#i was working on a sacred bond today

[xreaderbooks]

Asphyxiated | Azriel

Summary: you overhear your mate talking to the inner circle about someone being clingy and annoying, and you decide to remove yourself from the court and your mate to avoid further humiliation.

based on this request

Warnings: language, insecurity, eavesdropping, feeling unworthy, court of nightmares, there's a stalker, some random OC, angst, miscommunication, fluff

Word Count: 2.9k

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"Azriel," You sing his name as you walk into your secluded home. A decently sized cottage to fit your tall, broad, wide-winged mate, that you designed and built together, just outside the city of Velaris. "Look at what I brought you."

You walk into the sitting room where you and Azriel enjoy each other's company in peace, however rare the occurrence. He appears troubled in his sleep as you've found him lying on his back with his wings spread open and a hand draped over his eyes.  He removes his arm from his face and blinks your way, feeling your presence as you enter the room.

"What do you have there?" His melodic voice makes your stomach flutter in a frenzy as it always does and you hope the bond doesn't translate too much to him, or his shadows, the gossipers that they are.

With a bright grin, you bring the box from behind your back and show him a white box with clear plastic for the perfect view of the treats inside. "Cupcakes," You reply cheerfully, awaiting a grateful response. "Went by the river today and Hilaria was working at the shop you like, did you know she found a job? how great for her!"

Azriel grumbles slightly and your smile falters but you don't let it show, opening the box you move to the couch and sit beside him with the room he gave you tucking in his wings.

"You got my favorite," Az murmurs, carefully taking out the beautifully decorated dessert. You take the statement as a note of appreciation for how well you know him, that much was obvious as you've known each other since birth practically, and in love with each other for half of that time.

He bent his neck down to kiss your cheek and muttering a thank you.

"Don't get too excited now, I heard from Rhys about where you're next assignment is gonna be and I expect a little something when you get back," You tease.

Azriel exhales through his nose and it sounds like a small laugh, "I'll be sure to return the favor if all goes well, love."

"What's wrong?" You ask, the energy in the room has been off since the moment you arrived and you couldn't deny it frightened you a little.

You and Azriel have been going through a rough patch, it happens as often as he overloads himself with work but you have always managed to work through it, it's never too serious mostly the both of you missing each other.

Whenever Azriel was working, you were home, and whenever you were working- he was home. You've spoken to Rhysand about your and Azriel's assignments but it wasn't about when he wanted you both to work, it was simply what needed to be done when it needed to be done.

Both of you being spymasters of the night court, it wasn't ideal to send you both on the same mission unless needed. Most of the time, either one of you or both of you were needed in separate places.

On the days, weeks- if you were lucky- months, that you had 'easy' assignments or days off, you spent it together. You and Azriel would spend time in bed or with your family, going on outings, and trying new things to add to the excitement of life. You loved to be together, your relationship being very sacred to both of you.

"Just tired," Azriel shrugs. You know him better though, something was bothering him that he didn't want to tell you.

You felt his frustration through the bond, you wanted to help him but knowing Az he'd tell you when he was ready.

~~~

"-the fucking shop, I mean honestly how close is she trying to get?"

You didn't mean to eavesdrop. Originally you were coming by to talk to Rhys and Feyre about some of the rumors going around the court of nightmares, nothing too concerning but something that needed to be checked on the next visit. When you heard the muffled voices in the townhouse sitting room.

"Perhaps if you spent less time with her?" Mor suggested.

You couldn't think of anyone else Azriel might be spending time with if not for you. Did Azriel want to spend less time with you?

Your brain immediately jumps to conclusions, Azriel has been in his thoughts as of late, and he hasn't told you what's been bothering him. You thought it had something to do with the distance, perhaps a lack of communication. It was putting a strain on your relationship but you didn't think even more distance was the answer.

Azriel shakes his head insistently, "I don't spend time with her, ever. She finds me somehow, it's maddening and I can't tell Y/n to stay away while I figure out how to solve this, she's always just there."

It was like a dagger in your heart. If you were always there it was because you felt like you never spent time together, how were you supposed to have a relationship if you were never together?

You thought for sure, Azriel felt the same.

"She is a bit clingy," Cassian nods. You felt another pang in your chest, Cassian who was your partner in crime, Mor who was your favorite person to talk to about anything, and your mate had all agreed that you were too much.

"A bit is a bit of an understatement," You heard Feyre chuckle.

You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing, your fault for listening to a conversation you weren't privy to you suppose but you would've never guessed your family felt you smothered them.

Perhaps you were too clingy, you were over at their house every other day. You felt like you were dividing your time between the people you loved, maybe they didn't want you there, and you were an imposition on their daily schedule. You felt embarrassed and humiliated that they were in a meeting to discuss what to do with you.

"I can talk to her if need be, brother," Rhysand gives Azriel a reassuring nod.

Azriel shook his head, "No, no need. I will speak with her, it's my relationship, my responsibility."

Cassian snorted loudly, "Your need to fix things yourself is admirable brother, truly. Let us pray that this will not dig you a deeper grave."

You didn't hear the rest, didn't need to.

Silently, you slipped out the doors of the townhouse. You didn't want to lose your friends so if they wanted space- you'd give them space.

~~~

You disappeared for the rest of the day, and the next. You left a note to Azriel so he wouldn't worry- not that he wouldn't appreciate your shared home now all to himself. You still had your apartment in the city that you rented out when you moved in with Azriel.

There were currently no tenants as there were renovations to be done.

You avoided your room at the townhouse knowing you weren't as welcome as you thought. You didn't show up to training with Cassian and Azriel that morning. Instead, you met informants and did some investigating yourself.

You sent a letter to Rhysand with details on the Hewn City problem, told him that he should look into it as soon as possible, and asked if he wanted you to get a handle on it instead.

He replied with a note giving you thanks and telling you that he'd deal it himself but would call on you with the rest of the inner circle when the visit would happen.

Days passed by until it had officially been a week of no contact. Azriel had sent you letter after letter requesting to see you. You denied them all with sweet words to show that there was nothing wrong, that you didn't overhear what they said about you.

Where'd you go - A

Miss you -A

Come back, our home feels empty without you - Azriel

Are you alright? - Desperately need to see you, Az

Several letters with pleading undertones, each one more than the last.

Then letters from Cassian about training, you reassured him that you were following the usual routine. Mor had invited you to Ritas one night and lunch another day- you declined both with excuses of having too much work to focus on anything else. You didn't realize how much they felt it was an obligation to do things with you.

