’s rude,” he said with a shrug.

“How did the portrait lady let you in?”

“She didn’t, I sneaked in. You’re not the only one with secret passages knowledge,” he said, a little haughtily.

You gave him an incredulous look, hardly remembering he couldn’t actually see it. “And you came over because…”

“I was bored, thought of giving the first years something to talk about in their Christmas break,” he responded with a shrug.

“Poor kids,” you said as you shook your head in disapproval.

“What about you?” he countered. “Why are you sneaking out at three in the morning? Are you planning a new prank with your boyfriends?”

You couldn’t quite tell Richie what you were going to do, let alone who you were going to do it with, so it was best to just lie. “Boyfriend, and yes, something like that.”

Richie gave the nothingness a look of incredulity, you thought it was funny that even though he was the ghost, he was the one with a slightly lost gaze as he talked exclusively to your voice. “You keep telling yourself that, little witch.” He said the last thing on purpose, he had heard Remus call you that, and he wanted to tease you over it. Maybe then you’d fucking realise what he had seen a while ago, but you and your stupid boyfriends failed to see.

You shuddered when he said your nickname, no one used that one but Remus. Not even Sirius that seemed to have about 10 different nicknames for you. You certainly did not like the way it sounded when Richie said it. Was it because it sounded a lot more patronizing rather than endearing? Or was it only you who perceived it that way? Of course, you weren’t about to tell him that you didn’t like it when he said it, he had already teased you about nicknames in the past. You did not want to give him yet another reason to be annoying.

You sighed. “Anyway, I’ll let you torture the poor kids, I have somewhere to be.”

“No, wait!” Richie said as he turned to follow your voice. “Where are you going?”

“Boys dorms,” you said honestly. He gave you a look, eyebrows raised and a suggestive smile. You would have nudged him if you could actually touch him. “For the prank you dirty-minded ghost!”

“Of course, of course,” he said as he moved his head from side to side, brows furrowed slightly, his voice dripping with playful condescence.

You huffed at that, worst part was, with the potion that was –now you knew– clearly not gone entirely, you had easily gone back to the thoughts of Remus and Sirius and the fact that you’d actually be sleeping next to the two of them. Your only hope left was that said potion did not emit any sort of effect on Vixen. And that your fox thoughts would be cleaner than your human ones.

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here,” he whispered, “McGonagall has been getting on my nerves for sneaking into the Slytherin dorms last time. They think James convinced me to do it. As if.”

“See what?” you asked, a complicit smile etched on your features, “I’ve been soundly sleeping on my bed all night.”

He gave a pleased look at that. “Good luck with your boys. Have fun! Take your special teas and potions and all that.”

“Richie!” you admonished. As if you needed warmer thoughts to enter your head. Enough had been your ridiculous admiration of Remus’ torso with how tight the navy-blue shirt fit him. Enough had been the thought that you’d probably end up sleeping right over it. No, not me. Vixen, you corrected yourself. You almost regretted sacrificing yourself for James, but being honest, he would have had it much worse than you did. At least your body wasn’t going to give any physical indication of your thoughts no matter how far they escalated. And honestly, Lily did not need more emotional strain in one night either. You weren’t sure how she would react to a horny James on a normal day, but it would definitely not be positive with the toll of the night.

Richie just shrugged, gave you a wink, and disappeared through a wall. Your eyes trailed behind as you saw him go and then started to walk towards the boys’ dorms. The hallways were dark, and you had to be extra careful not to trip on your way down the set of stairs of the girls’ dorms and up the ones on the boys’. Thankfully you had already taken that same path a good deal of times and you knew how to get from point A to point B with relative stealth.

Once you were outside of their door you had to take a deep breath, forcing the image of shirtless Remus you had seen a while ago off your head, and walked inside. The boys knew you were coming later that night, so you trust they were all presentable. When you walked inside, you spotted James thrown on his bed, tie loose and shirt slightly unbuttoned, snoring just slightly as he was half-covered with the sheets. Peter was on his bed, perfectly tucked and with a Gryffindor beanie that clashed entirely with his purple striped pyjamas. He is cold, you realised, you were too. The cloak had never been that warm.

Then you spotted your boys, the boys, you corrected yourself. Fucking Richie and damn Ackley’s potion, they’d made your mind all wonky. “No use in hiding luv, we saw the door open,” Sirius said, he was on the bed next to Remus who was reading a book you hadn’t seen before. Sirius was sketching something in a small notebook. Both boys stood rather close to each other, but Remus kept his gaze on his book, respecting Sirius’ earlier wish of not snooping on his drawing, even if the temptation was gnawing at him.

You took part of the cloak off and placed it around your shoulders. “You’re drawing,” you pointed.

“Mhm,” Sirius said in response. “Just practising expressions.”

“How’s it going?”

“Surprisingly great, wanna see?” He asked. Both you and Remus looked at him with a rather surprised expression. Sirius had never allowed either of you to see his drawings, and he was now so casually offering it, that it had the two of you puzzled.

“Sirius, are you all right?” you asked as you stepped closer to the bed, letting James’ cloak fall over Remus’ trunk as you did.

“Did you hit your head?” Remus intervened.

“Or took a potion?” You added as you leaned over the bed and placed your hand on his forehead to check if he had some sort of fever.

“What?” The boy asked with a frown as he gently pulled your hand off his head. “No, I– You know what? Never mind.”

You let a disappointed “aw” in response. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it, we were just a little surprised,” you said, even pointing at Remus, to show it wasn’t just you that had been taken aback by his offer.

“You’ve never shown us your drawings. At least not the ones in your notebook,” Remus added.

Sirius seemed to hesitate at that, and they were right, he never showed his art to anyone. He had tried to show it to his mother once and she had berated him with it. Telling him it was a useless waste of his time and that he should instead be perfecting his charms, that Regulus was getting ahead of him and that he was lagging behind. That, if he continued, he would lose his chance to get into Hogwarts and would end up cast out of the family like a squib. He was only 8 at the time, and since that day, his drawings, other than the doodles on his notebooks, had been kept to himself.

Sketchbook after sketchbook, sent to him by Andromeda and sometimes even his cool uncle Alphard (who had never been too loved by his mother and who had at least kept in touch with Sirius even after he had been kicked out last summer). Sirius had kept them all hidden and lock-charmed so no one would be able to access his art. But of course, he continued on drawing, sometimes because he saw something he wanted to remember, sometimes because he wanted to get better at it, sometimes for the sake of it, and sometimes because he wanted to piss Walburga off.

Sirius had a rather specific way in which he would sit in the drawing room of his house, and while Regulus studied diligently, he would prop out his sketchbook and draw for hours, waiting for Walburga to come over, just to see her walk out of the room displeased, he enjoyed that look on her face so much that he would draw for even more hours, just to see if she’d come back and make it again.

At some point he’d even found some drawing books in the family library, he had taken all of them and hid them in his trunk, using them to improve his skill –not that the practice hadn’t already done that for him, but he learnt a lot about proportions with those. Later on owling them to James and asking him to hide them when things got rougher at home. That Christmas he’d gotten even more books, all thanks to the Potters who’d given him a few as gifts (he had stayed with them over the break while telling his parents he’d be at Hogwarts), James had given him a set of always-sharp drawing pencils that he still used to this day. James had also told Peter and Remus about Sirius’ passion for drawing. Peter had gotten him some colouring pencils while Remus got him a leather bound sketchbook, the same he was using today, in fact.

“Yeah I–” Sirius was hesitant, he didn’t even notice how easily it had slipped off his tongue. How he had just offered the two of you to see his drawing. The more he thought about it, the more he realised, he wanted the two of you to see it. He trusted you, unlike he’d ever trusted anyone in his life, and it was scary, giving someone so much power over him and his emotions.

“Hey,” you said softly, noticing his change in demeanour. “I’m sure both me and Rem would love to see your drawing. See what that pretty mind of yours came up with,” you reassured as you pointed at his forehead with one of your fingers as you mentioned his mind. “But neither of us is going to pressure you.”

“We’re okay if you keep it to yourself,” Remus added, for good measure. He was feeling all sorts of warm feelings as he saw you treat Sirius with such kindness, to touch him with such tenderness, Merlin knew that boy needed this kind of affection and he was thrilled, that even if he couldn’t give it to him himself –not in the way he wanted at least– you could still do that for him. You really were made for each other. And he really was in the middle of a tender moment and he wasn’t sure if he should stay in it, not that either of you seemed to mind, you never did, he realised.

“I want you to see it,” Sirius mumbled and he handed the sketchbook your way, one of his fingers in between the pages, to mark where the drawing was. You took it in your hands and opened it slowly when you realised what it was you gasped.

“It’s beautiful,” you said honestly. Both the drawing and the person he had drawn. Sirius swallowed thickly, he wasn’t insecure about many things, but he had never shown his art to anyone. “You’ve captured him perfectly.”

“Who?” Remus asked, now intrigued and leaning over to see the drawing as well.

“You,” you said as you tilted the sketchbook over so he could see it as well. Remus’ eyes opened wide with surprise as he saw himself sketched out in the notebook.

When Sirius said he was “practising” his expressions, he really meant it, he had sketched out a perfect version of Remus’ side profile as he read a book, his brow just slightly furrowed as he was looking at a particularly intriguing section of the detective novel he’d been reading earlier. “You were… you were drawing me?” he stuttered, as his eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath.

“You mind?” Sirius asked as he tilted his head slightly.

Remus wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he mind? No, if anything he was flattered, barely holding the blush starting to creep up his cheeks, he never thought he’d be the subject of one of Sirius’ drawings, let alone the many he had already been of and would be in the future. “No,” he said honestly. “I just didn’t realise.”

“You were very absorbed in your book,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Wasn’t even being careful about it.”

You turned to Sirius then, he’s drawn him before, you thought, it was in the way the lines were so sure, confident as if he knew exactly what he was doing and had to focus solely on his expression. But it made so much sense, they were roommates after all. You then wondered if he had drawn you too, was it possible that you too had been so engrossed in yourself that you hadn’t noticed?

The drawing of Remus was beautiful, it truly reflected him in every way, but Remus had never seen himself as beautiful as he had been plastered on the sketch. He was truly stunning in Sirius’ gaze, and if that was what he looked like to you, then perhaps it too made sense when you called him beautiful. You’d even called him beautiful when you’d first seen the drawing. Well, was that him or was it Sirius’ talent that you had been praising? He chose to think a little bit was because of him.

“Sirius it’s incredible,” you repeated as you gazed at the drawing again. “I expected you to be good but–”

“I’m always good with my hands,” he said as he threw a wink your way and you almost pushed him off the bed entirely. You did not need dirty thoughts added.

“My love you wound me,” he said dramatically as he let himself fall back onto Remus’ lap. Remus had reacted just fast enough to pull the sketchbook up, Sirius looked at him with a cheeky little smile. “Moony, you’re awfully comfortable,” he teased. The two of you praising his art had gotten him in a dreadfully good mood.

His two favourite people on earth had seen his drawing and they had both thought it was beautiful. Or at least been kind enough to pretend it was, he was pretty sure the two of you were being honest with him, though. He wasn’t always good at seeing through lies, but he was good when it mattered.

Wait– his two favourite people in the world?

Remus rolled his eyes as he looked down on Sirius, trying not to think of how beautiful he looked and instead of how annoying he was by taking up his personal space so brazenly. Problem was, even that he found endearing. The urge to brush his fingers through his perfectly chiselled nose was almost mortifying.

Sirius wasn’t in a much better position either, he had focused so much on his drawing that he had forgotten he had actual Remus Lupin –who for some reason he now considered insanely attractive– looking at him like he was the only person in the room. They locked eyes for a moment and Sirius swallowed.

You looked at the scene curiously and he seemed not to mind much the kind of attention Rem was providing him with, you already knew he loved being coddled. Sirius had always been touchy and cuddly, searching for the lack of affection his parents had given him wherever he could find it, but he and Remus had gotten a lot closer –physically at least– since you all started doing the pack cuddling thing this month. And while you found it endearing, that Sirius could find love not only with you but elsewhere as well in case you weren’t around to help him out, there was something about the way they were looking at each other in that particular moment that made you do a double take, or at least to stare a little closely. Have you missed something? That look was an awful lot like–

Suddenly there was a stir on the bed and the sketchbook fell from Remus’ hands. When he picked it up, the page had changed, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t actually hide the blush that crept up his cheeks, “Sirius Black!” he said in an admonishing tone.

Sirius, who had turned his gaze to you and was pulling onto your leg, turned his head quickly and gasped when he saw the drawing Remus was looking at, “Close it, close it!”

Remus did as told in an instant, swallowing thickly as he remembered the drawing. Sirius now was blushing as well. “What– what was that?” You asked with a small frown, completely changing your train of thought, now focusing solely on the sketchbook.