Eventually, the time came, and Rhysand called on you for the visit to the court of nightmares. You were anxious at the thought of seeing them again, maybe as time passed they would feel better with you around now that you gave them space.

~~~

You dressed appropriately for the setting, your leathers, and weapons strapped to your body. The scowl was natural as you hated being here, glares sent to everyone who looked your way, intimidation being the only way to survive this gods-forsaken place.

Bowing in front of Rhysand to fit the narrative, Feyre sent you a curious as you bowed to her, you felt her stroking the inner walls of your mind- a request to enter. You shut her out with strong mental walls, standing once she allowed you, and took your place next to Azriel, slightly behind him and Cassian.

Azriel's eyes followed you, he tried to brush a finger against your hand as you passed him but you clasped your hands behind your back. Through the bond, you felt a sting in your chest. You spared a glance at your mate, you missed him so much your body craved to be near him but you resisted.

It went as well as it usually did, a dramatically villainous speech from Rhys, with some added threats to those opposed to his reign. The High Fae in attendance got drunk on Faerie wine and danced with the whole night ahead of them.

Azriel attempted to talk to you over his shoulder, "Are you upset with me?" He muttered to you with a crease on his forehead.

You shook your head, "No, why would I be?"

"Where've you been?"

With the few looks you've gotten of his face he looked stressed, circles under his eyes, his hands were clenched and you could tell that it was to keep him from fidgeting.

"Now is not the time," You told him, straightening when you saw a reveler get too close to the High Lady.

"We're done here anyway," Rhysand's voice echoed in your mind. You didn't doubt Azriel heard him as well. You took your leave, Azriel right behind you, he caught up so quickly he held your wrist you didn't notice until you felt the world shift and you realized he traveled you both to your cottage home with his shadows.

Azriel had stood in the same spot he landed while you backed away from him a couple of steps.

"You've been avoiding me," A statement. It was heavy with questions, with want of information you didn't want to divulge.

You asked one of your own, "Have you watered the plants?"

"Have I watered the plants?" He scoffed out the last word. "I've barely been able to function without you, Y/n."

You flinched although he didn't yell but the tone in which he spoke felt like he was scolding you.

He continued, "Yes, I watered the plants."

A weak smile was pulled out of you, he probably loved those plants as much as you. You weren't as much a gardener as Elain but you managed a small garden of your own, they were like yours and Azriel's children, something you both grew together. A garden of both of your favorite flowers and fruits and vegetables.

"Seems like you've been functioning just fine," You responded in a smart tone, it just slipped out.

"Tell me what I did, please, it's driving me mad." He stepped in your direction, shadows reaching to touch you, and you saw Azriel forcefully reigning them in like he wanted to reach for you too.

You softened at the sight, "It's not something you did, Az."

"Something I said, then?" He didn't refrain from fidgeting now, in the comfort of the home, he fidgeted with his fingers. "Something I didn't say, I know I didn't want to talk about what was happening before, but I'll tell you whatever you want me to if you promise not to leave again."

You just about melted, you felt yourself wanting to sway at his beseeching. "What was happening before?" You questioned in barely a whisper.

"Hilaria happened. She- Nothing happened- I swear to you, she grew attached. She grew attached to me," He grimaced as he said it. "She was everywhere I happened to be, it wasn't normal, I've warned her off so many times I was glad you didn't notice. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable with her. The moment she got a job at the sweet shop, she got too close, you went there and I knew it wasn't a coincidence."

Azriel had a fucking stalker and you didn't know about it. That was what he was so stressed about. Hilaria- an Illyrian female who had a shitty life, Azriel had given her refuge, because she had no family left to care for her, and a female alone in that camp was no place to be.

You helped Azriel find her a living space, and gave her safety for her to heal from the traumas, she must've mistook that for something else entirely. You couldn't help but to feel bad for her.

"I went to Rhys, he and the others offered their advice and I tried to talk to her about her behavior. She didn't take it well, so we sent her to Dawn court with the assurance that they would do all they could to help her."

"You talked to the others about this?" It all made more sense now. 

He nodded.

"Did Cassian say she was clingy?" You needed to be sure you were getting all the details now.

His brows furrowed, "How did you?"

"Because I was there when you were talking, but I didn't know you were talking about Hilaria." You sat on the couch slowly, forearms on your knees, hands clasped.

You laughed incredulously, slapping your hands to cover your face and running your hands into your hair. "I thought you were all talking about me."

"What?" Azriel's eyes were on you, deciphering your words when he pieced them together. "Why would we ever?"

"You weren't telling me anything about what was going on, I thought I was prying too much, I do spend a good bit of time with everyone, it wouldn't be too far off."

A smile tugged on his lips, one he was trying not to show. He was trying not to make you feel foolish but it was too late. "I love you, but this was not your wisest moment."

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at him with little force, "Az!"

"You had everyone concerned, they thought they had offended you in some way."

"Of course not!" You shook your head in disbelief, at how easily your insecurity took over.

"Now my family has some attachment issues, you couldn't get rid of them if you tried, you would probably want space from them yourself."

You rolled your eyes knowing them all too well, centuries with them and you still felt undeserving.

Azriel kneeled in front of you taking your hands in his and settling them on your lap then caressed your face in his hands. "I could never not want you near me, you're everything to me, understand?" His hands gave your head a gentle shake in emphasis.

"I don't think you understand where my mind was at the moment," You avoided his gaze. You didn't want him to know, the feeling of not being worthy enough for him, how you compared yourself to everything in his past and it didn't seem plausible for him to accept you. When he did accept the bond, it was the greatest moment you ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Azriel was the love of your life, with and without a bond. It was hard for you to accept that he loved you without it if it wasn't for the fact that you trusted him to tell you the truth. He came to you and confessed his love and then the bond happened. You would have continued to pretend you weren't in love with him, otherwise.

"Do you not understand," Azriel sighed, "Do you not understand my love for you, at all?"

"It was easier to believe that you needed space from me," You confessed, shutting your eyes tight. Warm lips landed on yours, you were startled for a second before reciprocating the kiss.

He kissed you breathlessly, a minute, two or three- you didn't know how much time passed. Your blood pulsed in your ears, or was it his? it was rapid and created an electric current in your veins.

"I want to drown in your love, to be asphyxiated by it until all I know is you, in this life and after. I could never get enough of you." He whispered the promise on your lips with his eyes closed. You nudged your nose against his to open his eyes.

The warmth of his hazel eyes graced you and you murmur his name, he nudges your nose in response. "I love you."

Hours into the late night, after Azriel insisted on a bath together, you had a late-night snack nuzzled on the couch catching up on the lost time. You whispered sweet nothings to each other in bed with limbs entangled, and long-lasting kisses.

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[ellemj]

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 7

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**Read parts 1-6 first for the full effect!**

Summary: Bucky thinks you're avoiding him because you're worried that he caught feelings for you after the night you shared, but he couldn't be more wrong.

Warnings: mentions of previous smut, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI!!!

Word Count: 5k

Author's Note: Where the hell am I going with this? Is it possible for it to get even smuttier before this ends? I think that's where I'm going, down a very smutty rabbit hole. I need to be stopped.

You expected to feel so guilty and distraught after the night that you had with Bucky. You slept with your partner not just once, but five times. All in the same night. Inexplicably, you feel almost completely fine, with your only issues being how sore you are now and figuring out when’s the right moment to give his dog tags back. You’re sure he didn’t expect you to keep them. You’ve barely managed to get along for the past two months that you’ve worked together. There’s no way he’d want you to keep one of his most sacred possessions just because you spent a night together. You’ll give them back sometime today, when the time is right.

            You put the tags out of your mind as you finish packing up your small duffel bag. The team sent the quinjet to bring you and Bucky back home after confirming that you were both fine and that the chemical had seemingly cleared your systems. Banner initially wanted to have the two of you enter quarantine when you return to the compound later today, but after a brief conference call with a few biomedical experts in the field, he decided it was overkill. You probably would’ve fought it anyway. After the last 24 hours, all you want is to be back in your suite at the tower, to take a long, hot shower, and then to sleep for twelve hours straight in your own familiar bed. Bucky, however, is on a different page.

            His mind hasn’t stopped doing cartwheels since the phone call from Sam that woke you both up an hour ago. You’d played the situation off well, telling Sam that Bucky didn’t answer his phone because he was showering. Sam didn’t question it. Why would he? Everyone on the team is fully aware of yours and Bucky’s working relationship. You’re just barely civil with each other when it’s paramount to the success a mission, or when your lives depend on it, but outside of that? Well, let’s just say that neither of you go out of your way to do any sort of partner bonding.

            Bucky finished packing his duffel bag fifteen minutes ago, but he can hear that you’re still working on yours. He wants to walk across the hall and sit on your bed while you pack. He wants to just sit there and have a conversation with you, or if you don’t want to talk, he’d be content just to be around you at this point. He didn’t realize how starved he had been for human connection until last night and now he feels too alone sitting in this room by himself. His thoughts are too loud, the whirring of his vibranium arm is too noticeable, and there’s the looming threat of last night’s events replaying in his mind. If he lets himself think about last night and earlier this morning, he’ll end up with a hard-on. If he ends up with a hard-on, you’ll likely notice and he won’t be able to blame it on the fucking HYDRA chemical from hell this time. For the first time in a while, Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself.

---

            You’re definitely avoiding him. Bucky expected some kind of conversation on the flight back home, but you were quick to seclude yourself into a corner seat to work on typing out your mission report from the last 24 hours. He sat in the row of seats across from you and a little to your right, occasionally glancing over to see you still fully concentrated on your laptop screen, typing away. What were you typing anyway? He was sure that you weren’t going to be putting the full truth in your report, so why were you so concerned with getting it finished before landing in New York?

            After the first hour of the flight, he was desperate for you to say just one word to him. Leaning forward in his seat, he rests his elbows on his knees and traces the lines of the palm of his vibranium hand with the index finger of his flesh hand. He could ask you if you slept well those last few hours this morning before Sam called. No, that just sounds like small talk. He could ask you something related to the mission, maybe something about the samples you’re bringing back for testing. That’s what he’ll start with. He sits back once again and focuses his gaze on you, clearing his throat in preparation for starting the conversation, when you suddenly sit up a little straighter and look right at him.

            “You should read my report, see if it’s the story we want to go with or if I need to make any changes.” You say pointedly, your eyes meeting his. He looks surprised that you’re speaking to him. After a moment of silence, the two of you awkwardly staring at each other, you reach across the space between the two of you to pass him your laptop. He meets you halfway, reaching out to grab it, and then settles back into his seat. You watch him carefully as he narrows his eyes at the screen, reading everything that you’ve spent the last hour working on. You tried to keep it simple. You wrote the full truth of what happened in the lab, explaining what you did that triggered the release of the chemical into the air and how the two of you destroyed the entire facility before leaving via motorcycle afterward. The lies only start when you get to the point where your conference call with Banner and Stark ended. That’s where you write that you and Bucky locked yourselves in separate bedrooms and remained separated for the rest of the night. It's not a very long report, so why it’s taken Bucky more than three minutes to read it is beyond you.

            “What do you think?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He stares at the screen for a few more seconds before tearing his eyes away from it and looking over at you.

            “It’s fine.” It’s the first time you’ve heard his standard grumpy tone in more than twelve hours. You should feel relieved that he’s acting like his usual self, but for some reason you feel bothered. You didn’t expect him to suddenly act like the two of you are close, but god, would it kill him to act like you weren’t the last person he wanted to be around?

            As Bucky passes the laptop to you, he doesn’t miss the way you avoid making eye contact with him.

            “So, that’s our story then.” You say matter-of-factly, saving the report and closing your laptop. You’ll finalize it and submit it after the debrief that you’re sure to have with Fury and a whole host of other SHIELD agents and admins later today.

            “Guess so.” Bucky mumbles. You want to throw the laptop at his perfect face.

---

            “What did you do?” Sam throws the question at Bucky with an overly accusatory tone as he enters Bucky’s suite without so much as a single knock in warning. Bucky had been unpacking his suitcase, but now he drops his folded tactical pants on the bed, turning to face Sam.

            “I didn’t do anything.” He answers, though his face isn’t as convincing as his lie. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything that he did or said this morning to have pissed you off. But, in the back of his mind, he knows he did plenty of crossing the lines last night. Maybe you just thought things over in the light of day and realized that you made a huge mistake with him last night and early this morning. Whatever it is that you did between the time you both woke up and the time you boarded the quinjet for the flight home, it put you in a very untalkative mood. You were silent for most of the flight home, and then when you arrived back at the compound, you basically beelined for your room.

            “Bullshit. The two of you couldn’t get along for just twenty-four hours? Actually, not even twenty-four hours, because the two of you were locked away from each other all last night. So, what did you do to piss her off?” Sam’s interrogation is the last thing Bucky wants to be dealing with right now. He wants to finish unpacking, shower your fucking intoxicating scent off of every inch of his skin that it seems to be clinging onto, and then get the mission debrief over with.

            “We got along fine.”

            “Fine doesn’t sound like you two.”

            “Okay, we got along as well as we normally do. It was just a rough night, Sam. What do you want me to say? We were in a bad situation.” Bucky sighs, scooping his tactical pants up again and putting them away in a dresser drawer. Sam studies him closely as he moves around the room, putting away various personal items. He’d like to think that he knows Bucky well enough at this point to read his mind, but he doesn’t. Not most of the time, anyway. Maybe he’ll have more luck going directly to you and asking why you’re so off today. He knows he should give you both a break. It was probably a night filled with physical torment and anguish with that chemical compound running through your veins.

            “Fine. I’m sorry, man. We really didn’t know what we were sending the two of you into.” Sam apologizes, uncrossing his arms and hoping Bucky will respond a little less defensively.

            “It doesn’t matter. We made it out and now we’re back home and…it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” Bucky mutters. Sam knows that’s about as good of an acceptance as he’ll get from Bucky, so he takes it. As he leaves Bucky’s suite, he walks the few steps across the hall and knocks on your door. No answer.

---

            This is one of those moments where you find yourself wondering how the hell you ended up in a situation like this. The current situation being you and Bucky, seated in Dr. Raynor’s office. There’s a wall behind you covered with an image of tall, skinny trees. You can tell that it’s meant to be relaxing, but it just makes you feel like you’re in a pediatrician’s office that’s decorated with nature scenes to keep kids distracted from the needles and physical exams. You pick at the fraying threads on the knee of your distressed jeans, trying to occupy your mind before it occupies itself with thoughts of the man sitting next to you. Bucky sits a mere foot and a half away from you. Both of you are seated on opposite ends of the small gray couch. Why does it feel like you’re about to start couples therapy?

            Bucky feels even more on-edge than you do. Dr. Raynor knows him too well. She can see straight through him most of the time, and now that he’s sitting here next to you, he’s scared to death of what she might see. His heart is racing in his chest, threatening to break through his navy blue Henley tee and dark jacket. The two of you rode here together, Bucky offered to drive as a small act of kindness, a peace offering, if you will. He also didn’t want the two of you to arrive separately and set off any alarms in Dr. Raynor’s head. She reads too far into everything. On the ride over, Bucky asked if you were still going to keep up the story about what happened three nights ago in the safehouse. You said yes, and that was that. You would both be lying to Dr. Raynor today.

            “Sorry, I had a little situation I had to handle downstairs.” Dr. Raynor says with a sigh as she enters the room quickly. Neither of you turn to look at her as she closes the door behind herself and makes her way to her chair across from the couch. This is your first time meeting her. You’ve never been sent to therapy like this before. Sure, you’ve had routine psych evals, and once after a bit of a missing-in-action situation you had to go through the mandatory ten sessions with a shrink. But now? You really don’t even know why Fury sent the two of you here for this. You and Bucky have never really been close, why is that lack of closeness a problem now? “I appreciate the kind greetings.” Dr. Raynor quips sarcastically. She seats herself in her chair, settling her notebook and pen on her lap, before studying you both. You feel the tension in the air rising and Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know why you’re here?”

            Unsure of which one of you she’s directing the question to, you both stay silent.

            “I didn’t expect your partner to be as quiet as you, James.” Dr. Raynor says, focusing her gaze on him. This relieves you a little. You don’t feel like you’re the one under scrutiny if she’s addressing at him, even though she’s talking about you.

            “She’s not quiet.” Bucky huffs, tracing the lines on his vibranium palm. You’re starting to notice he does that when he doesn’t have much to say, or maybe it’s when he has a lot to say but doesn’t want to say it.

            “Oh?” Dr. Raynor turns to you now.

            “I don’t know why we’re here.” You answer her previous question, making sure that you don’t sound as moody as Bucky.

            “The fact that neither of you can get along, and everyone that you work with knows this about your partnership, you don’t think that that might be the reason why you were sent here today?”

            “We’ve been partners for two months and we’ve never been sent here before.” You point out. Bucky’s gaze is flitting between you and Dr. Raynor. He almost seems amused by the exchange. It’s a bit exciting for him to see someone else under Dr. Raynor’s microscope, and it’s especially exciting to him that’s it’s you.

            “Right. So, what change happened this week that landed you both in my office?”

            That’s a loaded question. You turn your head to steal a glance at Bucky but find him already looking over at you. Somehow, the two of you communicate with just a look. A look that says something along the lines of we both know what changed, but we aren’t going to say a damn thing about it here.

            “Nothing.” You both say at the same time, breaking eye contact. Dr. Raynor is immediately interested in the exchange that she just witnessed.

            “What was that?” She questions.

            “What was what?” Bucky plays dumb, scrunching his eyes at her. She waves her pen between the two of you.

            “That, that look.”

            “It was just a look, doc.” Bucky lies.

            “Okay, we can do this one of two ways.” Dr. Raynor straightens up in her chair, once again resting the pen on the notebook. “You both tell me what really happened on the trip to the HYDRA lab three days ago and I help you fix whatever rift it caused in your working relationship, or you continue acting like nothing happened while this thing festers like an open wound.” You kind of like her. She gets to the point, and though you don’t know her at all, she does seem trustworthy. Still, you can’t just tell her that you and Bucky slept together. That’s a fast track to getting your partnership suspended. Wait, since when do you care so much about your partnership? A week ago, you would’ve happily traded Bucky for a new partner, or even gone back to working solo missions if you were given the option to. Why does the idea of working without Bucky bother you now?

            “Did Fury give you a copy of our mission reports?” You ask, drawing Bucky’s attention straight back to your face. He wonders where you’re going with this. Dr. Raynor nods slowly, analyzing you both before speaking.

            “Yes, and I feel like they’re missing about twelve hours worth of details.” She responds. She’s good.

            “You don’t think we locked ourselves in separate bedrooms.” You make your words a statement, rather than posing another question. Dr. Raynor shrugs.

            “I think your reports lacked detail, especially compared to any of your previous mission reports. What possibly could have happened that night that would make you both want to be as vague as possible in a mission report?” Her question isn’t for either of you to answer, but you both know that she knows. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in your lap, fighting the urge to get a running start and jump out of the window that’s on Bucky’s side of the room. “Let me pose a hypothetical. Let’s say that you both were exposed to a chemical agent that’s designed to make super soldiers reproduce. You get exposed, you both go back to the safehouse, and you lock yourselves in separate rooms like you said. Y/n, with your medical background, how long do you think either of you would be able to stay in a locked room before having to at least use the restroom? According to your reports, you locked in around 9 pm and didn’t leave your rooms again until at least 7:30 am.”

            “I don’t like hypotheticals.” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest like a child. You feel silly. You know you look ridiculous sitting here with a frown on your face and your arms crossed, you know that you do. But her line of questioning is quickly approaching the truth and you don’t want to give her anymore fuel than she already has. She sees you shutting down and turns her attention to Bucky.

            “James?”

            “I didn’t have to pee.” He mumbles.

            “You had sex.” Dr. Raynor states. There isn’t a hint of questioning in her tone now. Suddenly, the room falls silent. So silent that Bucky can hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest and the way you’ve suddenly began holding your breath.

            “That doesn’t sound like something that two people who can’t stand each other would do.”  Bucky responds on your behalf. Mentally, you’re thanking him. You didn’t have a single word in your mind to use to formulate a response.

            “Right. But if you think about it, it does. And not only does it sound like something those two people would do, but it sounds smart, if you think about it.”

            “Smart?” Bucky’s confused now. Is Dr. Raynor trying to say that it was smart of the two of you to fuck?

            “Let’s say that two people who don’t get along are stuck in a situation where they have these primal, innate biological feelings to reproduce. They decide to have sex to lessen their suffering at the hands of the chemical that they were exposed to, knowing that because they don’t get along, they aren’t risking much by crossing that line together. They wouldn’t have cared if they were found out and their partnership was terminated, because they didn’t like working together in the first place. And if no one found out and their partnership remained intact, neither of them have feelings for each other so it wouldn’t matter anyway, they could continue working together like they normally would. That makes it sound like the smart thing to do, don’t you think?”

            It does sound smart when she words it like that. But you and Bucky both know that it’s not an accurate representation of your situation. No, you don’t really get along and you never have, but you didn’t have sex while simultaneously not giving a shit about what happened to your partnership. All you could think about at first was how it would ruin your partnership. Then you had a night full of sex that was so good you’ve been thinking about it nonstop since, which led to you avoiding Bucky in the compound so you could give yourself a chance to stop thinking about him in such a non-platonic way. That’s what landed you here, on Dr. Raynor’s little therapy couch in her little therapy office. Fuck. It’s your fault that you’re both here.

            “I’m not necessarily accusing the two of you of anything. No one knows what happened that night except for you, though I have my suspicions. I’d like you both to feel comfortable enough to tell me what happened, but if you don’t feel like you can do that right now, I’ll respect it. However, I do want to observe the two of you interacting in the field over the next few missions. Fury is sure that this partnership is the best thing he’s ever created. After reading through each of your files, I’m not as convinced.”

            Great. Now you and Bucky have a babysitter.

---

            After finishing your very brief and unproductive session with Dr. Raynor, Bucky drove you both back to the compound. The silence was a little more bearable this time. Neither of you wanted to talk about what had just happened in the session or about how Dr. Raynor seems to know that you fucked. When you arrived back at the compound, you went your separate ways. Bucky went upstairs, presumably to skulk around in his room until dinnertime, and you hit the gym. You gave yourself a rest day after coming back from the mission-from-hell, but now you need the high that you get from a good workout. You need it because your thoughts are still consumed with Bucky. With the way he fit so perfectly inside of you, with the way he looked at you with so much awe when you were coming undone on his cock in front of the mirror, and for fuck’s sake, the way you felt like he owned you when his dog tags were around your neck. You want it. You want him. Bad. You’ve been taking a lot of cold showers lately. Now, you’re turning to the gym to try to get him out of your system.

            After a nice four-mile evening run and a core workout on the mats in the gym, you decide to take a shower in the gym downstairs instead of going up to your room and risking running into Bucky. You don’t want to ruin your current streak of one hour without thinking about him naked. “FRIDAY, play my workout playlist.” You call out as you enter the shower room and grab a clean towel from one of the shelves by the door. You sling the towel over one of the shower doors and step inside, stripping your clothes off and tossing them over the door before turning the water on. FRIDAY begins playing your playlist at full volume, which is how you always like to have it when you’re showering down here after a workout. With the music blasting and hot water streaming down your skin, you’re safe from any thoughts about Bucky. You wash away all of the stress of the day, imagining all of the bad things in your life flowing down into the drain at your feet.

            Suddenly, you hear the door to the shower room swing open and then fall shut again with a resounding click. You continue lathering your skin with soap, listening intently for an announcement of some sort from whoever is intruding on your personal time.

            “FRIDAY, turn the volume down to 10%.” Bucky’s voice rings out and you take a deep breath, feeling your bad mood crawl out of the shower drain and back up into your body. How dare he? His next move only further pisses you off, as your towel quickly disappears from the glass door of the shower.

            “Barnes—”

            “I want to talk.” He interrupts you, and you can see the silhouette of him pacing slowly back and forth through the distorted glass door.

            “You have until I finish this shower.” You say through clenched teeth. “Then, I’m getting out and strangling you with that towel.”

            “You’re going to get out without a towel?” You see his figure pause as your words still him.

            “My naked body will be the last thing you see. You have sixty seconds.” He chuckles at your words, and you can hear the movement of him slinging the towel over his shoulder as he stands outside of the shower, clearly amused.

            “Dr. Raynor knows.” He states.

            “Yeah, no shit.” You say sarcastically, truly dumbfounded that he felt the need to say it out loud. Obviously, she knows.

            “She’s going to be analyzing us on every mission until she confirms it.” He continues. Does he think you were totally zoned out during the session in her office earlier? You know she’s going to be babysitting the both of you in the field for the forseeable future.

            “Is there a point to this conversation?” You ask, rinsing all of the soap bubbles off of your skin and watching them slip across the shower floor. Bucky audibly sighs. What is with your fucking attitude tonight? You avoided him all day yesterday. He knows you had some errands to run at SHIELD’s headquarters, so you were there most of the morning, but even when you came back to the compound around lunch it was obvious that you were doing everything you could just to stay out of his sight. He’s fucking sick of it.

            “Yeah, I want to know when you’re going to stop acting like fucking made me fall in love with you.” Bucky says flatly. On the inside, he’s angry. That’s why you’ve been avoiding him, right? Because you’re scared that he caught feelings for you somewhere in the midst of all of the mind-blowing sex. That’s the only reason he can imagine that you have for avoiding him the way you have been, and for the way that you’re talking to him now. He, however, couldn’t be more wrong. You were scared that you were catching feelings. It’s why you didn’t want to say his name or kiss him when you fucked. You knew that if you did either of those things, it would feel too real. It’d be too hard to pretend it meant nothing to you.

            When are you going to stop acting like fucking made him fall in love with you? Jesus, he thinks he has you all figured out, doesn’t he? You catch yourself laughing. You reach over and turn off the water. You’re just about to tell Bucky that he can fuck off with his demands to know anything from you, when you hear the shower room door open once again, followed by a set of footsteps.

            “Hey, Y/n, dinner is going to be ready in—” Sam stops short when his eyes fall on Bucky, who stands outside of your shower door, holding your towel in his vibranium hand. “What’s…are you holding her hostage in the shower? Give me that damn towel, man.” You hear a soft commotion that you can only assume is the two men scuffling over your stolen towel. The towel finds its way back over the glass door, courtesy of Sam, and you quickly snatch it up, patting yourself dry before wrapping it around your body. “Dinner is ready in fifteen minutes, if you two want to eat.” Sam announces. Bucky gives him a steely look for returning the towel to you, but Sam ignores it, turning on his heel and walking out. You’re surprised that he didn’t have anything to say about the unusual situation he stumbled into here. Maybe he’s saving it for later.

            Bucky’s just about to ask his question again, the one about when you’ll stop acting like he’s in love with you, when you push the shower door open and step out in front of him. Covered only by that damn towel. He wants to pretend like he’s unbothered, but the way a tent is forming in his jeans throws that plan out the window. You have an effect on him and you’re fully aware of it.

            “Fucking didn’t make you fall in love with me?” You ask innocently, standing just six inches in front of him and looking up into his eyes. His eyes leave yours for a moment, his gaze raking down your body and leaving heat in its wake. He takes in your messy bun, the way the towel is so tightly hugged around your curves, and the way water is dripping down your legs. Fuck, he wants to lick every single drop off of your skin. He wants to start at your ankles and kiss, lick, and suck his way up to your inner thighs. When he meets your stare once again, you’re smirking at him. “Answer the question, Barnes.” You use a specific tone of voice this time, one that you usually reserve for seductive purposes in the field. It makes him swallow hard and you note the way his jaw flexes. Hmm, you’ve seen his jaw flex like that before. You take one step forward, closing the minimal space between the two of you, letting your towel-covered chest lightly brush against him as you begin trailing your fingertips down the right sleeve of his Henley tee. He’s temporarily frozen in place, his eyes watching the movements of your hand closely, before he quickly steps back and tsks at you. He shakes his head as annoyed look takes over his features.

            “Don’t fuck with me, Y/n. Dr. Raynor isn’t here to supervise the tension.” His words send heat rushing through your body, a heat that settles in your cheeks and between your legs. You hate how the threatening tone of his voice combined with his choice of words makes you long to be underneath him again, but you’re sure he’s just playing a sick game with you. You wish the horny part of you would remember that, that this is just a fucked up game. It isn’t real. But you know what? If he wants to play this fucked up game, you’ll make sure you win it. He can act like he doesn’t want you, but his reactions to everything you do sends a different message.

You’ll just have to play this game until he admits that he wants you as much as you want him. Maybe you'll give him his dog tags back as a consolation prize when you win.

Next Part

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes smut

[the-moon-devi]

Spiritual, Nurturing & Caring Aspects || Synastry Observations PT.1

•♀ ☯ ☆ . ♀ ☯ ° .• °:. *₊° .☆♀ ☯ . • ☆ . ° .• °:♀ ☯ . *₊° .☆.♀ ☯ • ☆

☆ . ° .• °:♀ ☯ . *₊° .☆ . •♀ ☯ ☆ . ° ♀ ☯ .• °:. *₊° .☆. • ☆°•☆ ♀ ☯

Hey guys!! Today we have a synastry aspect post! I just so happen to be looking at my synastry charts. I took notice to asteroids in particular & things started to make sense. These are some aspects that I noticed in my own and others synastry charts. I hope you guys enjoy! I worked on this for damn near a month so pleassssse enjoy🥰💋

pick a song or listen to the whole playlist. Listen to this as you read (it's a vibe 🎶)

Pof - neptune~ may create spiritual connections everytime you & this person come in contact you may have spiritual experiences & gain insight. With the house this can show more how this plays out.

Ex: ( I'm Neptune person with this person and my Neptune is in 7th house and their pof is in 12th house!! This explain alot to me because everytime we come in contact with one another we talk about spiritual topics. I had dreams about them and a they held a large meaning & are prophetic. They have also said they have had dreams about me. This is just a small bit of what this placement is like. But you guys could really enjoy doing creative & poetic things with each other. I also want to add once I met this person I became a lot more spiritual. This is sextile @ 0°