“Nothing,” Remus said simply.

“Don’t worry about it, Starshine,” Sirius said, but that was not his cool and controlled voice. You could see how nervous he was, whatever it was that Remus had seen in the sketchbook, he clearly did not want you to see it too, which obviously made you want to see it even more. Meanwhile, Remus was struggling not to think of the drawing now burned into his brain.

You scrutinised their reactions, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the fabric as you shifted on the bed. Your gaze darted between them, before deciding to focus on the latter. “Sirius?” He swallowed.

“You don’t want to see it, trust me,” Remus said as coolly as he could, but you could clearly see through his bullshit.

“Your lies only make me more curious.”

“I’ll show it to you later.”

“How will I know it’s the same?”

“Because you trust me?” Sirius responded with a shrug.

“Would you show it to me later?” You asked as you turned to Remus.

He cleared his throat, he really did not need to think of the drawing again. “Yes,” he lied.

“Okay fine,” you responded, and laid back for a second, Remus had the sketchbook still in his hands.

Sirius was looking at you attentively, not sure how you had let the subject go so easily when you jumped forward to try and grab the notebook from Remus’ hands. But Remus’ reflexes had always been faster and he moved the book out of the way as you crashed against him and caused him to fall back on the bed with you on top. You, being deterred not even a little bit, pulled your hand forward to try and grab it again when Sirius grabbed you by the waist firmly and held you from moving forward again.

Remus, meanwhile was trying not to think of the image, and now also your body pressed against him, and you, being so engrossed in your task, didn’t quite realise exactly what you were doing.

“Starshine please, I promise I’ll show it to you later,” Sirius pleaded as he held you back from reaching towards Remus’ long outstretched hand.

“Why not now?” you asked as you continued trying to move.

“Because!” he said. “You’re all over Moony, come on!” he added as he tried to pull you back.

You looked down, he was right, you were all over Remus, more specifically, all over the broad chest you had been thinking about all night, and you couldn’t help but think how firm it felt underneath you. But you still wanted to know.

“What was it?” you asked, squirming as you tried to get out of Sirius’ grasp.

“Anatomy study.”

Finally, you stilled. Looking up to see how red Remus’ cheeks had gotten, and how he swallowed thickly after Sirius’ words. Now actually noticing how close you were to Remus and the compromising position your legs had been in, and the way they had entangled onto Remus’ and how long you had been there and how Sirius had been trying to pull you back by the waist and how flustered the two boys looked and suddenly it dawned on you.

You scattered back in an instant, falling on Sirius’ lap as you did, he stilled you easily since his hands were still on your waist and you turned to him, your heart hammering on your chest. The thoughts currently roaming in your head weren’t making this entire ordeal any easier for you.

“Do you mean-” you swallowed. “That kind of anatomy study?”

Sirius sighed and looked at the side, before turning his gaze back to you. Remus was looking at the entire situation, at the position both you and Sirius had ended up in trying not to feel things, let alone imagine other ones.

“Yes,” Sirius answered, giving you a look. “You really want to see?” he asked. He was sure what your answer could be, that didn’t stop Remus from sending him a reproachful look, as if telling him what a terrible idea that was.

And if it had been any other day, you might have said yes. But after the potion, whatever and whoever Sirius had drawn, would probably be a terrible idea to look at, you already had enough heated thoughts as it was. Only made worse by the fact that you were now sitting on his lap and had been right over Remus earlier. Godric! How much longer for you to stop sexualizing your best friend?

A lump formed in your throat and shook your head. “Show me a different day,” you said as you stared at him. Sirius nodded as he looked at you and you missed the way Remus let out a relieved breath. “Let’s uh– Let’s sleep now.”

Neither of the boys argued, Remus placed the sketchbook on his night table and waved his wand to turn the lights off. You instantly turned into a fox and walked over to the end of the bed to try and clear your thoughts. Sirius extended his hand to pull you closer but ended up holding back and turning into a Padfoot instead. Then he walked closer to you and picked up Vixen carefully with his snout.

You stilled as he did and allowed him to drop you over Remus’ chest, as you accommodated you realised Remus’ heartbeat was beating abnormally fast and you couldn’t help but think of the picture again. What the hell had Sirius drawn to garner such a reaction? You shook your head then, don’t need to know, don’t need to know!

Sirius was getting comfortable on the side by now, and he placed his snout over Remus’ shoulder, close to Vixen’s, and closed his eyes. But even if the three of you had your eyes closed, and even if the three of you were really trying to fall asleep, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were sleeping on Remus’ chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the drawing he’d seen and Sirius could not stop thinking how adorable Remus had looked with the blush creeping up his cheek, let alone the compromising position you had both ended up in earlier. And it stayed like that, all of you attempting to calm your breaths, until at least half an hour later when one by one, you started to fall asleep.

The next day had gone pretty fast, you’d woken up and walked back to your room to get changed into your flying gear, meeting Sirius and James just outside of the common room for the last flight of the year, since everyone would be packing their bags for home the following day. Well, everyone except for Remus who’d go back home until after Christmas.

After flying you had taken the last few classes of the year, which consisted of some teachers actually trying to teach, some final project presentations and some others of teachers who just allowed everyone to do whatever they wanted during the class time. On charms, you spent almost the entire class playing Wizards’ chess with Marlene and Mary while James and Sirius spent the class writing his essays for potions. Both using yours and Remus’ as a guide.

On potions Slughorn had you present the essays and he congratulated everyone, even Sirius, got a slightly higher mark on that one than Severus, whom you’d heard had spent weeks working on, you couldn’t stop the slight mocking giggle that escaped your lips when he announced the grades. That was until you got yours and it was lower than Sirius’, who just shrugged awkwardly and gave you an apologetic smile.

Sure, your head had been a little muddled while you wrote it (which was at some point after the friendly game with Neil and Nox) but you still thought your argument had been solid, even if Slughorn said that you didn’t have enough sources to back it up.

“But where did you even get your sources? You literally used my essay as a base!” you asked Sirius as you read over his.

He just shrugged, “made them up,” he said honestly and proceeded to show you the page where he had added them, which contained all sorts of ridiculous names like David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Steve Walsh, Brad Delp and even some surreal ones like Moonsmus Lup and Vixenia Starr.

“Oh, so you even gave us credit,” you said as you hovered your index over the ridiculous names he’d invented based on your nicknames. “How on earth did he buy that?”

“Mom and dad used to have pretty rare books in the library,” he explained, “books rarely available to the general public…”

You nodded as you pursed your lip. Half surprised, half admired by his boldness, “Next time I’ll add some myself.”

“The weirdest the names, the more he loves it.”

Herbology had gone by like charms, Mr. Folly was talking about properties of some curative flowers with the students who were interested in them –and who wanted to go for either medical or herboreal careers– and allowed the rest to do their thing. You had spent the time talking to Beth and Tom, planning to get together in London after the trip on the train to get some gifts for your friends.

Remus had excused himself before the class was over and walked over to Pomfrey who took him straight to the shack. You had all agreed that you’d meet him there a little before 6 pm which was the estimated time for the moon to appear that night.

After changing into the same clothes you had been wearing the previous night, just for good measure and according to Remus’ instructions, he said it would be for the best, to “maximize the smell of the pack” but also –and secretly– for his very own enjoyment. Not that it didn’t also translate to your and Sirius’ enjoyment, the three of you rather liked the way you smelled when your scents were all combined with each other. From Sirius always smelling slightly like leather, added to the light notes of your perfume that lingered on each other, all the way to the faint smell of Remus’ aftershave potion and the ever-present smell of chocolate that seemed to surround him. It was certainly an interesting mix, but one you had all grown to love.

“You ready?” Sirius asked while Wormtail sprinted towards the Whomping Willow, they had told you that the tree had a secret branch that if you pressed it right, it would calm him enough to let you through, and Wormtail was currently working on making it happen.

You nodded in response, paying close attention to the way Wormtail walked and how after a small flick of his tiny rat-like hands, the Willow stilled. You looked marvelled at the sight of the usually bellic tree looking so serene. You let out a small scoff.

“What is it?” James asked.

You pointed at the tree, “A trick like that would have saved my Nimbus.”

“But we wouldn’t have ended up snogging under it,” Sirius said with a sneaky little smirk as he passed his hand over your shoulders.

“Is that why you were late after the race?” James asked with a gasp. “We were all mad worried!”

“We also had some things to discuss,” you said with a small shrug, “I thought Sirius hated me.”

James genuinely laughed at that, “He was bIoody smitten!”

“Yeah, I guess I should have seen the signs…” you replied as you turned to your boyfriend, “It was in those pretty puppy eyes of his.”

He pulled his tongue out and then started running towards the tree, you smiled and followed shortly behind. James, on the other hand, lagged back just for a moment, noting how you chased behind Sirius with a bright smile plastered on your face, filled with only blithe thoughts as you walked towards the wolf’s den; as if you weren’t even slightly worried for the outcome of the night.

And you really weren’t, as far-fetched as it was, you thought Peter’s idea of using scents to trick Moony into not wanting to eat you, made sense. You had been sneaking into the restricted section to look up some more werewolf-related tomes, sometimes with Sirius and sometimes by yourself, all in the hopes that you’d find something to back your claim up –and rip some more of those murder pages off of them– and even though you hadn’t found something that confirmed it, you had found some text that talked about how heavily werewolves leaned onto scents to hunt and track humans down.

You had also taken some other “muggle animals” from the muggle studies section of the library and read about the normal wolves, and while you hadn’t found any stance in which they did something similar to what you had planned, there were some stances in which packs of wolves adopted stray and small dogs and raised them as their own. Now Vixen wasn’t either a stray, nor a dog, but she was canine, so that must atone for something, right? Either way, you had built a pretty strong case for Peter’s theory in your head, and while you couldn’t actually ask a teacher about it, you were about to do something that Lily had taught you was “the scientific method” in muggle terms. It was simple, you got a theory, and you tested it out to see if it would work. Now, according to Lily, the testing was in a controlled setting with proper security, your security would be Prongs, Padfoot and how fast you could move as Vixen, but you were still optimistic enough to go through with it. It had to work, otherwise, things would only get harder.

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A/N: Hey everyone? How is it going? Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's one of the fluffiest we've gotten in a while hehe You guys were asking for a new Q&A so I'm working on it at the moment, send all the questions you may want to be added here, or directly on asks. Love, Lils xx

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drdemonprince · 1 month

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Your post about "transitioning to escape gender but then there's more gender" has been rotating furiously in my mind since I saw it. When I first realized I was trans at age 15, I identified as agender, but I knew I wanted to go on T and get top surgery so I decided it would be simpler to tell everyone I was a trans man and that just kind of became the truth. Now 10 years later I'm sorta starting to feel like I wanna actually be agender again, but the idea of an identity shift like that at my current age is terrifying and idek who I'd tell, or how I'd do it, and I don't think I wanna stop using he/him exclusively, and I have no idea why I'm telling *you* this other than that I'm scared to talk to anyone I know about it because it feels like somehow admitting that I was wrong about the gender I fought like hell to become, even though i don't really think that's the case I think my sense of self might just be continuously evolving... but I just wanna say you talking about having a gender shift like once every several years is helping me process this rn and feel like I'm not faking anything now AND wasn't faking anything before.

Dog i am right there with you. As a kid I always thought gender was bullshit, the coercive nature of it disgusted and scared me and I rebelled against it the best that I could. I loathed being assigned to any gender category, I never identified as a "girl", but I didn't really identify with any other category either. Puberty terrified me (and of course, it does most young people, but it felt like it would only more deeply entrench the category that I was assigned to in other people's minds, it made it more difficult to escape). I had trans friends as a teen but it did not occur to me to transition because there was really no end goal that I wanted to head toward, I just knew what I wanted to avoid and not experience. I coped mostly by degendering my body with a fairly androgynous style and way of presenting myself to the word and mannerisms, but also by starving myself which was not so great, and not sustainable. I considered transness for myself, even trying on a friend's binder and presenting masculinely at certain queer events, but it seemed to me at the time like just another way in which to obsess over gender, a foolish coercive socially constructed thing that i was trying to avoid.

In my 20s, I learned more about nonbinary people and figured that explained things pretty well. I was enamored with the transition journeys of some other trans people, largely trans women more than trans masculine ones (with some trans-effeminate faggot boy exceptions), but I still didn't want to take on all the expense and uncertainty and hassle of navigating the medical system for myself. I didn't think that the pursuit of being happy merited taking on so many risks or fiddling with myself so much. I saw it as an extravagance I didn't deserve, I guess, and I also couldn't locate a target outcome that seemed desirable enough for me. I was still dealing with an eating disorder and recovering from some trauma and didn't really think about my life in the long term. I guess I still don't, haha, whoops.