Pof just expands everything similar to Jupiter & pof person brings you luck & inclines you to be more lucky in that area.

ceres - chiron: ceres- Chiron shows that the Chiron person is wounded in some way and needs nurturing from ceres. This aspects allows both parties to open up and heal and nurture each other intensely. For harsher aspects this pair may fight the healing, while soft aspects welcome this healing in with ease. This is the type of relationship where you were meant to meet each other to heal. This can be very triggering but so nurturing. Chiron will feel like Ceres is very understanding. This nurturing is usually mutual. Healing each others wounds and caring about the other deeply.

Juno-jupiter -loyalty loyalty loyalty; Juno Jupiter aspects show how this couples inclines each other to want to commit. They have a deep trust and bond. This is the placement that'll have you saying, " I could see you and me settling down together" This person meets your needs when it comes to long term commitments. This is an indication of love at first sight. The moment you locked eyes you knew that they would be significant in your life. This is an effortless aspect beacuse of the history between juno and jupiter. Jupiter brings out the desire for marriage within juno. Amazing for long term relationships.

Vesta- asc- commitment & Devotion to asc person. Vesta wants to devote themselves to asc person. Asc sees Vesta as very sacred & devoted. Sacred commitment to one another. This can also indicate some level of a sacred spiritual connection.

Eros-moon: eros feels turned on when moon is vulnerable & vice versa. There may be a lot of passion when it comes to emotions they nurture each other. Moon feels eros sexual needs and intuitvely knows how to fulfill them.

Eros-chiron; healing through eroticism you both feel comfortable with each other & expressing needs eros can be healing towards chiron & inspire them to open up more & heal.

Ceres ⚳ conjunct Asc-very nurturing placement. Asc person will feel very taken care of around Ceres may even view them as motherly. Asc person will learn to soften up due to their love for Ceres ⚳

Ceres ☌ Moon- emotional nourishment, the two come together and make a beautiful, serene environment for one another. You find cherishing & security with one another. Cooking for each other & doing household chores together are fun for this pair.

Juno ☌ Moon- Deep emotional bond & you feel commitment for each other intensely

Valentine ☌ saturn- personally i feel like this shows loving a person for a long time and even through hardships. The couple could also be very slow to showing love to each other but deep down there's so much love!

Link -Moon : I would say for positive aspects, both partners will feel very connected to each other due to their emotions. Emotions could definitely be mutual as well.

Sun- Akasha: can show you two have a soul contract that has to be fulfilled. Karmic connection indicator and you two were meant to meet in this lifetime to teach each other how to express yourself & be you.

Nostalgia-moon: a emotion of familiarity & comfort. You feel a surreal presence when your around them

Nostalgia-jupiter: may talk about spiritual topics and prone to getting glimpses of past lifes. a huge sense of familiarity. Could have a very healing inner child energy when they are around each other. Also may have known each other for a very long time.

Asteroids: Valentine (447); Link (3550); Akasha (5881); Nostalgia (3162); Ceres; (1); Juno (3); Vesta (4); Eros (433)

• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. • ☆ . °• ☆ . ° .• °*₊° .☆ .

Thanks for reading to the end! Leave your commentary down below! I love hearing from yall! Catch ya later lovelies.... Til' next time!

~𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 xx🤎💋

𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵

✌𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓾𝓽!✌

𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓓𝓮'𝓛𝓾𝔁𝔁𝓮 (masterlist)

©𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 (Do not copy or steal my work)

#astro notes #astrology posts #astro community #astro observations #astro posts #natal chart #astro placements #asteroid #astro #astrology #astrology blog #astrology community #astrology placements #ceres in synastry #synastry chart #synastry placements #synastry aspects #synastry #love in astrology #synastry observations #synastry overlays #pretty caramel #astrology tumblr #astrology talk #astro talks #astro post #astro tumblr #part of fortune #ceres #ceres asteroid

[flowercrowngods]

When Eddie finds Steve lying on the living room floor, he’s not concerned at first. It’s what he does sometimes, and Eddie himself can appreciate a bit of floor time on occasion, too, but for Steve it’s sacred. So he smiles and sits down beside him, grabbing his hand to play with his fingers, a “Hey, pretty boy” already on his lips before he freezes.

Because Steve isn’t all relaxed like he usually is, with his mind just a few inches off to the side where everything is calm and fine and better. And when he finally meets Eddie’s eyes, they’re not glazed over but sharp. Sharp with something that cuts right through Eddie, because he’s seen this look before, and he knows just what to do.

“Stevie, baby, I’m right here. I’m gonna make a call, okay, I will be right back.” When Steve opens his mouth, Eddie just leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. He’s not sure how much invasion of space is allowed, but Steve is still holding his hand so that has to count for something, right? “Shh, don’t speak,” he whispers. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He tries not to kiss Steve like he’s about to break, or talk to him like something’s wrong, because nothing is wrong. Steve is not wrong for getting like this sometimes, it’s not his fault; it’s not something Eddie can’t handle. Steve doesn’t deserve to feel like he’s somehow wrong for getting into that headspace where words just won’t come out of his mouth and he needs to lie down and hope that will help.

Which, today it didn’t, apparently.

Eddie gets up with one last kiss to Steve’s hand and a reassuring smile, and goes to make a phone call. There’s only one person who can help Steve get out of his head, and Eddie doesn’t really understand it, nobody does, but they all know it.

“Hey, Joyce,” he sighs in relief when she answers the phone. “Is El home?”

“Eddie! Yes, she’s there, what… Steve?”

“Steve.”

Joyce sighs and Eddie knows she’s worried and wants to tell her not to be, it’s not fair to be worried, Steve hates when they worry, but. He’d be a hypocrite.

“You know you don’t have to ask, honey. Get over here, I’ll make some cocoa.”

With a smile, Eddie hangs up and goes back to Steve, crouching down beside him to stroke the hair out of his face. “Hey there again, pretty boy. I’m gonna drive over to Joyce’s, wanna tag along?”

What he really wants to say is, I’ll take care of you. Everything is gonna be just fine. But Steve doesn’t like the fuss. That kind of discussion is for another day, though. When Steve can actually get a word in.

That is how they find themselves in the Hopper-Byers household, Eddie holding Steve’s hand as the boy tries to make himself smaller than he is — like every time. Joyce doesn’t fuss, and Eddie knows just how much that takes, knows that Joyce is so much stronger than him in moments like this.

“Steve,” comes a small voice from the door to Eleven’s room, and Eddie finds the girl approaching them slowly. Beside him, Steve sways and Eddie tightens his grip for a second, brushing a kiss to Steve’s cheek before letting him go.

Eleven wraps her arms around Steve’s middle and the two of them just hold each other. They have a bond that none of them truly understand, one that Eddie knows even Robin is jealous of. But it makes sense, he figures. On some kind of deeply existential level, it does make sense for Eleven to be the one who can help Steve when he’s nonverbal like this.

Maybe because she doesn’t talk much. Maybe because around her he doesn’t feel like he has to be anyone or anything because it’s all the same to her. Or maybe there’s a special kind of magic in the way she will pull him onto the floor, their backs against the couch, his head on her shoulder and her fingers running through Steve’s hair.

They’ve been through something together. Maybe they go through something together every time they talk each other down without words — because in return, Steve does the same for her. It shouldn’t work, but it does.

It’s calm and quiet in the living room and Eddie shares a glance with Joyce before they step outside to give Steve and El some privacy.

“I hate seeing him like this,” Eddie admits finally. It’s hardly more than a whisper, a treacherous little truth that cuts into his heart every time this happens.

“I know,” Joyce says. “Me too.”

“I hate that I can’t help him.”

Oh the truths just keep coming. It’s that kind of moment.

“You’re helping him, honey. You are. But sometimes we need different people for different hurts. And that boy has more than all of us combined. Or… Well, not all of us.” And she’s looking through the window, watching El and Steve still wrapped around each other.

And it’s true. Eddie knows. Maybe that’s why he hates it so much. Steve’s nonverbal episodes are a stark reminder for all the pain he had to take upon himself. Alone. For years.

“Just love him through it,” Joyce continues. “Not despite it, not because it it. Just through it.”

“I am. I do. Don’t think I could stop even if he asked me to.”

She smiles and squeezes his hand. “Good. Now, join me on a run to the bakery? I think they’ll need something sweet when they’re back with us.”

With one last glance through the window, seeing Steve calm and quiet, Eddie bows and offers his arm to Joyce. “I’d be delighted to join you, lady Byers.”

It’ll be fine, he tells himself. They’ll be fine.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve & eleven #stranger things fanfiction #nonverbal steve and nonverbal eleven do you catch my drift #maybe i should have written this from steve’s pov but it wouldn’t be a random dio vibe fic if it made sense huh? #nonverbal steve harrington #idk what this is but i’m probably projecting huh #oh yeah this might actually possibly be set post-time travel au since that’s my current brainrot but feel free to imagine whatever au #dio words #time travel au #time travel au ficlet

[escaronarts]

ETSY STORE  II  FACEBOOK  II  INSTAGRAM  II  ESCARONARTS

For SALE HERE! (Website)

Or HERE! (Etsy)

With the strenght of a fiery stallion and soul of a colibri you will never be able to tame this mighty beast. But if he deem you worthy theres no limits of what the two of you can acomplish.

In the world were Colibris kind roam free people adore and co-exist with them and nature. In this world birds are sacred. Birds, you say. Why birds? Well, let me explain. I told you people there co-exist with nature, but that wasnt always the case. Once they kept polluting the planet to the very extent in wich all the birds fell from the sky and died. They knew it was happening but they couldnt hinder it, wouldnt change. And then one day there were no more birds, not a single one. That was the harsh reality and a very real wake-up call for humanity. You might think it was then to late for anything to be done at all, but the people did manage to turn things around, and today they live in harmony with their planet, caring for it dearly. However, sadly, the birds never returned. But, you say, what has this to do with Colibri and the horses? You see, one day a horse was born that didnt look like the traditional kind and absolutely not like its brown parents. The foal was jet black with the softest feathers around his neck and tail. It was quite perplexing. And it didnt stop there, more and more foals were born different. Browns and grays, whites and multicolored ones of all variations. And then people realized, the horses reminded of different bird species! Truth was, the horses had taken the spirits of the birds into their hearts to carry and protect. And this is how they still exist, two souls in one body. One day the birds might be able to return to the world in own bodies again, to once more travel the skies and sing their songs. But until then the horses will keep safeguarding their spirits, and the humans will keep doing their best to restore the planet in wait and hope of that time to come.

*****

MADE: They come to me when they want to be given form, whisper in my mind who they want to be, show me glimpses and let me work. Im sure I cant create their exact images but I try my best. When I start I never know what will be in the end, but I trust the process, I trust them, and it hasnt failed me yet. I believe these beings exist, even if we in our physical realm cannot see. And I believe they are here for a reason, for us, to help, inspire, move, awaken, and to the ones adopting them specifically - connect, a bond thats meant to be. I believe, do you?

Colibri is a traditionally handmade, original, unique and one of a kind artwork made entirely by me. His face is first sculpted in super sculpey, that I later casted in resin for durability and painted carefully with acrylics. His body is made of high quality fauxfur that Ive designed, trimmed and sewn over a sturdy wire and batting frame together with a blend of feathers (seen in mane and tail). He is fully posable in both neck, tail and legs. However, as with all of my creations he is an artwork and not intended as a toy for kids. Lots and lots of hours, effort and soul went into this guy, to give him his physical form, and there will never be another one like him.

COLIBRI SIZE; Height: 11.8 inches (30cm) Length: 12.6 inches (32cm)

© 2023 Linda Escaron Lundqvist - all rights reserved

#handmade #art #ooak #original #originalart #sculpture #artdoll #posable #artist #arttoy #horse #fantasy #magic #magical #steed #colibri #creaturedesign #colorful #vibrant #nature #traditional

[rubyarrows]

Comforting Hold

YN's day had been nothing short of a rollercoaster ride. From early morning mishaps to mounting work stress, she felt overwhelmed and emotionally drained. As she stepped into her apartment, she couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh, longing for solace.

Little did she know that her best friend and confidant, Callen, had sensed her distress. He had always been there for her, offering unwavering support and a listening ear. Today was no different.

A knock on the door startled YN, but a smile tugged at her lips when she saw Callen standing there, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "Hey, partner. Mind if I come in?"

YN shook her head, gratitude filling her heart. "Of course, G. Come on in."

As Callen stepped inside, he immediately sensed the heaviness in the air. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around YN, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of the world slowly lift from her shoulders.

"Rough day?" Callen asked softly, his voice filled with empathy.

YN nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, it feels like everything is falling apart."

A warm smile graced Callen's face as he pulled away, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering support. "Well, I'm here now. Let's turn this day around, shall we?"

Together, they ventured into the kitchen, Callen's culinary skills coming to the forefront. As he effortlessly prepared a simple yet delicious meal, the aroma filled the air, bringing a sense of comfort and tranquility.

As they sat down to eat, YN couldn't help but marvel at the magic Callen weaved with his cooking. Each bite was a delightful symphony of flavors, a respite from the chaos of the day. They laughed, shared stories, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

After dinner, they settled onto the couch, surrounded by a cozy blanket fort they had built together in their younger days. Callen scrolled through their collection of favorite movies, each one symbolizing a cherished memory.

As the movie played, YN nestled against Callen, her head resting on his shoulder. The familiar warmth of his presence enveloped her, offering a sense of security and peace. They laughed together at the funny parts, and during the intense moments, Callen's reassuring grip on her hand grounded her.

"You're my new pillow," Callen whispered, his voice filled with affection.

YN let out a soft chuckle, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I'm lucky to have you, G. You always know how to make everything feel better."

In that moment, their friendship transcended words. It was a bond forged through shared experiences, trust, and unconditional support. They had weathered countless storms together, and this night was another testament to the depth of their connection.

As the credits rolled on the movie, YN looked up at Callen, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and contentment. "Thank you for being here, G. For always being my safe haven."

Callen smiled, his gaze filled with unwavering loyalty. "Anytime, YNN. We're in this together, through thick and thin."

And as they sat there, wrapped in each other's embrace, they found solace in the simplicity of the moment. In their friendship, they had discovered a sanctuary—a place where troubles melted away, and laughter echoed through the walls.

As the movie reached its end, YN's exhaustion finally caught up with her. The weight of the day's troubles, combined with the comfort of Callen's presence, washed over her like a soothing lullaby. With a contented sigh, she drifted off into a peaceful sleep, her head still resting on Callen's shoulder.

Callen looked down at the sleeping form of his dearest friend, a tender smile gracing his lips. Gently, he maneuvered himself, careful not to disturb her slumber, and with utmost care, he cradled her in his arms.

Silently, he made his way towards her bedroom, the soft glow of the moonlight guiding his steps. It was a sacred moment, a gesture of protection and tenderness that spoke volumes about the depth of their connection.

As Callen laid YN down on her bed, he couldn't help but marvel at her serene beauty. The worries of the day seemed to melt away, replaced by a profound sense of peace. He tucked her in, ensuring she was comfortable, before slipping in beside her.

The warmth of their bodies intertwined, the gentle rise and fall of their breaths in perfect sync. Callen gently wrapped his arms around YN, his touch a comforting anchor in the night. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes—a testament to the unbreakable bond they shared.

Throughout the night, Callen held YN close, his presence a shield against the uncertainties of the world. He whispered words of reassurance in her ear, hoping that even in her dreams, she would feel safe and loved.

As the first rays of dawn began to filter through the window, YN stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She found herself nestled in the embrace of Callen, his steady heartbeat echoing in her ear. A gentle smile graced her lips as she realized the extent of his care and devotion.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Callen greeted, his voice filled with affection.

YN's cheeks flushed with a mix of emotions. "Morning, G. Did I fall asleep on you?"