Eventually I came out as nonbinary, and nobody really gave a shit. There is a lot of useless, solidarity-breaking discourse that happens online about essentially who is "more" oppressed, binary trans people or nonbinary people, and a lot of that fight amounts to the two groups shouting about the ways in which they annoy one another without there being any cogent analysis of power and where oppression comes from (let alone how much those two categories overlap).

But I will say that being a they/them was far more difficult than being a trans guy socially and institutionally, because your identity is completely illegible to every system around you. "binary" trans people struggle under this too, but i have found there are some immense benefits to having a socially and institutionally legible target gender. nobody would fucking actually they/them me. not anyone. not even other trans people and queer people. there were no public gendered spaces for me. there were no spaces for me. there was no way to move through the medical system, professional life, and other public institutions as a nonbinary person. i was still just a cis woman in everyone's eyes. including the people who claimed to support me. and it was massively frustrating.

and so i think ultimately, i took my frustrations with not being at all able to escape coerced gendering as a nonbinary person and combined that with the affinity i do feel for queer men and the general sense of misery i was still experiencing in my life and decided what the hell, i'll round myself up to being a trans guy. i upped my T dose, i dressed more masculinely, i eventually got a super masculine hair cut that really squared off my jawline and got me gendered correctly, and i started more consciously inhabiting queer men's spaces.

and it was pretty dope. for a while. i felt the rush of having gotten away with something. when people effortlessly gendered as male i felt freed at last from the pressure to be a woman. i was no longer being coerced into being something that i was not. i had escaped the enforced category so much that people couldn't even see the history of that category being pushed onto me. there was relief.

but then. as always happens. people made little comments about my handshake being too weak for a man. the hypermasc dudes at the leather bar rolled their eyes at me and all the other effeminate dudes swanning around the bar. the people who picked me up off the apps or at the sauna would always let it slip, eventually, that they had a lot of experience with trans guys, or had most recently been dating all trans guys, and it would make me feel like a stock character to them, yet another category into which all kinds of assumptions had been projected. a type not a person. a few people said my haircut made me look like i was in the military or described me as actually masculine, which was equally jarring because it was so incorrect. people tried to affirm me by saying i was such a dude, i was such a man, i was such a fag, i was such a gay bro, pawing all over me leaving the mark of all their assumptions and oversimplifications behind. i had tried to run away from gender and there i was just BASTING all the time in everybody's goddamn assumptions about gender. trans people didn't talk about it any less than cis people did, they were just as fucking confining to be around.

it honestly feels really dirty. when people try to affirm your gender constantly and can't stop talking about it, when people look past you and see only your body, your history, or the role they have typecast you in, when people use your body as an outlet for their own gender or sexuality explorations, when they keep trying to measure every single facet of existence up into being masculine or being feminine or being toppy or bottomy or any other gendered type, it's claustrophobic.

as a trans man i tried playing this whole gender game and the second i started winning i began to feel even more disgusted with myself. it wasn't a victory or an escape, it was a capitulation. exploring with my identity and presentation has brought positive things into my life and my health has gotten better as a result, and i've made wonderful friends who, like me, are disaffected by this coercive gendering system. so i don't regret any of that. but trying to make myself legible under the existing gendered system was a fool's fucking errand. i wish i hadnt done it to myself and i wish i hadnt had it pushed onto me. to be clear, it was cissexist, binarist society that forced it onto me; even when other queer people coated me in their gendered assumptions that is obviously a byproduct of societal conditioning, and it's conditioning that ive reinforced in my own behavior and outlook toward others plenty of times too. we all do it, and we are all wronged by the existing coercive gender system.

i dont even care how i fucking identify anymore and i have no intention of changing pronouns again or anything, i'm so bored of it, i just actually want off this fucking thing. im not interested in trying to make others understand what i am anymore or in who i am even being simply categorizable, i dont want to obsess anymore over how i am perceived or to attempt engineer my appearance and mannerisms to broadcast an identity to anyone. i dont even want to fuck anybody right now at all because im so sick of how much that's a gender pantomime for people. i want off this fuckin ride man im so done.

it's kind of freeing, to hit this point of complete gender apathy, and i think it is a pretty common stage of identity development for a lot of queer people who have explored multiple identities and roles over time. there is no category that i actually am, or that anyone is, there are just the frameworks that society has given us to work with to understand ourselves, and the ways in which we flatten who we are to be able to make sense of the world using those frameworks. but who i actually am is so much more contextual and mutable than all that. i am a different person in the classroom than i am on the train platform than i am in the bedroom than i am cuddling on the couch than i am when i'm working out than i am when curled up on the floor crying than i am at a big furry convention. who i am continues to change as new people come in and out of my life and age and change and my body alters and as the weather turns. who fuckin knows man it's nothing and everything. i want to let it just be

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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WIBTA to refuse tutoring my nephew even though I'm not sure what he did wrong?

So I (24, F) have been tutoring my nephew/the son of my mum's close friend (10, M) for a couple of weeks now. His mum pays me for the hours I spend teaching him and honestly despite the kid being obviously ADHD I don't really mind him getting constantly distracted because it's clear he still understands what I'm explaining to him, so we had a pretty good relationship up until this point as I was way more understanding of him than any other tutors or even his own mother, although I don't really know him THAT well.

During our tutoring sessions my cat, Pudding (14, F) would usually stay in the same room with us. She likes to stay in the same room as other people but usually doesn't let strangers pet her and will go away if bothered too much. Well, Nephew being distractable as he is would often go up to her to pet her as he would answer a question of mine or just as a thing between answering questions. Strangely enough Pudding did let him do that and didn't seem to be THAT bothered by it, so I too ignored it and just let him do it.

Now, here's the issue: A few days ago after we finished our tutoring session for that day I left the room to wash my hands in the kitchen since we were eating snacks during the session. My house's kitchen is literally DIRECTLY next to the room where we have our tutoring sessions so it couldn't have taken longer than 10-15 seconds from me leaving before I heard a cry from Pudding. "Oh, she must've finally gotten annoyed with Nephew's behaviour, I'll tell him to stop bothering her." I thought to myself as I finished washing my hands, yet before I was even able to make it back to the room I heard a second, much louder meow, the kind of meow a cat only makes if they ACTUALLY get hurt. So now, properly concerned, I round the corner into the room and see Nephew sitting right next to where Pudding is still laying, now with her ears flat and looking at him. He must've seen the confusion on my face because the first thing he said was "We were just playing." to which I blurted out that clearly she was not in the mood to play and walked over to check on her. While doing that, I noticed that there was a blanket slightly covering Pudding's hind legs, so I assumed maybe Nephew accidentally put his weight there without realizing she had her paws there. I VERY GENTLY pulled back the blanket and VERY GENTLY touched her legs to see if they were hurt, and then she BIT me and finally ran away. Of course I don't blame her, and in fact that only strengthened my concern because Pudding is a VERY polite cat, if she's bothered by anything she will just leave and if she bites for play it's always very gentle and doesn't leave a mark, this was not that. Afterwards I couldn't get any useful information out of Nephew as to what exactly he did, he just kept saying that he was petting her and she got annoyed which was clearly not true, so I dropped the subject and just sent him home.

Now it's been a few days since that happening and I've checked on Pudding's legs a few times since then. She doesn't respond to me touching them at all and she doesn't limp or anything so either she didn't get injured, or the legs were never the issue in the first place and me touching her was simply the last straw in that already stressful situation for her. Despite that however, I find myself not wanting to have Nephew over for tutoring anymore as I'm afraid that something like this might happen again when I'm literally gone from the room for less than a minute. It really annoys me that I have absolutely no clue what happened while I was gone, I don't even have a way to know if Nephew did whatever he did intentionally or by accident since him saying they were just "playing" could very well be just his honest perception of the situation, or him lying and being vague on purpose because he knows he did something wrong. The reason why I feel like Nephew might be lying about doing bad things on purpose is because Nephew's family has two cats, so I really feel like he should know better already and be more careful. Another point is the fact that this literally happened the INSTANT I was gone from the room, almost as if he was waiting for me to be gone to do something (as far as I recall I haven't ever left him alone with Pudding before this point), though admittedly that could just be unlucky coincidence. Plus, I find it REALLY hard to believe he'd be able to make Pudding cry like that on accident, I've genuinely NEVER heard her make a sound like that, ever, not even at the vet's. On the other hand however I know that he was failing his math class badly before I started tutoring him and I'm almost certain he'd start to fail again if I stopped helping him. Not only that, I'd have to come up with a lie about being too busy to do tutoring or something else since obviously I can't tell his mother "Hey your son might've done something bad but I'm not really sure and don't really have any proof and can't even tell if it was really intentional or not", since I realize how ridiculous that sounds despite still genuinely feeling incredibly uncomfortable about the whole situation.

So with all of that out of the way, would I be the asshole for denying him my tutoring services just because I feel uncomfortable about the idea of him possibly hurting my cat on purpose, even when I don't really have any proof that he did it on purpose or would do it again?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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rosaspicypaper · 10 months

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I wasn't even ten when my mother taught me to shave. It was exciting. I felt grown up. She explained to me, gently, that I would have a lot to get rid of for the rest of my life. We just had a lot of body hair, more than average. So, there I remember being a little girl, taking a blade to my skin every time I had to shower. A family hardly able to afford food for the week, but we still prioritized a razor for a child in the fifth grade. It grew everywhere, even thick and dark on my thighs. I took it all away, sometimes spending 15 minutes double checking myself to make sure I got every last one. And then, if I found I didn't once had I dried off, I'd get back in and finish the job, or do it dry to ensure I got it all, razor burn preferable to hair. It didn't stop there. I wasn't stupid. I knew the legs weren't the only place you didn't want to have body hair. Once I felt I had the hang of it, I started to shave my armpits. My belly. My chest. My pubic area. My arms. And, as a courtesy of the bones in my wrist, I eventually took out a chunk of flesh so deep and wide you can still see the scar over a decade later. My mom understood. She bandaged me up, and I maintained my routine. Middle school was harder. I kept it up, but kids saw through it. They called me a dog. I had to get rid of even more, I determined. Shaving my chest and my belly turned into waxing. I became self conscious of the dark hair on my cheeks and my jaw, my upper lip and what lay outside of an ideal brow shape. I ripped it all away, checking twice daily for hair I missed, and if I found any I had a pair of tweezers to help finish the job. I was, of course, introduced to the idea floating around online that women didn't have to remove their body hair. I agreed, I thought, that women could do whatever they wanted with their body hair! And if that was the case, I'd choose to keep getting rid of mine. We've all heard the same excuse parrotted around: "I just like the way it feels." And I did. Of course I did. I was used to the smooth skin and that baby soft feel, the validation and admiration that came with having a perfect, hairless...everything. I was okay with other women making the choice to have it because their choice wasn't going to make me feel otherly. I never genuinely understood how miserable it was to maintain the routine until my sophomore year of high school. It had become as second nature to me as brushing my teeth or washing my hair. But, I chose to stop shaving. Over the years, I would cave to the misery and get rid of it all over again, but eventually I'd let it grow out, and it was uncomfortable. It was scary. The prickling hair drove me crazy, the sandy feel of my legs making me squirm once it had grown out. I loathed putting lotion on. It felt like I had to use half the bottle just to get to my legs. Jeans in the summer until I couldn't stand it anymore, friends that flushed with embarrassment when we'd go to the pool. A mother pleading me to do it again, "for me". Struggling to find products that would work for me because women's hygiene isn't formulated with women's natural selves in mind... by now, I don't think I've shaved in over 4 years, and I certainly don't feel so otherly anymore. Was it the easy choice? Was it the comfortable one? Not at all, but I feel as though it was the necessary one.

#feminism #self love #acceptance #anti shaving #body posititivity

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bitchyycapricorn · 1 year

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Is She Really Your Girlfriend?

•Peter Parker x Reader•

Masterlist

Word Count: 5k+

Synopsis: After getting a new boyfriend, Y/N starts failing her classes.Her parents set her up for some extra help. Until that extra help becomes too helpful.

WARNINGS: smut, praise kink, cheating (with peter), oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex

(AN: Not edited)

“How did I get myself into this mess?” You wondered to yourself as you knocked on the apartment door. You knew exactly why you were here, and that it was in fact your fault. You always kept good grades. After all, you were an A and B student depending on the subject, and that had never changed. Well, until this year. Suddenly your grades were slipping and your once A subjects were Cs and your once B subjects were Ds. So your parents did the only thing they could think of, hire a tutor.

You were brought back to reality as the door opened to reveal the curly haired boy that the school had recommended to your parents to help you out. “Hey Y/N” he said with a small smile, gesturing for you to come inside.

“Hi Peter,” you said while returning the smile. You stepped inside and thanked him for making the time to help you out, even though you knew deep down your parents had offered him a good amount of money to take you under his wing.

“My aunt isn’t here right now so we can set up our stuff over there,” Peter said as he led you into his living room and over to the couch. His backpack was already leaning against the table and his notebooks were placed on a neat stack on top of the coffee table in front of the couch. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” He offered, awkwardly pointing over to the kitchen.

“No I’m good for now, thank you for offering though.” You said while taking a seat on the couch. Peter joined you and began to shuffle through some of the loose papers in his math notebook. Peter shifted slightly and looked over to you nervously. “I uh.. your mom said you really needed help in math.” His voice was quiet and a bit shaky, he looked almost scared to be in your presence.

“Yeah... I’m not doing too hot in math right now.” You admitted, offering a warm smile and a small laugh to try and ease the tension. Peter only nodded and began to explain the latest lesson to you. You kept your focus for the first 15 minutes or so before slipping back into your thoughts. You couldn’t help but to feel stupid. Not because you were failing, but because it was Saturday. Sarah’s big Senior party was tonight and at this very moment, you should’ve been with all your friends getting ready. You weren’t actually a party person, the noise was usually too much and everyone always reeked of alcohol. The only reason for your sudden appearances at every single party that was thrown was because of your new boyfriend, Flash Thompson. He liked to show you off and you liked the attention. And that was the issue. Suddenly parties, your friends, and Flash became your top priorities and school was completely tossed aside. You felt like you had a certain reputation to keep up now. Your friends were nice enough to set you up with Flash and you weren’t going to let them and the rest of the school down. You and Flash were perfect for each other. It was like everyone said, pretty and rich were the best combination. You had fed into this belief so much that it was until after you tearfully agreed to be Flash's girlfriend that you realized something: you didn’t like Flash. So now you spent most of your time convincing yourself that those emotions would come with time. That soon enough you would be head over heels for Flash and the two of you would truly make the perfect couple. The only challenging part was keeping Flash off of you until those feelings came. You didn’t mind the occasional kiss, or the hugs he would give you. You didn’t mind the hand holding either, mainly because that was mandatory couple stuff that you simply couldn’t get out of. You just couldn’t go any further with Flash. Meaning every time you found the two of you alone you had to find another excuse for why you couldn’t have sex. You were quickly running out of excuses despite only being together for about a month.

“Earth to Y/N” Peter waved his hand in front of your face once again snapping you out of your thoughts. “I know I’m boring but damn, have you really not been listening this whole time?”

“I’m so so sorry Peter, I really am. I was just thinking about other stuff and-“

“You were thinking about your boyfriend and how you’re missing the party with him tonight, right?” Peter cut you off. You looked away guiltily knowing he was not only right, but that you were being a total dick right now by not paying any attention to Peter's lessons.

“Honestly yeah, I was. But I really do appreciate your help Peter. I’ll focus now I promise. No more getting distracted.” You swore holding up your pinky finger to him.

Peter tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help but crack a smile at the gesture. He wrapped his pinky around yours and nodded.“Alright, let’s get to it then.” Peter smiled.The rest of the lesson went by pretty quickly and you didn’t get distracted again until the very last part of your physics run down. You were still paying attention to Peter, just not his words. You had noticed him a hundred different times before and each and every time you were reminded just how attractive Peter Parker really was. But there was always a social boundary that kept the two of you apart. That boundary wasn’t around when the two of you were alone though, so you let yourself look at Peter in a way you wouldn’t dare to at school. You looked at how soft and fluffy his hair looked. How his soft curls fell effortlessly. Or how his chocolate brown eyes lit up when he would talk about something that excited him. Would his eyes light up like that tonight when he told his Aunt about your study session together? Would his cheeks flush the way they did every time he looked at you when he told the story as well? What would his lips taste li….

This time you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. “Wait, can you actually explain that last part again? You had me and then I was lost and I thought I got it again but I actually don’t.” You sputtered trying to avoid looking at Peter's lips again.

“Oh yeah of course!” Peter beamed, re-explaining the section. You thanked him profusely as you both began to pack your stuff up.

“I will see you again on Tuesday right?” You asked while slipping your backpack onto your shoulder.

“Yep, that’s correct. See you around 5:30?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“That works for me! See you Tuesday Peter.” You waved before exiting his apartment.

Peter watched the door close and let out a sigh. He had been pining after you for years and couldn’t believe you had finally come over, even if it was by force. Peter’s cheeks heated up just thinking about how close the two of you had been. He couldn’t wait to tell Aunt May everything, even if he knew that to you, it was just a study session.

+++

It had been about three weeks since you and Peter had started meeting three times a week to study together. You met Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturdays. With Peter's help on catching up and a designated time to do your homework you found it wasn’t hard to get back to where you needed to be grade wise. All your grades were back up and you and Peter were only planning to meet for another week or so to make sure you maintain your grades. You weren’t going to complain of course, you found you really really liked Peter's company. Much more than you had liked the company of some of your friends…and Flash. And days like this were always nice when you had the place to yourself the whole day since May had to go out of town for work.

“Okay…” Peter began as he looked through your list of classes. “We never covered anatomy, did we?” He finished with a frown.

“Oh, we don’t have to worry about anatomy! I’ve always had an A in that,” you beamed proudly.

“Thank goodness,” Peter chuckled, “cause honestly, I have no clue what’s going on in that class.”

“What? You mean…Peter Parker for the first time ever doesn’t…doesn’t know something?” You gasped in the most exaggerated and dramatic way possible.

Peter let out another soft laugh and shook his head. “Too much going on, too many bones and tissues and just…what?”

“Here, I’ll teach you a trick that’s always helped me.” You smiled, grabbing his hand softly. “Okay, so when I’m trying to learn where something is I try to find it in my own body and just lightly press there. It’s actually better to do it on another person, and lucky for you I’m here.” You say guiding his hand to your rib cage. “See, if you press here you can feel my floating ribs.” Peter's eyes widen as you guide his hand over to your body. His fingers make contact with your sweatshirt and he can feel his whole body heat up.

“Y-yeah,” Peter stutters trying to keep from passing out. Peter had never touched you like this before. You had both gotten extremely close over the last two weeks and had “touched” one another. As in you had hugged Peter, and playfully bumped his hip while you occasionally cooked dinner and made snacks together but never had he touched you, or anyone for that matter, like this.

“Oh shit, you probably can’t feel a thing with my sweatshirt being so thick,” you said, quickly pulling it up before placing Peter's fingers back where they were before. Peter's eyes fluttered closed as he sucked in a breath. Your skin was so warm, you smelled so sweet right now. It was his favorite perfume on you out of all the ones you owned. Now your smell was as intoxicating as ever. He was so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t even realized he had fully placed his hand on your body, no longer just his finger tips.

You let out a small gasp at the feeling of his cool hand on your skin as you focused on his face. “P-peter,” you whispered softly. Peter's eyes fluttered open again, realizing that he had fully placed his hand down.

“I-I’m, I didn’t mean-” Peter stuttered, beginning to pull his hand away. You placed your hand on his quickly to stop him from pulling away.

“Peter…I-” you sucked in a breath and stared into his soft brown eyes that you had fallen deeply in love with over the last few weeks. “I really like you Peter.” Peter’s eyes widened even more as he tried to find the right words.

“Y/N..but..Flash..” he managed to get out. His heart was beating faster now, you said the words he had dreamed of you telling him for years now. But he knew it was an impossible dream still, even though you had said it.

“I don’t like Flash,” you said, moving closer to Peter. “He doesn’t make me laugh like you do, he doesn’t make my heart flutter, he doesn’t excite me, he doesn’t make me feel anything…” your lips were now inches apart and Peter wasn’t sure if the gap was going to, or even should close. “My friends set me up with Flash, I tried to like him…but you’re the person I want. Whenever I’m with him I think of you…I wish it was you kissing me, holding me…Everytime Flash asks me to sleep with him I wish it was you. I want it to be you so bad I say no every time Peter.”

Peter couldn’t take it anymore, He didn’t care if Flash would run him over with his car or make his life a living hell. All he cared about at that moment was you.

Peter's lips pressed against yours and his grip shifted down to your waist. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck as you drew him closer to your body. “It’s so hot in here,” you mumbled, pulling away from Peter's lips. “I think we should take our clothes off..”Peter nodded before realizing what you said.

“Y/N, I haven’t, I don’t know..I’m” Peter fumbled over his own words looking at you like a deer in headlights.

“Peter, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I didn’t mean to push you,” you whispered softly. “And, I haven’t done anything sexual either. I just know that I would like it to be with you. Even if it isn’t now but in the future..” you said, pressing a soft kiss to Peter's lips.

Peter melted into the kiss while pulling you closer once again. “I’m really nervous, but I want to do this.” He said with a small laugh. You gave him a wide smile quickly kissing him again. You continued to make out until Peter was hovering over you and positioned between your legs.

“You know we still have our clothes on right?” You giggled as Peter pulled away for air. He gave you a dorky smile as you lightly tugged on his blue Midtown shirt. He sat up slightly so he could take it off. You could feel your jaw drop as Peter pulled the shirt over his head and allowed it to fall to the floor. “Peter what the fuck,” you gasped. You ran your hand down his chest, pausing at the band of his sweatpants. “You are like, super built…” you said in awe.

“Yeah…I know I don’t really give off that impression. I assume you’re pretty relieved I’m not like super scrawny.” He said, shifting his gaze to the side. If you two were in this position a few years prior Peter wouldn’t have had his spider bite and he would have been super scrawny.

“Peter Parker,” you said, grabbing his chin lightly so he was looking at you again. “I could care less about what build you have. I only gasped because I’ve been waiting for this moment for longer than I care to admit. So yeah, I would’ve gasped regardless. Since personally, I just think you’re hot.”

Peter felt himself melt into your touch realizing he had nothing to worry about. You liked his body because you liked him. “I know you’re still fully clothed, but I know that once you’re not I’m going to absolutely love your body as well. I mean, I love your body with clothes on, I just would love to see you without them on,” Peter rambled sheepishly.

“Take my clothes off Peter,” you cut in with a soft smile. Peter froze, slightly hesitating as he grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt. You sat up and helped him lift it off your body. “Now take my bra off Peter,” you whispered while guiding his hands behind your back. His mouth went dry as he fumbled with your bra clasps. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to admire you in a bra before you were having him take it off you. His shaky hands struggled for a moment before the clasps popped apart and your bra was sliding off your body. You tossed it to the floor with your other discarded clothes allowing Peter to take in the view in the process. “Now touch me Peter,” you murmured softly, letting your back hit the cushion beneath you. Peter’s hands slowly went to your waist, sliding up your body until he was lightly cupping your tits. He took in a slow breath as he ran his thumb across your nipple. He leaned down into your neck and began planting soft kisses anywhere he could. His hands softly squeezing your tits in the process. His kisses soon made their way down between your tits and you felt Peter pause. He gazed up at you for a moment before planting kisses onto your right tit.

You shifted underneath him, letting out a soft moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple. “Peter…” You whined, tangling your hands in his soft brown locks. “Please.”Peter nipped lightly at your skin as he made his way over to your left nipple. Your back arched underneath his touch feeling a pool forming between your legs. Peter shifted his body so his thigh was pressed against your heat as he continued laying kisses all across your soft skin. You let out a shaky moan at his action and began to grind into his thigh desperately wanting relief. Peter’s hands trailed down your sides and gripped your hips, helping you grind into him.He leaned up to place a soft kiss to your lips before pulling his leg away from your heat. You let out a desperate whine as the knot in your stomach disappeared with the loss of contact. “Fuck Peter,” you groaned, “I want you.”

Peter smiled softly, slipping a finger under the band of your sweatpants. “Can I?” He asked, beginning to slowly tug them down as you nodded profusely, letting out a string of moans. Peter slid the pants down your thighs and off your legs, your underwear coming off as well. He shifted his body downwards, placing your thighs over his muscular shoulders. You gasped at the feeling of his hot breath on your heat. “You’re so pretty..” Peter praised as he pressed a kiss to your thigh.

“Mmm fuck, Peter please,” you pleaded. Peter placed his hands on your hips and pulled you forward. He leaned in fully now, making you whine. His tongue slowly circled your clit, as his thumbs rubbed soft circles into your hips. Your hips slowly began to move with his motions as your hands made their way to his hair. Grabbing onto his soft curly, you pushed Peter's face into your heat. Your hips moved in a circular motion as you desperately searched for releases. He loved the way you were fucking his tongue. He loved the way you tasted and the way you were moaning his name. He loved the way your thighs trembled, and he was loving the way your body felt as it tensed up as you got closer.