Callen chuckled softly, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly. "Yes, you did. But it's okay. You needed the rest."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their shared embrace, YN felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. She was blessed to have a friend like Callen, someone who understood her without words, and who was always there to provide comfort and solace.

As they untangled themselves from their cozy entanglement, YN couldn't help but feel a sense of loss. However, she knew that their bond transcended the physical, and their friendship would continue to grow stronger with each passing day.

With a renewed sense of strength and purpose, YN and Callen faced the day, ready to conquer whatever challenges lay ahead. Their friendship was a source of unwavering support, a constant reminder that they were never alone.

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #ncis #ncis la #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis fanfiction #ncis la x reader #ncis la imagine #ncis la imagines #ncis la fanfiction #g callen #g callen x reader #g callen imagine #g callen imagines #g callen fanfiction

[george-the-good]

King George VI - Christmas Message (1943)

Once again, from our home in England, the Queen and I send our Christmas greetings and good wishes to each one of you, all the world over. Some of you may hear me on board your ships, in your aircraft, or as you wait for battle in the jungles of the Pacific Islands or on the Italian peaks. Some of you may listen to me as you rest from your work, or as you lie sick or wounded in hospital. To many of you, my words will come as you sit in the quiet of your homes. But, wherever you may be, today of all days in the year, your thoughts will be in distant places and your hearts with those you love. I hope that my words, spoken to them and to you, may be the bond that joins us all in one company for a few moments on this Christmas Day.

With this thought in my mind, I wish to all who are on service good luck and a stout heart; to those who wait for them to return, proud memories and high hopes to keep you strong; to all children, here and in the lands beyond the seas, a day of real happiness.

I send these words of Christmas greeting to all of you who dwell within the family of the British Commonwealth and Empire. I know you would wish me to send a message of hope to our gallant allies who fight with us, and to all who, in the loneliness of exile or the horror of invasion, look forward to our coming victory.

In this year almost passed, many things have happened, under God’s providence, to make us thankful for His mercies. The generous strength of the United States of America, the tremendous deeds of Russia, the endurance of China under her long ordeal, the fighting spirit of France re-born, and the flower of the manhood and womanhood of many lands that share the burdens of our forward march - all these have played their part in the brightening of our fortunes on sea, on land, and in the air.

Since I last spoke to you many things have changed. But the spirit of our people has not changed. As we were not downcast by defeat, we are not unduly exalted by victory. While we have bright visions of the future we have no easy dreams of the days that lie close at hand. We know that much hard working and hard fighting, and perhaps harder working and harder fighting than ever before, are necessary for victory. We shall not rest from our task until it is nobly ended. Meanwhile, within these islands, we have tried to be worthy of our fathers; we have tried to carry into the dawn the steadfastness and courage vouchsafed to us when we stood alone in the darkness.

This is not the time for a chronicle of our progress. But there is one landmark in the sombre, world-embracing battlefield which I hope and I trust may endure. Wherever their duty has called our men and women, they have gained new friends and come to know old friends better. They have learnt to share the burdens, and to read the hearts, of their neighbours; they have laid the foundations of new friendships between nations, and strengthened old ones formed long ago. As a result, there is springing up in every country fresh hope that out of comradeship in sacrifice shall come power to restore, and power to build anew.

I saw proof of this when I visited North Africa in the summer. I saw many thousands of men of the United Nations, united in action, in heart and mind and purpose. The only rivalry between them was in the service of a great cause; their only aim was the defeat of a common enemy.

In the same spirit of unity, men of diverse races have come together in the council chamber and round the conference-table: some to meet the stern, immediate demands of war itself; others to heal the wounds that war deals to all humanity - to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, mend the broken, and succour the poor. So, as we see the clouds breaking on this Christmas Day, we should take comfort from our faith that out of desolation shall rise a new hope, and out of strife be born a new brotherhood.

From this ancient and beloved festival that we are keeping, sacred as it is to home and all that home means, we can draw strength to face the future of a world riven by a tempest such as it has never yet endured. In the words of a Scottish writer of our day: ‘No experience can be too strange and no task too formidable, if a man can link it up with what he knows and loves.’¹

---

1. From Memory Hold-the-Door, by John Buchan (Lord Tweedsmuir)

#King George VI #British Royal Family #1943 #1940s #WWII

[thelampisaflashlight]

Everything Goes On Pt. 6

[Ritual night preparations. Not suitable for younger audiences. Previous part here.] Below the cut.

The shift in the air is palpable as the raging sun of summer draws ever closer to the cloudy gloom of fall.

Not yet here, though already on the minds of so many.

Mountain can feel the shift in his bones, bonded to the Earth as he is, but as he looks to the heavens, he cannot but feel a great sense of unease.

The sky is overcast, heavy storm clouds move at a snail's pace overhead.

An ill omen for a night already destined to be touched by the light of a rare blue moon.

Worse yet...

Mountain watches as the siblings gather for mass, their usual uniforms or casual clothes cast aside in favor of the traditional robes of their forbearers.

...there is to be a summoning tonight.

Turning his gaze to the lake, barely a puddle in his vision, he can already see the groundskeepers placing the lanterns to mark the path to the sunken chapel.

Three ghouls stand guard as they work, wearing the silver masks of a now bygone era, sentinels sent by Sister Imperator to ensure no ill business takes place on this most sacred of occasions.

The guards eye him from a distance, one of them, a smaller, slighter figure than the rest, swishes their tail -a threatening crackle of green energy sparking from the spade- at him irritably, and all Mountain can do is hold up his hands and return to his own duties to show he isn't a threat.

"Everyone's so worked up today..." Swiss comments, striding out of the courtyard holding a rake and a compost bag full of dead leaves, "What do I do with these, big guy?"

Mountain gestures towards a small pile between the greenhouses.

"It's because of the summoning tonight."

"I almost forgot about that." Swiss hums, tossing the bag, "I guess since Sunny's summoning was the only one I've ever gone to, I didn't think, ya know, it was a big deal?"

"Sunny's summoning was kind of an outlier, since it was not safe for the clergy to attend en masse." Mountain says, "Tonight's summoning is also special, because we not only have to contend with the weather, but the moon as well... Papa has already ordered several members of the clergy into seclusion to avoid, uh, unwanted side effects."

"What's the moon got to do with it?" Swiss asks, coming back to stand beside Mountain, looking out over the valley.

"You can't feel it?" Mountain questions, placing a hand over the middle of his chest, "Here?"

"Nope, aside from how warm your hand is." Swiss shakes his head, "I mean, I am half human, so it's probably another one of those things that doesn't affect me the same way it does you guys."

"I suppose so." Mountain nods, "But, to explain it a bit, the moon tugs."

"Tugs?"

"It pulls at us like the tides. Water ghouls are especially effected by it, hence why they make themselves scarce during the full moon, as do members of the clergy afflicted with moon based curses such as lycanthropy." he says, "Hence why Rain isn't able to attend the summoning tonight."

"Cause he'll go feral or something?" Swiss asks.

Mountain thinks back to earlier this morning when he'd encountered the ghoul in question rolling around in a pile of spilled laundry when he came to retrieve his clothes from the dryer, thoroughly out of his gourd, tail slapping on the ground like a pleased puppy.

"...Yes... feral..."

Swiss blinks at him.

"What about Dew? Since he's a hybrid?"

"Dew has a remarkably firm grasp on his water side, so he'll still be in attendance." Mountain says, "He'd likely have to attend in some capacity regardless though."

"Why's that?"

Mountain stares down at Swiss.

"What? What, is there something on my face?" the multi-ghoul questions, patting his cheeks.

"...You really don't know?"

"Know what??"

"Satanas... Well, I won't ruin the surprise."

.

.

.

"Ugh, these robes are so fucking heavy..." Dew grimaces, readjusting his vestments for a third time, "This is such a pain in the ass..."

"You do not get to complain." Copia sighs, coating his face in powder, "Mine are twice as heavy, and I don't have any of your unnatural ghoulish strength to help carry the weight."

Dew's tail swishes trapped between two layers of fabric.

"If I knew becoming a bishop would mean wearing so much clothing, I wouldn't have studied so hard."

"You had your entire deaconship and stint as a priest to consider that, now didn't you?" Copia points out, "Having to dress the part of your role only happens once in a..."

"Don't."

"Once in a blue moon." he chuckles, eliciting a groan from the already agitated ghoul, "Ah, lighten up, once the ceremony is over, you can go back to wearing what you want or nothing at all. Hell, you could even strip naked as soon as the rites are done, but, for now, you need to look presentable for the clergy."

"Half the siblings have seen my bare ass-"

"Sister will be in attendance tonight." Copia says, eyeing him from the mirror, laughing once more seeing the ghoul's conflicted expression.

"-which I will keep covered at all times this evening."

"Very good."

Copia stands back to admire his handiwork, checking his make-up for imperfections, "...Ghoul?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"I've been meaning to ask... How have you been since your packmates' departures?"

Dew clicks his tongue.

"I miss Sunny, it was fun having her around while it lasted." he says, "But I know you're not really asking about her."

"Things are still... complicated." he continues, "But Aether is the furthest thing from my mind tonight."

"That is... good." Copia says, "There's a high likelihood that something may go array during tonight's ritual, so I need you focused to ensure that if things do get out of hand, we can put a stop to it as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Papa."

.

.

.

Cirrus sits in her room getting ready for the evening, she doesn't really need to get too dressed up for the event, after all she'll be sitting amongst the siblings along with the rest of the ghouls.

...Save for Cumulus and Dewdrop that is.

And maybe that's why she's putting the extra effort in to look nice even though it will be impossible to really pick her out of the crowd, it's more so for after the rites are spoken.

After Cumulus is freed of her obligations as a sister of sin and they can fuck off while the actual summoning takes place to have a little fun.

At least, that had been the plan...

"Since Aether left, I have to stay as a witness." the smaller ghoulette had informed Cirrus earlier during breakfast, "You know how it is..."

"I don't, actually." Cirrus had grumbled around her pancakes, "You don't tell me anything about your duties as a sister, or why it's so different from being, I dunno, like the rest of us."

"I have though, Cir, I explained what my role is when I took my oath." Cumulus had frowned, patting her hand, "This is one of my duties as a sister, to attend these summonings and bless the new ghouls in the name of the lord below."

"Yeah, but why does it have to be you?" Cirrus groused, letting her fork drop onto her plate.

"I was requested personally, and you have to understand what an honor it is to be chosen for something like this..." Cumulus said, "I'll be standing beside Papa..."

"We hang out with Copia all the time, Lus, it's not that special."

"...Well it is to me." Cumulus whispered, "Plus, Dew could use the support right now. You know him and Aeth-"

"Oh, so it was Dew who asked." she'd scoffed, "Of course it was."

"Cir... what's that supposed to mean?"

"Ever since Aether left, you've been babying Dew." Cirrus hissed, "You even disagreed with me when I said our relationship wasn't like theirs, but it's not. You and I have been together since the pit, those two were just fucking around the way humans do, it wasn't even serious!"

"Wasn't even... Cir, they were engaged!"

"Engaged, but not bonded!"

"Cir..."

Cirrus looks at herself in the small vanity atop her dresser and frowns.

"It's not the same." she tells herself, "Our relationship isn't..."

"Dew could use the support right now."

Cirrus grabs her mascara and uncaps it.

"I hope he fucking trips and falls in his stupid robes tonight..."

#lamp writes #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #copia #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic

[smytherines]

I went through my big Starkid era over the last like six months or so. I had seen Spies Are Forever once a few months back, liked it, but it kinda got buried by life stuff. Maybe a week or two before the tinlightenment kickstarter started up, I remembered SAF and decided to rewatch it, and seeing it again with the context of the full story just really spoke to me in a way I cannot shut up about.

I love Spies Are Forever. I love how funny and tender and gay and hilarious it is. But as much as I love SAF, I'm most grateful that I've gotten to make so many friends bonding over this show. Friends who are working so so so hard to promote the kickstarter because they love Tin Can Bros stuff as much as I do. We have had so much fun on streams, making up ridiculous inside jokes, posting sandwiches and asses in bios and the Sacred Text.

When I found out about the kickstarter I went and liked all the socials, not even thinking about funding it if I'm honest, but I wanted to share stuff at least. That has changed in a big way. I just increased my pledge today, actually!

Anyways I kept rewatching SAF and appreciating it in new ways. I watched Solve It Squad and Grunch and Wayward Guide. I started engaging with the tinlightenment posts. I asked my partner for the 54 Below digital ticket for Valentines Day. I made a new tumblr for the first time in years so I could post hyperfixations about SAF. I made a Diane Lopez-Richter meme that still makes me smile every time I see it, and now I'm just doing as much TCB promo as I possibly can because I really believe in what they're doing.

Theatre is hard. Independent theatre is so much harder. I spent 8 years in a children's community theatre company growing up. My mom did their books in exchange for my tuition. It was always a hustle to keep the doors open. I can say without question that it saved my life. It gave me a space to safely have my big ADHD feelings. Theatre gives you space to feel huge things in a safe way, and TCB provides free, fully original productions to anyone who can access youtube.

I backed the Tinlightenment kickstarter because these original shows and songs and characters are rare and precious, given to us FOR FREE in the hopes that we'll continue to choose to support all of these wonderful creators when they do these big fundraising campaigns.

Corey, Joey, and Brian have spent ten years working hard as fuck to bring us new things for our goblin brains to latch onto, and I want to see more. They have been working so hard on this kickstarter to give us SEVEN events for 200k, which is basically nonsense. An irrationally small amount of money for what they are planning to do. And I want to see them get there.

If you can't back the kickstarter, that's totally cool. Everyone has their own shit going on, nobody is going to hold it against you. We love you we love you we love you.

If you can afford to throw a few bucks towards the kickstarter, please please do it. Independent theatre only happens if we fund it.

>>> Tinlightenment <<<

(Reposting the Diane meme because I love watching her get new treats)

#tinlightenment #spies are forever #tin can bros #curtwen #joey richter #do it for diane #solve it squad #wayward guide

[krishakamal]

Raag - Anurag § Chapter 1

— Ram x Sneha Acharya [OC]

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : Sneha Acharya lost her parents at a young age. Her father's friend, Arjun decided to adopt and take her to Hyderabad. There she grew up to be a beautiful woman. Then came her doom. She arranged to marry Ram, the traitor. Where will this go now?

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : cursing, arranged marriage, 1.6k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ — NAVIGATION // RRR MASTERLIST // SERIES MASTERLIST

"Ahh!" Sneha yelled in pain, "It hurts, Kakima."

"Shhh, sit still." Her Kaki, Malini, ordered her as she worked on the latter's hair. Pinning the gajra to the bun.

Sneha huffed, looking at herself in the mirror. Today was her wedding and that too, with a man she despised.

At the tender age of six, Sneha lost both her parents to a car accident on their way home. Even though Sneha survived the accident, losing her parents left a great trauma on her. Arjun Dev, a close friend of her father who lived in Hyderabad, decided to adopt her.

Here, in Hyderabad, she grew up under his and his wife, Malini's care. Growing up, Sneha was fond of literature. She took inspiration from the nature around her and inked them in a diary. Later she decided to turn that hobby to her profession.

Sneha was not blind to atrocious works of the british. She knew well how monstrous they were. How they fooled Indians and took over the whole country. How they tortured poor Indians and kept them like slaves.

Sneha could not see their pain and misfortune so she decided that she would help as much as possible to free her country from their vicious clutches. She had written many nationalist books under the pen name 'Nandini'.

Now considering how much she loves Bharat and hates the British basterds, the last person she expected to marry was one of their loyal dogs, Alluri Sitaram Raju. She was pissed off when her uncle told her about the marriage proposal.

She instantly rushed off in anger to confront him but when he requested her with nothing but utter sincerity, Sneha could not turn him down. Had he not adopted Sneha, she didn't know what would have happened to her and Sneha was great to them. So, here she was now a few minutes away from getting married to that traitor, Sitaram.

Malini held Sneha's shoulders, "I'm so happy for you, Sneha. Trust me, Ram is a really good man and he will always keep you happy."

Sure, a traitor like him will do anything but keep me happy.

Sneha plasted a fake smile on her face and looked at Malini through the mirror's reflection, "I hope so."

Just then the door opened and one of her sisters ran in, "Hurry! The groom is here."

Malini left Sneha alone in the room to gather her thoughts. Sneha looked down, in her lap was a pendant, engulfed in her palms. Her mind was crowded with thoughts. How was she going to spend her life with Ram? Just how?

But time didn't stop for her. It went on it's pace. Sneha was escorted to the mandap where they were tied into the sacred bond of marriage. The wedding ended and Sneha bid a tear-filled farewell to her family. Then she was taken to his house where his side of the family performed all the rituals and in no time it was their wedding night.

Sneha sat on the bed, heart racing like a train. Her knees were pulled to her chest. She wondered if Ram would try to force himself on her. She was, by no means, ready for this. This was supposed to happen between two loves, soulmates and they were neither.

If he tries something, I'll kill him.

Sneha thought to herself. The wooden door opened and Ram walked in, closing the door behind. Sneha gripped the saree harder, so much that her knuckles turned white.

Ram started walking towards the bed. Just as he came to the end of the bed, Sneha shot up, standing on it with a knife in her hand, "Don't you dare come any closer or else I swear to god, I'll kill you."

Ram flinched back, startled, "What on earth are you doing?"

Ram glared at her but she snapped back, "Listen mister, I have no intention of being your wife, let alone spent a night with you. Stay the fuck away from me."

Ram could not help but scoff at her atrocious words, "Like I want to sleep with you. I have way more important work than sleeping with someone foul-mouthed like you."

"Yeah yeah whatever. Now get out." Sneha swung the knife in the door's direction, "You are not staying in the same room as me."

"This is my room. You get out."

"Do you want to die in your sleep?"

Ram gulped in fear, the kind of person she seemed to be, she probably would not even hesitate before stabbing him to death. Sneha smirked, knowing very well that she had won.

"Whatever, hope you die in your sleep." Ram snatched the blanket off the bed and started walking out, muttering under his breath, "Who named her Sneha, they need to be put in a mental asylum."

"And your name should have been Ravan instead, even better Shishupal, you useless coward." Sneha yelled before the door slammed shut.

Sneha waited a few seconds before sighing in relief, saved for the day. She got down from the bed and carefully hid the knife in the nightstand's drawer. She quickly took of all the make up and jwelleries and changed into simple saree. Then turning off the lights Sneha snuggled into the soft sheets and let the slumber pull her into the dreamland.

Sneha woke up the next morning to the empty house. Ram was nowhere to be seen. That happened the next and then the next day. Ram would leave the house before Sneha could wake up and come back after she had gone to sleep. The sofa in the living room was now his bed.

Sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, filling the room with golden light. You snuggled more into the sheets before blinking your eyes open. Glancing at the table clock, it showed the time was 7 o'clock. Sneha sat up on the bed, streaching her limbs to get rid of the sleepiness.

Throwing off the blanket, which she found in the closet (Ram was too much of a dick to give her one), she got up. Sneha made the bed and then did her morning routine. Sneha dressed up in a red silk saree with gold work done on it.

Today she was going to make a library card at the local library. Books were her addiction and not being able to read one the past days were killing her inside. Her hair was still a little damp so she decided to leave them open.

Sneha walked down the stairs and into the living room, only to stop at the bottom step. There was Ram, sitting on the sofa, reading newspapers. Dressed in a simple white shirt and dress pants.

He was handsome— scratch that, he was extremely good looking. If only his personality was like Sri Ram. Sneha mourned internally. She walked into the kitchen, adjourned to the living room.

"Wow, look who didn't sneak out early in the morning today." Sneha said loudly, too loud.Ram could feel his eyebrows twitch. Stay calm Ram, don't listen to her bullshit. He could not stay calm for long when started again, "What? Did your dear British government fire you already?"

His mouth moved even before he could comprehend, "Look who didn't sleep till afternoon like a pig. What direction did the sun raise from today?"

Sneha's jaw dropped on the floor, "I sleep like a pig? Me? Sneha Acharya? Then you sleep like a damn donkey."

Ram mumbled, loudly, while turning a page of the newspaper, "Truth hurts. What can we do?"

This damn donkey!

Sneha stomped her feet before rushing into the kitchen. She could feel herself fuming with anger. Only a good cup of chai could help her calm down. As slammed the saucepan on the stove, an idea hit her brain.

"Oii." Sneha called from the kitchen.

"What?"

"I'm making chai. Do you want some?"

".............Sure." Ram answered after a minute of silence.

Sneha threw him an 'ok' sign and got back to prepare tea. Ram could feel something was off. But what could she do? Poison his tea?

Calling me a pig. The audacity. Now taste the tea made by a pig.

Sneha quickly prepared two cups of tea and brought it out in the living room. Placing the tray on the low coffee table, she handed him a cup and she herself started sipping from one.

Ram inspected the cup and the liquor. Smelling it, seeing from all angels. Sneha suppressed the laugh, dying to come out. Finally Ram took a sip.

Hmm? Not bad.

Until a second later it hit. The inside of his mouth started burning like hell. Ram dropped the cup on the ground, yelling in pain. He felt like he had eaten a thousand chillies. Sneha could not stop it anymore. She threw back on the sofa, laughing like a mad woman.

Ram searched the containers and cabinets, searching for something, anything, to help with the burning feeling. He finally found a small container of rasogolla. He somehow opened it and gulped down all of them in a matter of a few minutes.

When he finally calmed down, his chest was heaving crazyly. Anger raised in his head when he fully grasped what had happened. He saw Sneha leaning on the kitchen door, giving him mocking looks. Ram glared at it like an angry bull. If looks could kill, you would have been six feet under the ground by now.

Ram marched up to you, jabbing his pointer finger on your forehead with each word, "You. Will. Pay. For. This."

He gritted out before walking past you, shoving your shoulder with his in the process. You turned your head to see him stomping up stairs.

We will see Mr. Ram.

© 𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to KRISHAKAMAL. Do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

#kamal writes #raag - anurag #rrr ram #rrr ram x oc #ram x wife!oc #rrr ram x female!oc

[revoevokukil]

Marriage & Sexual Politics among the Elves

I've been thinking -- we don't know if elven cultures have had a concept of marriage, right? Auberon remembers Shiadhal fondly but he doesn't call her his "wife" iirc, and Lara was supposed to "mate" with another Elder Blood elf, not to marry him.

Musings on the nature of elven desire and sexual politics (and nationalism, apparently); in response to a friend on Discord. As always, long; like your grandmother’s knitting.

I & II - Sapkowski's elves compared to Tolkien's. III - Elven biology & demographic predicament. IV - Elven nationalism as tied with their reproductive politics. V - Wild speculation on elven bonds & pacts.

-----

Would elven cultures in the Witcher have a concept of marriage? Probably. Marriage is a contractual agreement (with excellent PR) designed to achieve a particular end by way of the participant parties agreeing to terms advantageous of that end. As happens, everything in the Witcher ultimately comes down to sex and babies; especially as concerns the elves. Thus, enter: marriage.

Selective breeding, i.e. mating with someone particular as opposed to just anyone, entails at least temporary sexual exclusivity.[1] As a social construct, the primary function of marriage is usually to regulate sexual behaviour, encourage procreation while stipulating the concomitant economic and social responsibilities, and to pre-empt or solve various problems arising from the results of procreation (e.g. care duty, inheritance, kinship loyalties, tax and benefits).[2] So far, marriage fits the purpose.

Of course, marriage can also be – and is – a meaningful ritual between two (childless) lovers. More than that: in a species with a disperse procreation pattern a contractual agreement might also be struck for other reasons (e.g. political, ceremonial, benefactorial, amorous), for a fixed period, and between multiple parties (simultaneously or sequentially). There really is no reason to think nuclear family and perpetual monogamy must be the gold standard for Sapkowski’s elves. However, there might be cause to think that eternal love in the vein of Tolkien might be an ideal the elves in the Witcher’s universe cannot help but fall short of.

I entertain this thought as part of the difference between idealized and gritty fantasy. The difference, on average, seems like it comes down to attachment to a preconceived blueprint. For example, mixed-race marriages produce strange and tragic fates in both authors’ works, but only in Tolkien is the concept of marriage inherently necessary and sacred – and its sacrality affects the physical nature of an entire race – while in Sapkowski every kind of an affair, however mundane or ennobled, is treated seriously as a potential cause for conflict. Tolkien’s ideals feel more top-down and Sapkowski’s grit feels more emergent.

The most extensive documentation and interpretation of marriage between elves as we have come to know them comes from Tolkien. His influence might be felt in Sapkowski’s take on elves, though I dare say mostly by way of inciting a response rather than an imitation.

I

The most widely-known treatise on elven love life out there must be the Laws and Customs among the Eldar. Tolkien’s choices, while impossible to overlook in today’s fantasy canon, diverge from the majority of folklorish matter on fae spirits. He makes elves human again (in the vein of the semi-divine elves of the Anglo-Saxon and the Celtic Aos sí), but then he also makes them the poster children of Catholicism.[3]

For Tolkien, elves were the idealized humans before the Fall. Even after their own brand of Fall (war in paradise: the First Kinslaying, Fëanor’s Oath, and the resulting war for the Silmarils) the Eldar retain a certain idealized nobility in their very nature and bear a fate that makes it seem to mortal yokels as if the Firstborn are especially favoured by the gods. Indeed, perhaps it is the existence of a Creator God – the Great Demiurge – and his Plan in Tolkien’s cosmology that really sets his narrative apart from Sapkowski’s in the first place? Because while there is worship and many deity-like figures, faiths, and organized cults in The Witcher Saga, theism does not really manifest as a certain, fundamental feature of the ultimate order of things. Tolkien’s worldview is primarily providential; all acts of free will ultimately reinforce the Plan. Sapkowski’s take is distinctly suspect of there being any ultimate Plan, and Geralt rejects the notion of a Demiurge’s playground; acts of free will can and do alter things, though as often for the worse as for the better. And yet… Faith is real. Having faith – in a world full of mysteries.

The Witcher is secular in tone but pagan at heart.[4] Wicca is written all over the Saga; the worship of the (Triple) Goddess, Mother Nature and her cycles. Especially in respect to the elves. Indeed, it is hinted in Tower of the Swallow that elves believe themselves to have been created as opposed to having evolved like humans.[5] But we would be looking in vain for their Creator God. Elves are strangers in the worlds they occupy in the Saga, and even should we like to consider them Sapkowski’s equivalent for the Children of Danu (Tuatha Dé Danann), the Dana we encounter in The Edge of the World is either an independent being altogether or… an aspect of a diminished Goddess? As the Witcher elves themselves are in some sense diminished and diminishing; perhaps for this very reason not reluctant to perfect their divinely created selves through genetic engineering; to restore some of their once lost divinity.

Conceptually, The Witcher’s elves have gone through a Fall of their own – from idealized to gritty fantasy. If Tolkien sets an “elven ideal” and makes his Firstborn fit with it, then Sapkowski looks at cause and effect – in biology, material world, and history – and draws conclusions about his elves’ existence and outlook based on that. Not ruling out cause and effect in Tolkien’s imagination, of course, but I feel like the pivot of his work’s tone is somewhere different than Sapkowski’s. Both authors anthropomorphize elves, but Tolkien’s is one of idealization and Sapkowski’s is something of an attempt at “realistic” fantasy. Because depicting the truly alien is, indeed, very hard. Myth and folklore, however, do not aim at establishing unique differences; more often quite the opposite. They toy with the similarities they can draw between you and the “other”; to see which conclusions they can help you reach about yourself. And so, as concerns elven love life, Sapkowski’s elves resemble the creatures in fae folklore more than Tolkien’s. Just as folklore is more often concerned with magical cattle thieving than struggling with cosmological fate (but since The Witcher is still inspired by myths just the same – and myths allow for the grandiose – Sapkowski can involve major cosmological struggles in his work, only indirectly, in the backdrop to the folklorish focus on daily realities and emotions).

I will have to generalize a little bit now, though I do not wish to go on saying silly things about a faith I do not share even while being subconsciously influenced by it.

With some exceptions (e.g. Aredhel & Eöl or Luthien’s kidnapping by Celegorm & Curufin), Tolkien’s elven ideal amounted to a “monogamous, one true love = marriage for life.” On steroids. No casual sex, no premarital sex. No adultery. Intercourse = marriage = a bond of souls. Marriage (and sex) was for begetting children. To the point where Tolkien made his elves biologically unable to be anything but the icons of the aforementioned equation in body and spirit: if they married then they bonded for life and remained monogamously married for the entirety of their existence.

Sapkowski’s elves came out a little more based than that.

II

You might say that in devising the elves’ outlook Sapkowski took sex seriously, and plainly.

The notion that one of longevity’s snags is sex is actually shared by both authors, but Tolkien never really made a point of it. Sapkowski, meanwhile, set the idea under a microscope, letting it seep into the very essence of the Witcher’s plot and themes. Relations between men and women, procreation and familial ties, sexual freedom, bodily autonomy, and sexual politics – all questions of power on several levels – permeate the story. Not on the level of metaphor only either, but very straightforwardly.[6] By contrast, Tolkien ennobled the question of elven sex in footnotes, and then wrote it off.

‘By their very nature, they [elves] are “seldom swayed by the desires of the body” or influenced by lust.’  ‘Even when in after days... [when] many of the Eldar in Middle-Earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.’ - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

This is very much not the case in the Witcher.Lust pretty much capitalizes the elves’ demographic predicament; corrupted hearts or just plain hearts. Sapkowski did not prescribe a normative frame for what elves ought to be like, instead letting circumstances dictate what might make narrative sense. Both Tolkien’s and Sapkowski’s elves have few offspring. But Tolkien’s reasons for it were a little spiritual and a little conventional, whereas Sapkowski tried to be somewhat scientific about it; and definitely unconventionally specific.

“In the begetting, and still more in bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their time of generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them.” - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

Theoretically, the immortal Eldar have an eternity for procreation. Except they simply will not be interested in sex later in life because their author deemed their biological life cycle as such: they marry in their youth (when they are not yet world-weary), have a few children shortly after, and turn asexual as they age because their desires change and they carry on with the pursuit of artistic and cerebral pleasures instead. (Never mind the thought of sex as of a cerebral pleasure.) A scale-model of an idyllic married love idealized in the patriarchal, Christian world.

And just in case (though it is also written that the Eldar can be reincarnated as themselves):

"The Eldar dwell till the Great End unless they be slain or waste in grief (for to both of these deaths are they subject), nor doth eld subdue their strength, except it may be in ten thousand centuries; and dying they are reborn in their children, so that their number diminishes not, nor grows." - The Book of Lost Tales: Part 1

Tolkien’s elves are like a ready-made set of chess pieces, replenishing itself eternally, until Arda lasts.

Sapkowski’s elves on the other hand are not immortal, and what becomes of them after death is unknown. There is no One World (Arda) to which they are tied; their origin is unknown. They are travellers in a multiverse of realities. They do not have a millennia and reproduction is a real, time-sensitive issue. As is sex in general – an issue. If Tolkien’s elves simply lose interest in sex because they get nerd sniped (and because they are good Catholics), elves in the Witcher experience ordinary sexual frustration. Their longer life-span induces a craving for novelty, which becomes harder and harder to satisfy. Avallac’h’s lecture at Tir na Bea Arainne isn’t, in my opinion, to be taken as evidence of the elves’ biological inability to feel sexual desire after a while. As their history has shown, the opposite is relevant – where has their lust for novelty led them? (A graveyard at Tir na Bea Arainne?)

Sexually frustrated, elven men, just like elven women, begin bedding the newly arriving humans. Because it seems that humans are, well, easy.

‘”You multiply like rabbits.” The dwarf ground his teeth. “You’d do nothing but screw day in day out, without discrimination, with just anyone and anywhere. And it’s enough for your women to just sit on a man’s trousers and it makes their bellies swell…’