“Peter!” You cried feeling the knot in your stomach finally snap. Your legs trembled and Peter held your body close, helping you ride out your high. You sat up slightly to look at Peter still between your thighs. He placed small kisses on your inner thigh making you let out a soft moan. “Peter,” you said, letting out a soft breath. “Thank you, you made me feel so good.” Peter smiled against your thigh as you bushed the loose curls off his sweaty forehead. “I want to touch you now, please.”

Peter let out a soft moan as he sat up to place a gentle kiss to your lips. “I would love that,” he whispered softly as he pulled away. Your hands slowly made their way down to his sweatpants. You dragged your finger over the thick band before continuing to trail your finger downwards. Grabbing one of the strings, you were able to undo the knot by simply giving it a light tug. Your fingers made their way upwards once again, this time hooking under Peter's waistband. You began slowly removing his pants while also helping him lay back in the process.Peter propped himself up on the pillow that was leaning against the armrest. You sat comfortably on his lap, gently grinding yourself on his clothed dick.

Peter let out a shaky moan, his hands once again finding your hips. You dipped your head into the crook of his neck kissing the exposed skin. Your kisses were sloppy as you trailed them down his chest, scooting your body down the lower you got until finally you were laying between his legs on your stomach. You nipped at the skin of his v-line, while gently palming him through his boxers. “Oh fuck, that feels really fucking good,” Peter groaned, bucking his hips forward. You smiled against his skin, giving one last kiss before sliding down his boxers. You felt mesmerized by the sight of his aching cock. Peter hissed as you gently licked the precum off his red tip. Leaning in again, you sucked lightly on just the tip making Peter let out a throaty moan. “Y/N, don’t tease,” he begged while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You sunk down on his cock slightly further, making sure not to break eye contact as you did so. Peter gasped, placing his hand on the back of your head nudging you down even further. You moaned at the feeling of him pushing your head down onto his cock. Peter's breathing became heavy as he helped guide your head up and down his shaft. “F-fuck, uugg” Peter whined, thrusting into your mouth repeatedly. “Wait..fuck, I’m gonna-” Peter pulled out of your mouth quickly trying to avoid finishing before actually getting to fuck you.

“You alright?” You asked as you pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Peter nodded with a smile, gripping your waist as you hovered over his body. He shifted you over into his arm so he could flip your positions. His body once again hovering over yours. Your legs wrapped around his torso, pulling his hips towards yours. “Peter,” you moaned, feeling his lips leave a trail of hot kisses down your neck and to your collarbone. “Peter please, I need you.” Peter kissed your forehead as he lined himself up and slowly pushed into you, causing you both to let out a string of low moans.

“You alright love?” He asked, staying still to allow you to adjust to the sensation of him being in you.

“Yeah,” you reply shakily, “I just really really want you to fuck me.” Peter is quick to oblige, thrusting into you slowly. His thrust becomes faster as he finds a steady pace, giving a few normal thrust before giving a good deep one. With each deep thrust your body quivers as you cry out Peter's name. Your nails dig into his back as you desperately cling onto him. He uses one of his hands to feel up and down your side, while his mouth leaves dark purple bruises on the side of your neck.

You slowly move one of your hands down his arm and snake it between your bodies to rub your clit as Peter continues to thrust into you. Peter notices your action and is quick to swat your hand away so he can replace it with his own. “Let me touch you love, so you can use that hand to keep touching me,” Peter whispered in your ear. His words made you moan and your knees feel weak. The feeling of his thumb circling your clit made your body feel like it was on fire.

As Peter's hips snapped into you slightly faster you felt the knot building up in your stomach about to break. “Peter I’m so close,” You cooed as a wave of pleasure washed over you. You pushed your tits up into his chest while arching your back. Allowing Peter to go even deeper. “Peter, oh mmm Peter!” You gasped, hands flying around his neck so you could hold him close as you came around his dick.

Peter moaned at the feeling of your orgasm, helping you fuck out the rest of your high.“Ah, Y/N I’m close,” Peter groaned, burying his face in your neck. His hand had moved away from your clit and slid underneath your back so he could lift you into him. Your body flushed against his as Peter thrusted up into you a few more times, finishing in you as he moaned your name.Your body went slack, feeling suddenly heavy at the feeling of Peters dick twitching deep inside you. He laid you down slowly, kissing your cheek, then your temple, and finally your forehead as he rubbed soft circles into your thigh. “I’m going to grab a towel to clean us up,” Peter whispered while planting another kiss on your forehead. You moaned in response, unable to move.

Peter pulled out of you slowly, causing you to moan again at the sudden loss of contact. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” Peter said as he slipped off the couch to grab a damp towel.He returned quickly with a warm damp cloth. He used it to gently clean the cum that was slowly leaking out of you and onto your thighs. He pressed soft kisses to your stomach and thighs as he cleaned you up, making you smile.

You moved your hand up to Peter's head so you could run your fingers through his soft curls as he continued to leave soft kisses all over your legs. “Peter,” you rasped. Peter hummed, placing another kiss on your slightly bent knee. “I love you.”

Peter sat up to look at you, a smile breaking out on his face. “I love you too love,” he said, getting off his knees to lay on top of you so he could kiss your lips over and over again until they were red and swollen.

+++

You woke up late afternoon the next morning to Peters laying on top of you. His head resting just above your bare chest. One of his hands lies to his side while the other holds onto your tit. Your clothes are still a scattered mess on the floor. One of your hands was still tangled in Peter's hair while the other lay on his back. You began rubbing his back, causing him to stir. “Good morning,” Peter yawned, pressing a small kiss to the side of the tit he was holding.

“Good morning to you too,” you hum, kissing Peter's forehead. “I think I may have overstayed my welcome though,” you teased.

Peter cracked a smile shaking his head.“You could never overstay your welcome. In fact, I’ll just tell May you’re going to live here from now on…. Oh FUCK!” Peter sat up suddenly looking at the digital clock near the TV. “May is going to be home any minute.” He exclaimed.

You both quickly pick up your clothes and scramble to get decent, cleaning up the area in the process. Just as you finish getting everything in place you hear May’s keys jiggle outside. You and Peter sit on the couch and pull you a random textbook to Pretend to be studying.

“Hey Peter I’m…oh hey Y/N.” May said, looking at you in surprise as she entered. “I didn’t think you and Peter were studying on Sundays?”

“I just really needed some extra help for the upcoming test,” You replied nodding towards the text book you and Peter had opened. May looked at the two of you hesitantly for a moment then shrugged.

“Alright, well I’m going to go get some rest, good luck studying.” And with that May was off.

+++

It was Monday morning and you and Peter quickly realized May was a lot less scary than the boyfriend you forgot you had. Especially since you hadn’t checked your phone until the night before when you got back from Peter's house. Flash had texted you at least 50 times between three social media apps in less than 48 hours. Part of you had wanted to text him back and break it off then and there but you knew you couldn’t do it over text. You already fucked up big time by cheating on him. Part of you felt like it would be worse to also break up with him over texts. So, you lied and told him you tried a silent phone weekend to try and focus on yourself and your studies and you didn't mean to ignore him like that. That you just needed some time to think about some stuff. You had hoped this would be a great way into a simple, quick, breakup in person.

Of course, you also didn't account for the hickeys that were littered all over your neck. You hadn’t noticed those either until you sat down at your vanity last night after already texting flash. It was mid October and even though you could wear sweaters to school, it wasn’t turtle neck weather yet.

So there you were, sitting in your car Monday morning, your neck caked in makeup. You weren’t overly sure how you planned to do this now, you could still kind of see the hickeys even under all the makeup you had on. Not to mention, you felt sick to your stomach knowing you didn't plan to tell Flash the whole truth. It was time though, so you picked yourself up, and made your way inside.

The atmosphere of the school felt unusually cold when you stepped inside. People stopped to stare at you as you made your way through the halls. An occasional whisper passed amongst the crowds. How could they know though? Peter wouldn’t have told. Your friends didn't know. That’s when you felt all your friends arms around you at once.

“Y/N, we’re so so sorry. We had no idea Flash would do that to you!” Emily wailed. You looked at her beyond confused, what the hell could Flash have possibly done.

“Oh shit, You don’t know do you?” Mia quipped up nervously.

“Sorry I don’t,” You gave an awkward smile as your eyes darted around your rather large group of friends.

“So you haven’t seen the video of Flash making out with the girl at the party last Saturday?” Sarah asked, absolutely mortified.

“Flash….cheated on me?” You asked as a smile began to creep onto your face.

“We’re really really sorry,” Gia said, rubbing your back softly.

“Speaking of Flash…” Kia nodded towards a clearly nervous Flash approaching your group.

“Y/N I am so-” Flash started but you quickly cut him off.

“Don’t apologize. I fucked up too. We both found someone else and that’s fine, let's just forget it and move on, okay?” Your response seemed to stun Flash, him and the rest of your friends.

“What do you mean YOU found someone else?” Flash bit back annoyed.

“Seriously? Flash we both cheated. We’re both horrible people. Honestly it's best we both just move on and forget this ever happened.” There were several gasps from your group as everyone looked around, clearly looking for who your Saturday night fling was.

Flash took a deep breath and straightened his composure. “You know what, that’s fair. But since you know who I got with, who the hell were you with? You weren’t at the party Saturday night. You’ve had to get help at Pen- holy shit. Did you…You cheated on me with Penis fucking Parker? You’ve got to be kidding me. What? Did you hold his hand? Kiss his cheek?”

“Yeah, we were studying. She kissed my cheek, and suddenly I was kissing the inside of her thighs” Peter said with a smirk as he leaned up against the locker.

Flash’s mouth fell open as he looked between you and Peter. “You- you’re telling me you gave my girlfriend head,” Flash’s face was bright red at this point.

“Mhm, on my couch.” Peter shrugged. “In fact, we did a lot of things on my couch.”

“Well, Flash, we gave it a try and it didn't work. Hopefully we can both be a lot happier with our new partners.” You said, offering up a sympathetic smile.

“I can’t believe you picked him over me,” Flash muttered.

“I can.” Peter shrugged.

+++

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anki-of-beleriand · 3 months

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Bad Liar ch. 16

Summary: Life is about lessons, and Wanda has been learning some harsh facts that had define her life and taken her to a place in which she was given a second chance. Then, all of a sudden, she meets you, and she realizes why it's easier to lie to yourself than to accpet what's right in front of her.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/ Female!reader - America/Kate - Mentions of past Vision/Wanda - past Natasha/Reader - Some Female!Reader/Carol Danvers - Mentions of Natasha/Maria being married

Warnings: Slow burn - Enemies to friends to lovers - Mentions of abusive relationships - Toxic relationships - angst - drama - mentions of abuse - violence - mentios of abused and sexual assault - more tags as the story progress.

Author's note: The aftermath of the confrontation with Vision, and the realities Wanda now needs to face.

Guys, we are almost there!!! Two chaptrs to go! Please rmemeber English is not my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes, hope you like this one.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

Chapter 16

New Year’s Eve

There was a constant beeping inside your head.

Your mind broke into several images at first, your ears twitching trying to grasp the source of the beeping noise without any success. At first, it was difficult to get a hold of your consciousness, your mind was a pool of different sections of memory that made you dizzy at first, then it stopped.

A gun.

Screams.

Wanda!

The beeping became a deafening whistle and then it stopped.

Your eyes popped open only for you to close them again with an exclamation of pain leaving your lips. You tried to lift your left arm but it was heavy, numb to any other sensation; thus, trying to protect your eyes from the lights above your head was impossible. You grunted, clenching your eyes close tightly, until a soothing hand placed itself on your right hand.

“Y/N?” America mumbled softly; her voice denoted the tiredness the young woman felt though there were traces of excitement right there. “Y/N?”

“Ugh, just give me a few minutes, I feel like my head is going to explode.” You whispered back making a face while trying to open your eyes once more, this time around slowly and squinting your eyes so as not to bother the retina.

America sighed in relief, her lips drawing a sad smile while she grasped her sister’s hand. The moment she had been brought into the hospital; America feared the worst but was soon calmed down by Tony telling her nothing too life threatening had happened. Just a gunshot on the arm, and a few badly cured wounds and bruises you couldn’t keep up with any longer.

“Wha-What happened? Wanda…Wanda, the kids…America!”

You jerked awake completely almost falling on your side while trying to sit up, America jumped away only to go back to you trying to push you back on the bed. She frowned, shaking her head until her eyes finally found yours, reading in them the desperation you had been experimenting all day.

“I’m here, they are here, we’re fine.” America tried to sound reassuring, pressing you back on the bed, “come on stop struggling, you idiot! You’re hurt and need to take it easy for a moment.”