But Avallac’h – for self-evident reasons – downplays the role of elven men in the resultant demographic catastrophe. Because as it turns out, elven women, who have a normal ovulation window every 10-20 years with elven men, suddenly become induced ovulators with human men. And as in this gritty fantasy elves and humans are competitors in a race for survival, this gives human genes an advantage.

‘…the honest truth and faithful history of a world where he who shatters the skulls of others most efficiently and swells women’s bellies fastest, reigns.’ - Blood of Elves

III

Biology and demographics, then.

Elven women get the chance to have children only a handful of times in their youth. An average elf lives maybe half a millennia, maybe less. But a male elf of 600+ years is not considered too old to sire offspring, while the upper bound for female elves might arrive around 200-250 years.[7] Depending on when female elves are first considered mature for childbearing, this might result in 20-25 fertility windows (if ovulation every 10 years) or 10-12.5 chances if ovulation occurs every 20 years. The numbers are wholly speculative; we don’t know the age at which pregnancy becomes unlikely to impossible for elven women and we don’t know when elves are considered sexually mature both physically and culturally. However, if we bear in mind that individuals may also experience natural difficulties with conception on top of this diffuse ovulation cycle then elven children are, indeed, very rare.

The elves’ low fertility is compensated by their longevity; in peaceful circumstances their numbers don’t fluctuate drastically. But the circumstances of their existence in Sapkowki’s universe are not, by default, peaceful. Elves in the Witcher do not have their Aman (and even in Aman, if we recall, elf on elf violence still occurred). They exist in competition with other humanoids. Insofar, we must look at elven traits as their potential competitive advantage over likely aggressors: elves are resistant to disease, they are physically very fast and move unheard and unnoticed, they live long lives which enables them to become untouchable in most arts and crafts, and they have a special affinity to magic. Above all, elves have much more time to spread, refine, and maintain their memes. Elven fertility though is a nail in their coffin.[8] Even more so when one of the species they must compete with is able to inter-breed with them; and, to add insult to injury, does so more effectively than elves are able to amongst themselves.

Elven couples are disadvantaged in the numbers game. A human female ovulates approximately 300-450 eggs over the course of her fertile years and the wait between each ovulation is a matter of weeks. The wait for elven women in-between each potential pregnancy is decades. It is possible Sapkowski’s elves might also require a longer recuperation period after each successful pregnancy, mirroring Tolkien. Or, alternatively, they may be more resilient to disease and injury instead and the problems with pregnancies might lie in the conception phase rather than in carrying to term. I would not be surprised, however, if in our “realistic” fantasy at least the Aen Elle had not developed IVF or ovulation induction drugs to level the playing ground somewhat; potentially even independently of the need to compete with humans. We know fertility elixirs exist.

Effectively though, elven women’s reproductive sparseness means that for the majority of the time they do not have to worry about unwanted pregnancies resulting from relationships with elven men. The other side of that coin being that during their fertile phases, the social pressure to reproduce could be pretty immense. Particularly as concerns selective breeding. The period for which a male loses the opportunity to reproduce with a particular female is much longer than for human or mixed couples. This is pretty damning if trying to reproduce magically gifted individuals, and a nightmare for elven nationalists (more about that later). Consequently, absolutely any social construct (e.g. marriage, a pair-bond cementer) that helps ascertain a particular pair ends up conceiving should be very much in demand. Especially with humans added to the equation.

(For the funsies, you can speculate if a recurring period of heightened sexual proclivity in both males and females dovetails with she-elves’ menstrual cycle. Do elves experience something akin to a heat? Which, given how Sapkowski made elven women induced ovulators triggered by the orgasms human males give, I would not even be shocked about. Perhaps it’s his subversive response to Tolkien’s elves having tight control over their biology and being able to choose when they want children to happen. But seriously: ovulation with each powerful orgasm? So… if the orgasm was, let’s say, middling – or there was no orgasm at all; a depressingly realistic prospect – then no dice? An incentive for human men who are not keen on paternity to never-ever learn about the existence of an elven clitoris? I…)

IV

“They want our blood!” howled Baron Vilibert. “And our land!” someone cried from the crowd of peasants. “And our women!” chimed in Sheldon Skaggs, with a ferocious glower. - Blood of Elves

Blood, land and women are often equated, and sexual jealousy features heavily in the elven narrative.[9]

The opening scene of the Blood of Elves under Bleobheris shows the racial and social divisions permeating the Northern Kingdoms, and includes commentary on mixing and women’s bodies. An elven maid in a beautiful toque hat enjoys the attention of human knights, students and goliards; playing into it. Under the gaze of her companions – male elves, who have nothing but antipathy toward the human admirers, proceeding to mate-guard (a tall, fair-haired male elf puts an arm around the beauty with the toque, dispelling any lingering doubts). Sapkowski may have had the folk under Bleobheris poke fun at dwarves for believing everyone desires their women.[10] In the Continent’s recent history though, it was in the war between elves and humans where women’s bodies fast became objects to guard and gatekeep; elves being exceptionally attractive to humans, while humans to elves – a curiosity, a novelty, and an easy (and perhaps useful) lay.

‘Elves, bored by she-elves, court the always-willing human females. Bored she-elves give themselves, out of perverse curiosity, to human males, always full of vigour and verve. And something happens that no one can explain … some hidden hormone, or combination of hormones, became active. She-elves suddenly understand they can, in practice, only have children with humans. So, owing to the she-elves, we didn’t exterminate you when we were still the more powerful race. And later you were more powerful and began to exterminate us. But you still had allies in the she-elves. For they were the advocates of coexistence and cooperation… and they didn’t want to admit that essentially it was about commingling.’ - Tower of the Swallow

There is a lot to unpack here.

Blood, land, women. Technically, the inter-group conflict in the Witcher is an inter-species one, but the surrounding discourse is patently nationalist. Among elves, this is compounded by the worship of Mother Nature. Because in Sapkowski’s Wicca-influenced take, nature is inherently female. Ergo, land is female. And in Baptism of Fire, Regis notes: “Land and territory is what integrates elves.” Adapting to the influx of humans was therefore all the more difficult for elves because their “land and territory” was shared with the invader. Their women were shared.

One of the most common features of fairy mythology is marriage or affair between a human being and a fairy.[11] The one particularly interesting feature of such marriages is that the fairy is almost invariably the female party. Equally, there is almost always either some reluctance involved on the part of the fairy or some suggestion of the use of force by the human; or, on the contrary, it’s the fairy who seduces the human male, which usually ends woefully for him (abduction, death, maiming). The human-elf marriage is strictly conditional (e.g. striking your fairy wife or reproaching her with her origin guarantees she will leave for the Otherworld) and should the wife vanish, she usually tries to take the children with her. The prehistoric theory about the origins of fairy folklore ascribes its existence to reminiscences of earlier inhabitants, crowded out by later immigrants. The colonisers mythologizing the colonized.[12] This fits within the narrative of the Witcher, which makes a point about the inter-group conflict between different waves of migrants being fought both on the battlefield and in bed. [13] In this light, the marriage of a fairy and a human effectively amounts to a narrativization of marriage by capture: the migrants driving the natives into the forests, marshes, and other inhospitable places, where their lifestyle could easily come to be regarded as deteriorating and wild, leading to seeing them as inferior and non-human, at length even as supernatural beings or spirits of nature (i.e. as beings which later, in our folklore, developed into fairies (elves)). The migrants drive the earlier inhabitants off, while breeding with their women and thus inserting themselves into the notional line of inheritance for the conquered land through the creation of common ancestry. A bloodline that inherits the earth it walks on. Something similar is happening between humans and the Aen Seidhe in the Continent. By the 1200s, it is hard to find a human who does not have a dash of Seidhe Ichaer, the blood of elves, flowing through their veins, and pure-blooded Aen Seidhe have become a de facto minority “ethnic group.”

In nationalist discourse, the connection between the land and the people is forged through common ancestry. Blood-ties derive from the land and nourish one’s roots in the land. Women reproduce the nation biologically and under patriarchal relations are also expected to do so ideologically; recreating boundaries between groups.[14] Genes and memes. Women’s role is made to hinge on motherhood, and in national mythologies the identification of the fertile, life-giving land as the nurturing mother and wife is set to mobilize and lend legitimacy to the protection of the land by the male against those who seek to defile it. The option to deal with the invading humans aggressively had been on the table; it’s the elves’ appreciation for new life that had stayed their hand. Sexual jealousy features so prominently in the elven narrative then because the conflict they are immersed in is not only an inter-species one over the proverbial life-giving territory. It is also a conflict between elven men and women.

How do elven women position in elven societies then, politically and personally? Nationalism entails the protection and re-forging of group affiliations through ensuring similarity in its members’ biological and cultural markers, but the power relations of reproduction hinge on the nature of gender politics. In contrast to humans, elves are ostensibly egalitarian. Elven children, for example, are brought up without reinforcing arbitrary distinctions between male and female skills and practices. Insofar as elves, unlike humans, don’t seek to dominate nature (that is “the female”) – and should this mindset carry over to their social relations – the status of elven women might be greater still; also considering the commensurately more precarious situation with reproduction. The ball is in the women’s court, though so, apparently, are the stakes. After all, it seems elven women, at the time when elves still held power over humans, were in a position to steer history and choose freely whether to procreate with them. They decided in favour of it – almost as a matter of policy? – because of their love of children. And if it was a calculated decision, did elven men – who also lay with human women – see this then as either a fad or a potential?

Going down the eugenics rabbit hole for a minute: theoretically, in a controlled mixing environment, inter-breeding with particular humans could have worked out beneficially for the elves by increasing their numbers and by introducing useful mutations into their gene pool. It’s not clear though if heterosis in any form would have really occurred as a result. But if selective breeding is, indeed, widespread among them then I would not rule out at least debate among their elite. (By the way, might it be that only half-elves born of elven women would have been admitted among pure-blooded elves? (With the one notable exception being Riannon.) Perhaps due to the perception of a mother being more tied to the child and more integrated into her own people’s culture, traditions, and values?)

As it turned out, cross-breeding did not encourage peaceful relations. And insofar as sex can be a political tool (just as sexual violence a weapon of war), the choices of elven women went from being a subject of cultural reflection and appreciation to an active political liability. If previously all motherhood would have been revered for its own sake, now not all motherhood would have been perceived to lead to positive outcomes. Especially not for the group, and especially not in the eyes of elven ultranationalists. If the symbolic elevation of (nature as) “the female” thanks to her ability to bring forth new life was a distinct and possibly positive feature of elven societies beforehand, now – in this new world of competition with another species – the placement of procreation at the heart of the turns of elven history rather shifts the narrative toward the sexist objectification we are used to seeing in human cultures. Except on the whole and on average, elves remain an egalitarian species, and the overall value of life for its own sake – of hope and of new beginnings – persists.

It begs the question then if the changes in ideology that elven societies went through were wholly negative to elven women in a similar vein as they are usually negative to humans. An aureole of semi-religious significance does not necessarily result in a gilded existence – the Saga hammers this home with Ciri’s entire life – but motherhood seems to be a sought-after experience among elven women regardless. Their faces are noted to reflect boundless odium and surprise at Ciri’s disgust over the prospect of pregnancy and motherhood.[15] The gendering particulars of elven nationalism remain up for debate then: in which direction is their script askew – patriarchal, matriarchal, or some secret third thing? To what extent did it shift from one perspective toward another? If the objectification of the female body post-humans intensified commensurately with the elves’ increased procreative predicament, then an elven maid’s choice, while remaining still a choice, might have become culturally encouraged, traditionally supported, strongly recommended. But still a choice.

V

Let’s leave humans out of the equation. Let’s speculate.

There are three things Sapkowski’s elves value above all else, as far as I can tell: beauty, novelty, and the preservation of life in its particularity. The number of truly novel experiences decreases fast and nothing truly lasts in the material world. Worse, the virgin feeling of any experience loses its shine in memory. To be perpetually nostalgic then for the mental state reminiscent of a newborn for whom every new thing encountered seems permanent and never-ending – such seems the fate of elves who have no guarantees of a paradise of their own or of eternal life.

Insofar as putting a label on it goes, I suspect elven relationships are quite intricate but precisely defined per the time they intend for them to last, even if they may seem messy and opaque to the human eye. The majority of folklore depicts fae spirits as sexually liberal[16]. A mix of serial monogamy intersected with polyamory? Patch-work families and age differences also seem all but assured. Neither would I rule out the ideal of eternal, monogamous love, which rings precisely of the kind of experience that remains elusive, unreachable, and yet, desirable for these a-Tolkinesque elves. They have the time, and love has many faces. Since novelty and the particularity of experiences matters though, the general population may be tempted to maximize for variety, and their social structure and socialisation may well have had to develop to accommodate the different bonding-configurations desire and time can birth.

There is a catch, though – the fine print.

A prolonged lifespan implies every stage of elven life and their every decision – every action and non-action – will stretch in its impact; on themselves, on their society, on history. Either great foresight or a plethora of little balancing devices seem necessary in order to guard against civilizational, interpersonal, and individual breakdown. Ida Emean would not describe elven race’s strength as arising out of excessive rationality, and truly, an oath, a promise or an action that is born as a result of irrational desire, momentary impulse, or chance opportunity can be a weighty and dangerous thing for an elf. Consequently, negotiations of terms are to be expected whenever a contract is to be entered into; both before and after the bond has come into effect. But a contract is in the interests of everyone involved. Reliance on formal agreements and debts is likely as normalised as being shockingly straightforward in delineating one’s wants and expectations. Even in sensitive matters that benefit from illusions, such as love. The flipside of the coin – the catch – is that elves are incentivized to allow for and find ambiguity in the wording of their own terms, and, provided they are not ideal beings, are wont to try and re-define the precise manner of the satisfaction of the terms in their contracts.

Marriage is, first and foremost, a bargain.

Depending on the specifics of the relationship, the length and nature of a marriage may differ wildly. The notion of the immutability of sacred vows may not be quite as idealized among ordinary elves as it is among humans; in fact, it might be quite a frightening concept. If we allow for the fallen nature of the Witcher’s elves – from an idealized to a gritty depiction – then marriage as an eternal commitment is much like an impossible bind; in a universe where nothing is by virtue of design guaranteed to last, where the notion of fate itself is dubious. Moreover, not all love or lust necessitates marriage; not even real romantic love. If marriage is first and foremost a bargain, a social construct for (temporarily) regulating sexual behaviour, and a social safeguard of procreation, then I imagine elves may be quite a bit less deluded about its function; which is practical first and idealized second. Unless you belong among elven mystics (though I don’t know if they too get tax benefits).