It wasn’t until then that you noticed the bandages covering your sister’s wrists, she too held some bruises and cuts on her face but otherwise America was unharmed. Your eyes went big, this time around you lifted your good arm cupping your sister’s face.

“Kiddo, are you alright? God, I’m so sorry…”

America swallowed down her emotions nodding curtly, “I’m…I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“Your wrists…”

“I-I cut myself trying to get away from the ropes.” She explained looking at the bandages, “I couldn’t and perhaps if I had done so…”

“You would be dead.” You replied wrapping your right arm around your sister putting her to you. “I’m sorry, I put you in danger kiddo, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry.”

America slumped down holding onto you with tears forming in her eyes, her arms sneaking under your body until she was hugging you tightly. You felt your own tears prickling in your eyes, holding onto the only family you had left.

“I was so scared.” She whispered between sobs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry that…that she didn’t tell you everything.”

You blinked slowly while pushing America away for a moment, you tilted your head trying to sit down. America soon was by your side lifting the bed and helping your position on the bed, she was still crying softly but relief was quite evident in her features.

“What do you mean everything? Who was supposed to tell me everything?” You dragged the words tilting your head, America tensed with her brows knitting together.

“Wanda.” She spat out shaking her head, “Me and the others found out she had been living with that asshole for a time now, I confronted her when things with you were getting serious, she told me she would speak with you but…”

“Wait, you knew about Wanda’s husband? You dug into her past without consulting me?” You snorted, shaking your head, “she told me about Vision. She told me…”

“That he almost killed her and the twins several times? That the last time she was put into the hospital she decided that was enough because the man burned a knife on Tommy’s back while she was out?” America exclaimed with her voice getting louder and louder with every word.

“That the man had a restrained order? That…that, I almost lost you?” America was shaking by now, it was as if she had been containing herself until that point and seeing you like this, all hurt and weak finally broke the resistance inside her.

“It is her fault! It’s all Wanda’s fault!”

You winced trying to incorporate, almost falling on your knees you grabbed America and pulled her towards you hugging her as tight as you could. A part of you understood where this was coming from, America had never seen your parents’ bodies the way you had to, she had only gone to the funeral so she was never there to see their broken bodies still, the trauma lingers and the fear that was trying to consume America was something you had already experienced. You were her only family, if she lost you then what would be of her?

She hugged you back sobbing silently against your chest, your body protested at the stress you were putting it into but you didn’t care. You waited until America seemed to calm down, your voice finally reaching out to her more logical part instead of her emotional one.

“It’s okay to be angry, Kiddo, it’s okay…” You whispered with your hand drawing soothing circles on her back, “but it’s not Wanda’s fault, or yours, or mine…Kiddo, what others do, what others decide to do is not our fault…This is the fault of a man that wanted to be evil, Wanda was just a victim, like you, like me…but we cannot blame ourselves when he is the one that should be carrying with this.”

America took a breath holding back her rage and her fear, she didn't agree nor she denied your words, instead she stepped back giving you a quick check up. You were wearing a hospital gown, your left arm had been put on a sling holding your arm tightly against your chest. Your face was covered in bruises, with your hair badly combed with a paleness that came with the concussion and the tiredness you felt the day before.

“You were lucky,” America stated pointing to your arm, “the crazy woman, she went mad shooting like crazy she just hit your arm, the…they have to shoot her down.”

You gulped nodding curtly while glancing at your arm, you didn't remember much after the initial shooting. But you remembered the burning pain, the numbness going on your left side and then just giving into darkness.

“What about…?” You didn't finish the question, America shook her head.

“He was arrested, not before he almost killed Wanda with his bare hands.”

America had heard enough from Tony and that one eyed man, she had been taking care of the twins when this was mentioned and of course she had seen Wanda come into the emergency room right after you. Everything had been so confusing she could barely remember anymore, or at least tried to pinpoint where to go whenever she felt lost. Kate had been released early in the day and while she offered to stay, America knew Kate’s mother would want to be with her.

You sat down on the bed again, your knees trembling under the weight of your body. You winced finally feeling the effects of the medication wear off.

“How is Wanda?” You asked tentatively, America tensed up nodding to the door.

“She is at the other end of the hall, with Billy and Tommy.” Then after a moment of hesitation, “Hope is with them.”

“Have you talked to Hope already?” You inquired lifting a brow at your sister, the young woman shrugged looking away from you. “America…”

“I'm just happy you are okay.” America let herself drop right beside you, you smiled wrapping your good arm around her.

“I'm happy you and the others are okay.”

America sighed, closing her eyes, “do you want something? I need to tell the doctor and the nurse you are okay.”

“It's Vodka an option?” You teased, America snorted, shaking her head.

“I can try.”

“Please do, and while you're at it try to record their reaction.”

America chuckled, pushing you playfully while standing up.

“If you're cracking bad jokes already, that means we will be home on time for the New Year celebrations.”

You frowned, cocking your head while speaking again.

“What do you mean? What day is today?”

This time around America was the one frowning, “It's New Year's Eve, more exactly we are eight hours away from the new year.”

“Woah, so I was unconscious what? Twelve hours?”

“More or less, yes.”

“I was lucky.” You stated absentmindedly, America glanced at you for a long time before nodding.

“We were lucky.” America didn’t say much after that, you furrowed your brows trying to actually feel the strength coming back to your body.

“Even if I’m not release today, we should celebrate New Year today,” you dared to glance at America who pursed her lips nodding curtly, “I mean, we shouldn’t stop celebrating the good things in life, and well…”

America let out a heavy sigh, she passed around the room stopping right in front of you. Her hands placed carefully on your shoulders and for the very first time you saw your stepmother in her, the same determination behind her brown eyes and her serious features.

“I have never felt so afraid before, Y/N, and while I was there trying to get away I was…I was feeling powerless to help the twins, to help Kate, to help Wanda.” America trailed off never breaking her eyes contact with you, she swallowed down her tears opening her mouth with a quivering lip.

“I thought what you would do, and when I heard him said he had killed you,” America snorted, “I was ready to do something foolish, yet I felt so defeated.”

“America…” You started but she then broke into a half smile, shrugging while squeezing your shoulders comfortingly.

“Then I heard you were okay, that you were trying to get me and the twins out of it and I knew.” America rolled her eyes punching you lightly on your good shoulder.

“What did you knew know?” You asked when America didn’t elaborate, the young woman lifted her chin stepping back nearing the door.

“That you are in love with Wanda, that you love those kids as if they were your own, and that you would never let anything bad happen to me or them, even if you have to sacrifice yourself.”

You broke into the same smile, shaking your head you offered a sheepish stare to America.

“What can I say? It is the foolish in me, perhaps in another life I was a hero.”

“Perhaps, you doofus, I think…it would take time, but I understand.” She mumbled with her eyes shining lightly.

“I know, kiddo, I know.” You called to her and she stopped right before closing the door, “I think more now than ever they will need a big sister, you know?”

America snorted shaking her head, “it’s good then that I learnt how to be a good big sister from the best.”

And with that, America left you alone while she went to look for the doctors. You kept your eyes on the white door for a long time, your mind numb giving into the growing pain on your left side. You didn’t dare to let your thoughts wander towards Wanda or the twins for fear of just jumping to your feet and running to her room. Whatever had happened, whatever stated she was in the last thing you wanted to do was to overwhelm her or scared her away. You could still remember the fear in her eyes, the sudden changed in her whole demeanour while she gave into a state of numbness that broke your heart.

You took a deep breath, looking around you found America’s mobile and after a moment of hesitation you grabbed the gadget watching the time and the day. With a trembling thumb, you decided that you wouldn’t let this to change things with Wanda or America or even Billy and Tommy.

A plan already forming on your mind.

__________________

It took fifteen minutes for everyone to come rushing into your room as soon as the news of you waking up reached them up.

As you expected it, Christine and Strange were the first to come rushing into your room ready to check over your wounds and bandages. Your chest exploded into a wave of warm affection when they started fuzzing around you making you go back to the bed to make a full check-up while asking questions about your physical health.

Soon Hope came in as well with Tony, Reed and Sue who had made sure to be there as well. This time around the questions changed into a more deep, emotional speech to find your emotional state, with everyone being careful of mentioning Wanda or her children. When it became too much, and your anguish grew without everyone taking noticed of this, Christine and Pepper came right in hushing everyone out of your room with only America, Christine, Hope and Pepper staying behind.

You closed your eyes slowly, wincing when the shifting on the bed made you pressed your weight on your left side.

“Easy there, Y/N, it would take some time to get use to it but the pain won’t last that long.” Christine spoke soothingly, she offered a shaky smile at you while helping you get comfortable. “You were really lucky she was bad with guns, and her aim.”

You gave a crooked smile, “I was lucky indeed.”

Hope glanced at America then at you, the exchanged didn’t go amiss by you and soon your eyes were on your best friend.

“How is Wanda?” Finally, after almost two hours of avoiding the topic you brought the white elephant into the room.

Hope sighed stepping closer to you, “she is not okay, this really shake whatever progress we made in the past and has been affecting her greatly. She feels guilty, she feels as if she doesn’t deserve you.”

“She actually thinks you hate her.” America chimed in playing with her lower lip, “and I may have led her to believe she was right.”

You glared at your sister but said nothing, it was okay. It was only natural. The situation had been less than ideal, and everyone reacted differently to these situations, you couldn’t blame America more so than you could blame Wanda or yourself. Hope grabbed your right hand squeezing comfortingly.

“She will need a lot of support, Y/N, if you…” Hope took a deep breath, “if you are serious about her, about a relationship with her then I suggested you start working on convincing her that she deserves to be happy. And that you don’t hate her.”

You looked away finding Christine’s eyes on yours, the young woman smiled gently at you already knowing the answer. You nodded turning to America then to Hope.

“I am very serious, Hope. I wouldn’t have done what I did with just anyone.” You stated serious grabbing your best friend tightly, “I fell in love with Wanda because of who she is, I don’t know if she feels the same or if she even is ready for this but I won’t give up.”

“I know, Y/N. It will take time but…well, I cannot say she feels the same, I can say though that she really feels strongly about you.” Hope shrugged stepping back, “so, who knows?”

“Right.” You sighed turning to the door then back to Hope and Christine, “I need a favour.”

“What is it?” You offered a half smiled wiggling your brows and soon America knew you had planned something incredible reckless and crazy.

Christine and Pepper exchanged a glance pretty familiar with the mischievous glint of your stare ready to see where this favour of you lead them.

____________________________

You were ready to go out of your room, you were tired already of staying in bed more so if there was no need for you to stay overnight.

“You really should try to follow Christine’s advice,” America mumbled helping you inside your pants while shaking her head, you almost fall flat on your ass if America hadn’t hold onto you.

“Ugh, please I’m okay, just bruised and in pain but at least I can get dress, and besides I want to see Wanda and I wasn’t about to flash my but to everyone in this wing.” You glared at the hospital gown before turning to your sister.

America winced making a face at the mention of your butt.

“Yes, I agreed, we don’t need that anymore than we need to.”

You chuckled sitting down on the bed while watching as America went to grab your sneakers and put them on you. Just as she was finishing up the last of them the door to your room opened without any warning, you were about to scold at whoever had come in unannounced when you found yourself staring at Nick Fury and Peggy Carter.

Both agents came into your room, closing the door behind them. Peggy stepped closer her eyes checking you up before the fell on America. The older woman offered a warm smile stretching her hand to your sister.

“You must be Ms. Chavez, I’m Agent Peggy Carter.” America took her hand lifting a brow at her.

“A pleasure.”

“So, agent Carter, Agent Fury, what can I do for you?” You asked right away with your eyes going from Peggy to Fury.

“We came here to inquire about your injuries and your general state,” Peggy started taking a seat on the closest chair, “and then, if you were agreeable to the idea, we are also here to take your testimony.”

“As you can imagine, the case against Jarvis is going to take high priority since he broke into a private airport handle by National Security so, now only is he under some federal charges, he is also being investigate for terrorism and treason.”

You snorted shaking your head, not really understanding how all those charges came to be but happy to know the man would have it really difficult to go out of the trouble he got into. America stood right there glancing at you then at the agents, she bounced on her feet before nodding curtly to herself grabbing her phone and moving to the door.

“In that case, I’m out of here and directly to help Christine and the others with your…surprised.”

“Go on, Kiddo, I’ll be in Wanda’s room if you need anything.”

Peggy watched as America left before settling her eyes on you, Fury took a seat on the sofa and soon both agents had their attention on you.

“Well, where should I start?” You finally asked, Peggy put her phone on the table the recording app on.

“You can start from the beginning, when did you meet Wanda and how you became involve with her, and Jarvis.”

You raised a single eyebrow before nodding, for a moment you kept silent contemplating how much had happened in the last six months of your life. With a deep breath, you started telling them the first day you met Wanda, the different encounters, and the conversations you held with her. It was not relevant, but soon just to humour yourself you started talking about your changing feelings, how you started seeing the other woman and the shaky friendship that blossom one day when you first got to see the scars of the abuse in the boys.

The story then went directly to the confrontation you had with him the day before. His words inviting you over to see something he had been working on, then the surprised attack and you fighting back up until the moment they showed up and cooked up the plan that almost cost you your life and Wanda’s life as well. Peggy shifted uncomfortable, her eyes glancing fast to Nick then back at you.

“Now, I want to know what happen to him,” you asked glancing at both agents, “You promised me nothing bad would happen and I got shot and Wanda was almost killed by the man.”

The reproach was quite evident in your voice, Peggy glanced at Fury then back at you, she leaned forward placing her elbows on her knees making sure you could not look away from her.

“He was already on top of Wanda by the time Agatha shoot you,” Peggy shifted as she recounted what happened while you were unconscious on the ground, “we were supposed to arrest him right there and then, but we never expected him to get to Wanda and tried to strangle her before we could pull him away from her.”

“He knew he had been caught, so his last act before going to jail was to make sure he would kill his wife.” Fury continued shrugging, “he was just a fucking coward.”

Peggy glared at Fury but the man didn’t even flinch, you scowled shaking your head.

“What is a dead woman if he is the sole survivor and the only guardian to his children?” You snorted, shaking your head, “he knew you needed him alive if you were to keep building a case against the criminal organisation he had been stealing from.”

Peggy nodded curtly, not even bothering in denying your words. clenching your jaw, you sit up trying to get out of the bed, Fury stepped forward helping you out of the bed while holding you up.

“I will make sure that man doesn't see the light of another day, Agent Carter, he tried to kill me and my family.”

“I know.” She replied softening slightly, “I'm sorry you have to go through that, you and Wanda…”

“Whatever information he is offering you, I can double it. You have my resources at your full disposal as long as there is written guarantee he won't have the kids custody; his name will be erased from their records.”

Fury lifted a single eyebrow quite impressively while Peggy tried to hold back her expression into a neutral facade. You shrugged pointing a finger to the door.

“I don't know if the movies are real or not, but if the government can make it happen I want that man like the iron mask prisoner from Dumas’ book.”

This time around Peggy cracked a smile nodding curtly, “I shouldn't tell you this but, he wouldn't be our first iron mask prisoner.”

You opened your eyes before squinting them with a hint of suspicion there.

“I can't promise you he would be put away in such a secure place, but I can promise you the other part of your request. He won't have any claim on the children or his ex-wife or his freedom.”

“Good, now I think I'm going to see my girlfriend. If you excuse me, you gave me the perfect chance to run from this place.”

Fury and Peggy watched you leave the office, Peggy waited until she heard your footsteps far along the hall.

“So, tell me why we never recruit her?”

“Her father threatened to skin you and Steve alive if you ever tried it.”

“Right, like father, like daughter.”

_________________

The energy you had spent re-telling your story for the last six months was soon building up again. Your hand hover above the doorknob of Wanda’s room, with you standing right outside waiting for courage and the right words to find a way into your mouth.

You played the words of Hope inside your head, and you went over what America and everyone else had told you so far about Wanda’s real physical and emotional state. You needed to play this right so as to ensure Wanda would not run from you; you lifted your face ready to go in when a couple of questions creep into your mind, what if Wanda really didn’t want anything with you? What if things really change?

The white door was suddenly heavier, bigger and it stood before you as a silent guardian of what was at the other end. You remembered your sister's anger, the fragility of life as your left arm pulsated with the ghost of a bullet piercing your skin and muscle.

Wanda.

Everything you did up to that point had been for her, right? Then, why were you hesitating?

With more courage that you felt, you grabbed the doorknob and pushed through.

The room had the light of the TV projecting colours of a children’s program on the wall, there was only a single lamp projecting a different light resting on the bedside table. You stepped into the room closing the door behind you and effectively calling the attention of the little lumps resting on the sofa. Billy and Tommy both turned to the door, their eyes growing wide while they expression changed from one of boredom and tiredness to one of happiness.

It caught you by surprised to see as the both of them came rushing to you meeting you halfway and wrapping their arms around you. You winced when Billy got to you first, he crushed into your left side while Tommy grabbed your right side.

“Hey guys,” you greeted them softly, wrapping your good arm around Tommy while later on ruffling Billy’s hair, “it’s good to know you guys are okay.”

“Mommy said…” Billy trailed off stepping away from you, frowning he then pointed to the sling, “she said dad hurt you.”

Tommy pressed his lips together looking down in shame, “we’re sorry.”

You opened your eyes kneeling while putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“There is nothing to be sorry about, Tommy.” You replied looking at the boy before turning your eyes to his brother, “never felt sorry for what other’s do, guys. He hurt me, but it was not your fault.”

Billy clenched his jaw close stepping closer to you, “he hurt mommy too, and Tommy.”

Tommy trembled feeling the tears in his eyes, you softened your features cupping his face while offering a smile to Tommy.

“I’m sorry he hurt you, Tommy, but he won’t be able to do so anymore, I promise.” Tommy then stepped towards you hugging you tightly hiding his face on your neck.

You wrapped your good arm around him drawing soothing circles on his back, you could see Billy hesitating though this time around he was looking at you with a glint of hope in his eyes.

“Are you…mad? Mommy said you saved her but…she was crying.” Billy furrowed his brows glancing at the bed where his mother was resting then back at you, “I don’t want mommy crying anymore.”

Your heart melted right away, these boys had been in constant fear yet always ready to defend and protect their mother. You shook your head nodding to Billy to come closer to you.

“I’m not mad, Billy. I was worried sick about you guys, and Wanda, I love you guys.” You said without a hint of hesitation, “and I’m sorry I was not there to make sure nothing bad happen to you, or Tommy or Wanda. But I promise you, this won’t happen again. And he…he won’t be able to hurt you again.”

“You promise?” Billy said lifting his right hand, putting his little finger out, “you pinkie swear it?”

You held back your smile, you let go of Tommy for a moment taking Billy’s finger with yours.

“I swear it, Billy.”

And you meant it.

You would do anything that was in your power to protect this family from any harm, they didn’t deserve to keep on suffering the way they had done in the past and if you could offer them something different you would do so.

Billy nodded curtly before he too came into your arms hugging your tightly, you closed your eyes for a moment enjoying the embrace these two kids were sharing with you. You smiled when they let go of you and put their fingers on their lips turning to the bed where Wanda was still sleeping.

It wasn’t until that moment that you noticed the state she was in.

If at any point you doubt your love for Wanda, and what the future held for the both of you it soon crumbled under the weight of your emotions and your beating heart. Your eyes softened at the sight of Wanda sleeping on a hospital bed, there was nothing relaxed on her expression and the way she seemed to be clenching her jaw and fist told you she was probably having a bad dream.

“Dad hurt mommy.” Billy mumbled looking up at you, “can you make her feel better?”

“I will try, kiddo, why don’t you and Tommy go back to the sofa, okay?” The twins glanced at one another then back at you and then at their mother before nodding and running back to the sofa.

You stood by Wanda’s bed taking in the bruises on her face and the bandages covering parts of her body. You were trembling by now, your hand lifting to touch at the bandages covering her neck. The man had tried to make s much damage as he could, and Wanda was now paying a price she shouldn’t be paying. You made a silent promise to the skies to never let anyone or anything hurt her the way Vision had done so.

With a softness that surprised you, you grabbed her hand in yours, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand while leaning in to place a single kiss on her forehead.

Wanda stirred with her eyes popping opened all of a sudden, you could see the flash of panic in those green orbs and the tension of her body pushing her to almost sit up and put herself in unnecessary risk.

“Hey, wait, it's me, Wands.” You tried to soothe her, this time around you placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, tilting your head. You tried to offer a shaky smile but Wanda just shook her head trying to get away from your touch leaving out exclamations of pain from her lips.

“Hey, Wands, wait…” You tried to calm her down, with the twins standing up coming to the bed while looking at you and then at Wanda.

“Y/N? Mommy?” Billy asked tentatively, hearing her son was enough to make Wanda returned her attention to them then back to you.

“Hey, love it’s okay.” You furrowed your brows, while Billy and Tommy were not understanding such a reaction for you was crystal clear what it meant.

The words from Hope came back, and now you understood what they really meant. The fear she was flashing on those green eyes were the silent symbol of the fear she was feeling of getting closer to you once more, of perhaps living the rejection coming from you and experimenting the hate she thought you had for her.

Wanda never lost the tension on her muscles, she tried to ignore you while turning to her children that were looking at her wide eyed.

“I’m okay.” She tried to speak but her voice came hoarse with dried undertones and broken words.

Billy frowned grabbing Tommy by the hand then turning to you and Wanda.

“Y/N is here, mommy. You can sleep again; she pinkie promise dad won’t hurt you. Ever again.”

While Billy offered a tentative smile to his mom you could see the widening of her eyes, and the tension coming back to her. You grabbed her hand, trying to be as careful as you could while making sure she returned her attention to you. Wanda pressed into the bed keeping her face hidden from you while keeping her hand limp.

“Wanda, look at me, please.” You spoke clearly, without demanding but asking as a favour.

After what seemed like an eternity the young woman turned to you and the tears were filling up her eyes.

“You want some water?” You asked lifting your good hand to brush some locks of hair away from her face, “I notice your voice was hoarse and…well, I know why but perhaps cold water can help some with the swelling.”

Wanda felt her lower lip shivered, she was trembling waiting for you to start screaming at her, for the words of finality to leave your mouth. But you never changed your posture, or the softness behind your expression, or even the tender caresses from your hand. You locked your eyes to hers lifting an eyebrow at her.

“Well? You want water or, I can also offer you some Vodka, but that will cost you a kiss at least.”

You chuckled when Tommy and Billy made gaging sounds before erupting in giggles and going back to the sofa. Wanda frowned opening her mouth ready to speak, but with her breath caught in her throat when you placed a single finger on her lips.

“Don’t, Princess, try to not put any unnecessary stress on your voice. Let me bring you the water, and then…” you trailed off leaning, “then we will talk.”

Wanda trembled nodding slightly, you winked at her and then asked the boys if they wanted something to drink asking them to come with you while leaving the room for a moment.

Wanda was soon left alone with her thoughts, she thought the first time she would see you again after the whole ordeal she would be far away, perhaps ready and strong to face your hatred and the finality of whatever relationship you two had built in the last couple of weeks. She had been waiting for you to hate her, to perhaps blame her for what had happened the way America had done so hours ago.

She never expected you to behave the way you were doing, or for you to offer her the smile she loved so much. Or for you to just be you. She held back her tears, her heart beating heart against her chest while she tried to quiet down any whispers of hope that had been trying to grow inside her head and heart, she couldn’t allow herself to hope only for you to perhaps coming back with a breakup and hurtful words against her. Her heart wouldn’t take it.

Ten minutes later you came back alone, your lips curled into a sheepish smile while lifting a glass of water with a straw.

“America and her friends were down in the cafeteria, and Balder was there and the twins wanted to talk to him, I hope you don’t mind.” You stepped closer to Wanda helping her up before offering the straw. “Here, drink some water.”

The woman hesitated before drinking form the straw, her face broke into a mask of pure relief while wincing lightly feeling her throat pulsated with the water flowing inside her. She then opened her eyes, looking directly into yours.

“Thank you.” Wanda whispered looking away for a moment, getting ready with the huge speech she had prepared in your absence, her mouth opened but whatever she had prepared came crushing down and the only thing she could say was a shaky, “I’m sorry.”

“Wanda…” You started but the other woman put a hand on yours gripping your tightly, her green eyes big and desperate.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…I…It wasn’t my intention, I’m sorry, please don’t hate me…”

You could hear and see the effort she was making into talking, her voice was trembling just above a hoarse whisper. You waited until it was impossible for her to continue and then, you leaned in to kiss her forehead tenderly.

“There is nothing to be sorry about, Love.” You whispered for her only, breaking into a tender smile while letting her see the love you felt for her.

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks her lips trembling. You brushed your hand against her cheek, wiping away the tears while brushing her hair.

“I have never had so much fear in my life that the fear I felt knowing I couldn’t stop him on time and you and the twins and my sister were in danger.” You said softly, furrowing your brows while looking at Wanda.

“I was so afraid that something was to happen to you and them, when I finally got him to leave the kids and America behind my next concern was to make sure you were okay.” This time around you let your fingertips trace a line to the bandages around her neck.

“I’m sorry he hurt you, Wands.”

“Why?” She finally asked, and that single question held everything she wanted to tell you.

Why were you still there with her? Why did you keep coming for her? Why?

You opened your eyes blinking away a couple of times, “I thought it was obvious.”

Wanda furrowed her brows shaking her head, you softened leaning in making sure she was looking deeply into your eyes.

“Because I’m in love with you, Wanda, and from the moment I met you I realized I want nothing more than to make you and the boys happy.” You shrugged offering a tender smile, “I thought it was that obvious, but let me correct that, from now on I will show you every day how much I love you, and I will tell you so, to make sure you know without a glimpse of a doubt.”

Wanda felt her lip quivered, she wanted to say so many things. She wanted to ask for your forgiveness because if she had told you the full story of Vision nothing would have happened. She wanted to tell you that she would understand if you wanted to end whatever it was the both of you have, she had put you and your sister in danger and she would understand. She would understand if you hated her, if you wanted to leave.

And then, you came over to crash all of these thoughts by confessing the most wonderful thing to her. She felt her heart stopped for a moment, and soon she opened her mouth wanting to tell you the same, that she had been in love with you from quite some time. She locked her eyes with yours, her mouth opened ready to say those words…

I love you.

She gripped your hand tightly, and your heart broke at the fragility you found there. Your own tears welling up your eyes, offering a comforting smile when you hold her hand.

“I know.” You said to her silent confession.

She lowered her gaze, gasping when you brushed your lips against hers.

“Wanda, I know life has not been easy or kind to you, but I want you to know that I will be here for you, for Billy and for Tommy.” You all but whispered to her, “whenever you are ready, I still be here, and I won’t leave unless you tell me to. So, you better be ready because, If you want to, I’ll be by your side until we are old and living in an Italian coast watching our grandchildren grow.”

Wanda offered a shaky smile clenching her eyes closed thinking she really didn't deserve you. Or happiness. When she opened her eyes again, you were still there smiling softly at her, and Wanda had to ask herself if she was ready to be with you in such a way. To finally step forward and give herself to you. You whispered sweet, comforting words to her, trying to ease out the sobs leaving Wanda’s lips until the young woman finally fell into an easy sleep.

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

Wanda was not sure when she fell asleep, her body stirred painfully under the weight of recovery and sleepiness. She could hear the muffled conversation happening in her room, and the excited chatter coming from her children but her eyes refused to open, only giving her the comfort of the sounds of conversation.

She let the voices soothe her worries, her heart shrank deeply hearing the snickered from her son's and the conviction behind your voice. She loved the tenderness in which America chided them but also the way she conspired with the twins. Wanda didn't know when she let the smile showed on her face, but the moment she opened her eyes your hand was comfortingly wrapped around hers.

“Hey, sleepy head, are you ready?” Your question caught Wanda by surprise, she furrowed her brows opening her mouth only to close it again.

You chuckled turning to the bedside table lifting the glass of water with straw that was left there by a nurse. You offered the straw to Wanda and, after some hesitation, she drank some of it trying to clear her throat while locking her eyes with yours.

“Ready for what?” She finally said in a raspy, guttural voice wincing at the effort.

“For New Year’s celebration, of course!”

It wasn't until then that the young woman noticed the change in your clothing. You were wearing a loose shirt, your left arm still wrapped around the sling, your legs covered by a nice black jean and some Vans. Your hair out up in a ponytail, freshly washed and ready for an afternoon stroll apparently. She turned to see the twins were both wearing black and khaki jeans with matching jackets and light blue shirts. America wore a beautiful dress and everyone was just ready to go out, Wanda tried to sit up with her eyes slightly open glancing around her room with her heart beating fast and a tingling down her abdomen.

“I brought you a dress that Billy and Tommy select, and a nice coat because, baby is cold outside.”

You chuckled winking at America who rolled her eyes making gagging sounds while Wanda returned your smile blushing lightly.

“I would offer to help you get dressed, but you know…” you pointed to your arm sheepishly, “Nat is coming over and we will wait upstairs, don't take too long, Wands.”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but soon enough her words tangled on her throat when you leaned in, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Just go with the flow, love.” You winked walking backwards before hurrying everyone out of the room.

The room soon felt empty, with just a tad of cold breeze making Wanda shivered. She sat on the bed for a moment until the door of her room opened and there was Natasha with a huge smile.

“I hope you're ready because Y/N really outdo herself this time around.”

Wanda was not sure what to say, the tears were back and her heart was just trembling under the raw affection trying to overwhelm her. Soon her eyes fell upon the dress, Wanda narrowed her eyes trying to calm herself down while letting the older woman assist her still confused as to what exactly was happening and not obtaining any direct answers from the redhead.

“Nu-uh, you will have to wait, Wanda, and you won't regret it.”

Half an hour later Wanda and Natasha were making their way to the elevator of the Hospital, not many people were left in the halls. Midnight was almost there, and many were either in their rooms, on their homes, or on the rooftop. You waited patiently by the elevator, your eyes growing big when you took in the appearance of Wanda who was holding Natasha tightly.

“You look beautiful,” you stepped closer offering your arm to her, Wanda hesitated before taking yours her cheeks burning brightly while her eyes lowering shyly.

“You look good, too.” She replied softly, you chuckled winking at Wanda.

“I want you to have the best New Year’s celebration ever, we were supposed to go to Stepehen and Christine’s party but…since we can, I brought the party to you.”

You explained while standing in front you Wanda, the young woman furrowed her brows turning to the open door of the elevator then back at you. For Wanda you were a box filled with surprises, one after the other, you had always shocked her in ways she never thought possible. She gulped wincing when her spit went down her sore throat, closing her eyes she then lifted her hand to cup the side of your face stepping closer to you.

“I wish I could show you the same, our date was cut short last time,” she shook her head stopping any reply from you, you clamped your mouth shut letting her finish, “I’m sorry about everything, I still think I don’t deserve you…but I will make sure to be worthy of your love, of your company.”

Your heart leaped forward, and your eyes fluttered close when Wanda leaned in kissing you tentatively on the lips. It took you a moment, and soon the both of you were sharing the softest kiss you had ever experienced in your life. By the time the both of you parted, you two were equally flustered, smiling at the other with the same affection growing in your eyes.

“Well, then let’s go.” You said holding onto Wanda and leading her to the elevator where a very amused Natasha had waited all along.

When the doors of the elevator opened in front of you, you smiled hearing the gasp coming from Wanda. The young woman stepped forward glancing around the place while admiring the decorations and the people filling out the place. The night was completely dark, with a cold breeze traveling around the celebrations goers that were wearing heavy coats and drinking warm beverages.

The place had been decorated with lights and torches, tables were set up and many patients with their families and friends were sharing light conversation and food, doctors, nurses and staff members had also been invited and all of them had also chosen different tables to enjoy the music and the tension just before the clock hit midnight.

Wanda turned to you, and you could only smile at her shrugging.

“I thought we need to start the new year with a huge celebration, not on a hospital bed.” You said simply earning yourself a tight hug before she grabbed your hand dragging you down the different tables to the furthest part of the rooftop.

The lights of the city twinkling down the streets, and the music was sometimes interrupted by the host of the radio station someone had put on. Wanda approached the group and soon she found many familiar faces she had met before, she stopped dead on her tracks with you wrapping your arms around her midsection while putting your lips on her ear.

“I told you I call everyone.” You whispered making her shivered under the caress of your voice.

Wanda soon spotted her children talking with Balder and Morgan, while America was standing with her friends laughing and drinking alcohol free cocktails. At the other end was Hope with Reed and Sue, and nearby was Tony, Thor, Sif, Pepper, Stephen and Christine all sharing a good meal. There were to spots free right beside Christine, facing Eleanor Bishop that was trying very hard to not glare at you.

“Thank you.” She whispered at you, you winked at her pointing to the table.

“Let’s go to eat.”

“Here they are!” Tony stood up calling everyone’s attention, he lifted a hand then pointing at you and Wanda just as you two took your seats, “please everyone, let’s give it up for these two women that had shown us that the power of love can do everything and anything!”

You rolled your eyes with your lips drawing a smile, while Wanda dipped her face trying to covered the blush on her cheeks. Soon conversation resumed, and Wand found herself the subject of Christine’s fuzzing.

“Now, I know this may be difficult at first, but nothing spicy, or acid or anything like that, I chose your food for today, and only cold drinks. Well, lukewarm so as to not to hurt yourself.”

You chuckled grabbing your fork with your good hand watching as Wanda gaped at Christine who was like a mother hen trying to tell the young woman what was good for her sore throat. The table was buzzing with light conversation, the food was soon finished and the dessert along with the flutes of champagne were brought over. All around the rooftop people were getting ready to receive the new year, people glancing at their watches while others were just calling their loved ones.

“Are you guys ready?” America came from behind the both of you, you turned around seeing as America rested her stare on Wanda.

Wanda shifted nervously nodding while offering a tentative smile to the young woman. For a moment you waited, you knew America had been mad, she had told you as much as well as the heavy discussion she had with the redhead. But after you spoke with your sister, you thought whatever disagreement she had with Wanda had been cleared out.

“Wanda, I just…” America started, you could see as Wanda tensed clenching her fist while leaning back with her eyes lowering to the ground, “I’m sorry for all the things I said to you. It was not your fault, I just… Y/N is my family, and I almost lost her, I…”

Wanda shook her head placing a hand on top of America’s, her eyes going wide opened gleaming in disbelief.

“No, I’m sorry.” Wanda replied hoarsely, she put a hand on her throat standing up. “I’m sorry, I put you and Y/N in danger, I…”

America did something you never thought possible, she stepped closer wrapping her arms around the woman holding her tightly.

“Stop talking, you fool, you’re going to hurt yourself even more.” She said tenderly, “don’t apologise, I’m sorry for the way I treat you, it was not fair.”

America looked out of the corner of her eyes to see your smile there, she returned the smile before stepping back grabbing Wanda’s hand in hers before grabbing yours and joining them with hers wrapping around your joined hands with Wanda.

“I know there is no one better to be with my sister than you, just don’t hurt her.”

“I won’t.” Wanda whispered looking at you, you stood up intertwining your fingers with hers.

“I won’t either.”

“Good, now get ready is about to be midnight.”

Wanda turned to you, everyone was getting ready around you. You could see the hesitation in her eyes, with a nod of your head you locked your eyes with hers offering a comforting smile.

“It is going to be okay.”

“I don’t deserve her forgiveness.” Wanda replied, she closed her eyes allowing the comforting squeeze from your hand to warm up her heart.

“Whatever happens, Wands, I want to be right there with you. I want to live with you, to grow old with you…to love you, if you let me.” You said softly, “you deserve forgiveness, and you deserve happiness, Love.”

“I'm scared.” Wanda confessed while unable to tell you the reason behind her fear.

She didn't need to tell you, though. You knew, you could imagine the guilt and the fear she held inside her mind for everything that happened, for the things that came in between. You placed a soft kiss on her hair, putting her closer to you.

“Me too.” You replied, chuckling lightly, “but I prefer to be scared and have you by my side than miss the chance to be with you.”

“You're so sappy.” she leaned back offering a teasing smile you returned with a wink.

“Only for you, Princess.”

Wanda relaxed in your embrace, everyone started standing up checking their watches and grabbing the flutes of champagne.

“Okay everyone, it's about time!”

The music stopped and soon it was replaced for the local radio station in which the announcers were ready as everyone else to start the countdown to the new year.

The rooftop vibrated with excitement, families and friends came together, everyone talking and exchanging their new year's resolutions.

Wanda stepped back welcoming her children in her arms, and America stood right beside you with Kate hugging her from behind. Your eyes soon found those of Wanda and the man in the radio start counting.

“10, 9, 8…”

You chuckled when the twins jumped excitedly, Billy dragging his mom closer to you while also grabbing his brother.

Kate watched the scene with a softening stare kissing America on her cheek.

“You guys look like a happy family.”

“...3, 2, 1 Happy New Year America!!”

The fireworks broke into the sky, everyone gasped and celebrated while Wanda leaned in tilting her head and kissing you openly in front of everyone. Wanda never imagined her year would end in such a way, when she ran away from Vision’s grasp she did so with one thing in mind: To survive.

Now, standing on the rooftop of a hospital with a woman kissing her slowly, tentatively, she realized that love was possible, that being loved was something she also deserved, and that loving someone might not be as bad as she was led to believe. Just as you stepped back with a huge grin adorning your face, Wanda knew.

You two would be forever.

_______________________________________

Next Chapter: Wanda and Reader need to have that date, only family fluff and a bright future ahead of them. With some decisions to be taken, and Wanda finally giving in.

#fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #reader

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