Generally though, the ball is in an elf-maid’s court. If children are the aim, and unless subject to a selective breeding programme, she can be picky in who to mate with as her time-sensitive choices carry that much more weight. It’s up to the groom to be up to par, really. Being up to par, however, can mean many things. Is love part of the bargain? Moreover, is it “lasting” love that is being promised or sought, or a seasonal one, or something entirely, wonderfully specific and different? Tricky. No elven maid would enter into a marriage contract without first considering the terms carefully; in order not to over-promise or to be extorted of more than was seemingly agreed upon. And should true, lasting love be baked into the ideal of marriage then there would be plenty to be wary of as The Witcher’s elves maintain only the veneer of the Tolkinesque ideal and not a nature that would necessarily be able to live up to the idealization. To be tricked into performing the impossible – whether by your own feelings or by another’s – can be dire.

I think marriage is a very real concept among elves, but also a quite de-mystified one, except for a few special cases.

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[1] Naturally this begs the question if all elves (amongst themselves) practice selective breeding, or only some? We don’t know, and the topic is a little too broad to broach here, but we do know that at least the elven elite among the Aen Elle does selectively breed the magically gifted (who also happen to belong to the upper strata of their society).

[2] An interesting question in its own right would be about the nature of inheritance laws in a species that lives half a millennia a piece.

[3] The incorporation of fae spirits and their associated folklore into Christian cosmology in sub-Roman Britain is a topic of ideologically-motivated revisionism in its own right.

[4] In an interview to Stanisław Bereś (Historia i fantastyka), AS mentions his worldview is pagan: ‘Yes. Even the term "agnostic" is too weak for me. My worldview is not agnostic, atheistic or secular. This is pure paganism. I really am a pagan in the textbook sense of the word.’

[5] AS mentions creationist elves in The Manuscript.

[6] One of the metaphors being: sex -> rebirth -> hope (hopefully). Or: Grail = Woman; leading to hopeful new beginnings or the opposite, death and destruction (either by not “realising its hope” or by giving new life to what will invariably have a high chance of causing more evil). As I said, Wicca is everywhere.

[7] This is probably a generous estimate. We don’t really know the details about elven life span.

[8] No wonder elves are hell-bent on controlling Ard Gaeth; if they cannot outcompete their co-habitants or negotiate favorably for themselves, they can at least find a new universe to thrive in.

[9] In other examples, the burning of Birka – the later Jealousy – occurred in consequence of a human girl not reciprocating an elf’s feelings and, as the people say, mocking his feelings on top of it by sleeping around. Or in yet another pivotal occasion, the semi-mythical love triangle between Crevan, Lara, and Cragen gives the Witcher’s plot one of its major catalysts.

[10] ‘Several people started to laugh – as quietly and furtively as they could. Even though the idea that anyone other than another dwarf would desire one of the exceptionally unattractive dwarf-women was highly amusing, it was not a safe subject for teasing or jests… the dwarves, for some unknown reason, were entirely convinced that the rest of the world was lecherously lying in wait for their wives and daughters, and were extremely touchy about it.’ – Blood of Elves

[11] H. N. Gibson (1955) The Human-Fairy Marriage, Folklore, 66:3, pp. 357-360

[12] In case of the Witcher, the colonized Aen Seidhe were obviously technologically more advanced than the colonizing humans. A case is to be made then that infantilization plays an important part in the narrative the colonizers create against the colonized (equally to narratives emphasizing the elves’ cruelty or Otherness).

[13] It is noteworthy though, that Sapkowski’s elves are both the colonizers and the colonized, which is true to real life in many places and times; even if in particular AS drew on the several waves of migration that saw various peoples landing in Ireland and the British Isles, fighting and driving out the earlier inhabitants on each occasion. Aen Elle’s position to their human servants is diametrically opposite to that of humans’ to Aen Seidhe; possibly also in terms of reproducing with them. All servants Ciri saw at Tir na Lia were female.

[14] Yuval-Davis, N. 1988.

[15] To some extent it begs the question, do elven women on average even mind their politically and symbolically-vested position, deriving from their unique ability to create life? In ancient Celtic societies, motherhood and nurturing were considered sacred feminine qualities. There is only a small step from holding this view kindly to holding it as espoused in various patriarchal, traditionalist and nationalist discourses, though.

[16] While depicted as sexually liberal among their own, they are notably stringent with the humans they elope with.

#wiedźmin #the witcher #aen seidhe #aen elle #elves #andrzej sapkowski #j.r.r. tolkien #the witcher lore #blood of elves #baptism of fire #tower of the swallow #lady of the lake #the witcher books #auberon muircetach #lara dorren #avallac'h #wicca #nationalism #reproductive politics #fae #fairies

[naturallyadventured]

carlenekanellis

There is an unspoken word from which women are born,

a code of sisterhood.

It is not seen nor heard, but ever so present.

An oath that is taken from a secret vibration

That transcends beyond girlhood

to a world where dreams are no longer fantasy but actuality, where truth is spoken and wisdom laid out.

In this space magic is created from love and abundance

in the rising dance of the sisterhood mantra.

This place is sacred,

here she can speak the chant that calms her kindred heart,and Sing the song of freedom

from which her soul beats.

Ignited by the fire that brews In Her belly she roams the land where her wild spirit soars

and takes in the prophecy of those that came before her.

Letting go of all pain, she builds a river of tranquillity,

that runs through her veins.

A life force of purity and strength that can not be tamed.

Here is where she is born in silence

Into an unspoken world,

from sister to sister

all whispering in the mystic language

of womanhood.©

Carlene

One of the first poems I wrote many years ago, explaining the depths at which I felt the power of sistership, the importance of building bonds with women of all ages, all colors, all experiences, all lifestyles and beliefs. It is in the fabrics of sistership where I learned to weave my own quilt in life. The blanket I could surrender in and fall deeply in love with myself and the power of woman hood and be fully supported in my raw authenticity.

A big part of who I am and the art I create today is deeply impacted by many many strings of the women who have weaves their way into my life.

I am so blessed. And so very excited to see where else my work takes me and the many many more strings I get to weave into the fabric of my life.

An image from “The wild Woman Immersion”

With @zemsway.of.earth & @ash.toashes in Shasta County.

[we-were-beautiful]

The Fox and The Hounds pt. 2

A/N: Well after a month of fighting to get this chapter to work with me we finally have it. I am so happy with the response that the first part got and I am excited to see where this goes. Also I’m proud of myself; I figured out how to add Gifs. As I mentioned in the last one No beta we die like men

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Its autumn court tradition to give your mate a fox kit before your ceremony. after years of knowing the Vanserra’s a mating bond snaps between the Autumn Heir and a well known smoke hound breeder

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1960

     “Mate.” The words ring out through her head startling when a hand settles on her shoulder. It jolts the younger Fae out of her stupor turning to look at the lady of autumn who had placed her hand on her shoulders. Y/N risks a glance over to her father and the high lord each wearing a large smile. A mating bond was a absolute way to bring the families together 

     “Well that settles one of the things we came here to discuss Thorne.” Beorn claps a hand on Thorne’s shoulder. Both Eris and Y/N’s eyes widened; so the Vanserras weren’t here to just look at purchasing a puppy their fathers were getting together to finish a marriage contract. Y/N turns her eyes back towards Eris as he looks between the highlord and her father, apparently he had no idea about this meeting either. The natural instinct to bolt starts to well up in the young fae, but the gentle smoky brush against her mental shield stops her. She naturally lowers her mental walls to her mothers prodding. 

     “Don’t bolt. I know you want to run but don’t. It will be ok.” Her mothers soothing voice comforts her. Demanti are rare but it was a gift that Y/N shared with her mother a way for them to communicate without those around them hearing. 

     “I don’t know what to do Mother.” she responds to her through the link

     “It will be ok love.”  she crooned.

     “Well then It seems I have things I need to acquire. Father, Lord L/N I hope you don’t mind if I miss breakfast, I should be back in time to join you on your hunt.” Eris voice pulls Y/N back to the situation at hand not realizing that Eris had moved closer towards her 

     “Do what you must, Eris.” Beorn nodded at his son, your father simply nodding along 

     “Well then” Eris turns towards me, taking a hold of one of her hands to place a kiss on the back of her hand “ I will see you later, my Mate.”

     He lets go of her hand and turns towards the other two males.

     “Father, Lord L/N.” with a stiff nod to the older Fae he takes a step away from her and winnows away 

     “I think breakfast should be ready,shall we move to the dining room?” her mother turned and addressed the group; breaking the uncomfortable silence that had grown after the lordling had winnowed away.

     “That sounds lovely, Charis. Thorne shall we; we have much to discuss.” Beorn gestures towards the door. Thorne gives a nod before leading the way out of the kennels. 

     Y/N follows out after the group exits making a quick stop at one of the kennels. She typically cycled which of her hounds stayed with her for the night. Each of her beloved hounds had their own personalities Ramiel was no exception. Named after the sacred mountain of her mothers home court, Ramiel was her first hound and from most everyone's perspective the most spoiled. Y/N opens the kennel and quickly leashes the hound leading her out of her  assigned kennel. 

     “I know you were upset about having to come back here last night.” She kneels down next to the hound giving the hound gentle scratches behind the ear. “So you get to have your day today ok; so I need you to stop growling at everyone. The High Lord and his family are here; I need you to be on your best behavior. Ok”

     Y/N stands and leads Ramiel towards the door and towards the house. It wasn't uncommon in the nobles to have smoke hounds running around the home. They were a sign of wealth and the more you have the better. So Y/N bringing Ramiel into the hound wouldn’t get her in trouble and it would keep the spoiled pup happy. When she sneaks into the dinning room everyone else has apparently just been seated, no one bats an eye as she unclips the lead and lets Ramiel off to wander the room where she settles on one of the several dog beds lining the room. Y/N takes the open seat next to her mother across from the Lady of Autumn.

     It is almost like she is underwater as the food is served. She can hear her parents talking with Beorn and his wife but can’t really make out what they are saying. Going off of the wide smile on her fathers face and the one on Beorns, they are probably discussing the impending mating ceremony between her and Eris. It's hard for Y/N to bring herself to eat the wonderful breakfast that has been placed in front of her. It is like her head is in a fog; the mating bond had sent a shockwave through her system. It also didn’t help that she was working on zero sleep; Maybe if she was rested it wouldn’t feel like her whole world had been flipped on its head. 

     Yes she knew Eris but it was only on a surface level. So far the only thing that she knew they had in common was their love of their smoke hounds. However the mating bond did explain several things for her. It explained her violent emotions when Eris had been engaged to Morrigan; and it explained Eris behavior towards other males whenever they attend the same balls. He always had a habit of running suitors off including his own brothers, it could have been the mating bond acting out before it snapped.

      Still Y/N nodded along to the conversations still not fully aware of what was being discussed, but soon the plates were taken and tea was set in front of them. It becomes obvious to her that at least the males are waiting for Eris to return so that they can start their hunt. Time seems to drag but in reality only two hours have passed. At one point Ramiel stood from her dog bed and made her way over to Y/N sitting beside her chair, laying her slender head in Y/N's lap. The familiar weight is a comfort to the young Fae. Y/N absentmindedly pets her furry companion while gazing down at her cup.

     “Y/N.” Thorne’s voice pulls Y/N back to the present 

     “Yes. Sorry.” Y/N stumbles for a bit missing whatever had been discussed “Sorry the lack of sleep is starting to mess with me.” 

     “That is okay I know you have been up for a full day. We were wondering which hounds we should bring with us today?” Her father ever the patient man explains to her 

     “Well Bellatrix, Khalid and Ramiel are out, but the rest of mine are good as are all of your hounds father. That gives you nine which should be sufficient, but if you are looking for more I would take Anteros’ hounds since none of his are in heat and that would bring you up to twelve.” Y/N rattles off.  Twelve hounds should be efficient enough for one hunt. Beorn nods to Thorne in approval. 

     “I can only imagine that after the mating ceremony you and Eris will be tripping over all the hounds that the two of you have. What will it be, nineteen hounds?”  The Lady addresses Y/N. 

     “Um Twenty my Lady, I am going to be keeping one of Bellatrix’s pups.” That fact had only been known to her father and her.

     “I am looking forward to seeing what you can do with the Vanserra Kennels Y/N.” Beorn addresses Y/N and it feels like a small weight has been lifted from her shoulders. At least she will be able to continue doing the thing she loves. 

     “It would be an honor and a pleasure My Lord.” Even just between her and Eris she would have a variety to work with, but add in the rest of the Vanserra’s kennel the possibilities were endless. 

     A knock draws everyone's attention to the door. One of the servants pokes their head in. 

     “Lord Eris.” He introduces before opening the door. 

     Eris strides into the room with a level of confidence that Y/N had not seen from him in a while. In his arms is a basket; a plaid cloth draped over the top. His cinnamon eyes scan the room before landing on his mate.

      “Sorry I missed Breakfast.” He gives Thorne and his father a nod before turning and walking towards Y/N.

     “Sorry for my absence My Mate, but I figured it would be best to do things the traditional way.And since we were all already here this would probably be the best time.” He walks over to Y/N and  gently places the basket on the table. He pulls her chair out far enough that he can turn it to face him, disrupting Ramiel who growls lightly at the heir to the Autumn court. He pays no mind to the growling hound before he goes down to one knee in front of her; a quick glance to his father shows the look of approval on Beorn’s face. 

     “Y/N L/N, My Mate, will you do me the greatest honor of marrying me?” He produces a gorgeous emerald ring from his pocket, presenting it to the girl. Y/N nods her head yes not trusting her voice at the moment. It was an arranged marriage so saying no would reflect poorly on her family and there was no love between the two of them but at the very minimum Eris was trying to hold on to the traditions. Eris takes the ring and gently slides it onto her finger, a perfect fit that felt like led on her finger. He stands and gently places the basket on her lap. 

     Y/N slowly pulls back the plaid fabric, setting it on the table before glancing into the basket. In the basket is a sleeping fox kit. At this Y/N does softly gasp. At the gasp Ramiel suddenly takes interest in the basket standing up and sniffing around before looking into the basket nudging the sleeping kit with her snout causing the fox to wiggle and snuffle about the basket Ramiel quickly lifts her head before giving the small creature a wholly unimpressed look glancing up at Y/N. Y/N lifts the fox kit from the basket with the utmost care bringing the creature to her chest. She twist slightly in the seat to show the others in the room what was in the basket. There is a quick squeal of excitement from the Lady of Autumn as well as coo from her mother over the small fox. A small clinking noise draws  Y/N eyes down to the collar around the foxes neck. Holding the now wiggly fox with one hand Y/N grabs ahold of the tag with the other. The Vanserra Family crest is stamped into the metal flipping it around revels two lines with simple lettering

                                    Belongs to: Y/N Vanserra

     Seeing that solidified how real this situation was. Y/N was going to be married to Eris, soon if their parents had anything to say about it.

     “What are you going to name it Darling?” Charis asks her daughter, momentarily breaking Y/N away from a downward spiral.  

     “Paprika.” Y/n tells the room with no hesitation. She had alway told her family while she was growing up that if she found her mate and they gave her a fox she was going to name it Paprika to match with the spice theme that her mother had set . and so Paprika is what this fox shall be.

Tag list: @imma-too-many-fandoms @judig92 @fall-myriad @j-brielmalfoy @highlady-ofillyria @percyjacksonspeen @nyctophiliiiiaaa​

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #acotar #acomaf #acowar #autumn court #acotar x reader #the fox and the hounds

[astrologylife1]

DONT GET CONFUSED ‼️

This will be the SPIRITUAL & BIG PICTURE DESCRIPTION of my post regarding ASC OPP ASC.

Astrology is a spiritual tool that tells what has already happened. It is not the answer to your life and up to you to perceive the results spiritually.

Ascendant OPP Ascendant are KARMIC RELATIONSHIPS

Like the example I gave a Scorpio rising with a Taurus rising. This is my personal relationship. I am a scoripo asc and my first love I met at 15 is a Taurus rising.

When two OPPOSING ascendant form a connection it is very strong attraction, likeness, simple similarities and harmony. Meaning it isn’t hard to form the bond, there’s no playing games or with each others feelings because it’ feels meant to be.

When I was 15 I had no idea of astrology but when I met my partner I told everyone he looked like Chris brown LMAO. Like I was CONVINCED this 17 year old was Chris browns TWIN. All my girlfriends thought I was delusional, saying he looked nothing like Chris brown. But that was the first impression I had from him and who he reminded me of for whatever reason….

We ended up being together for 6 years and still very close today. When we got into a relationship on paper it seemed meant to be. People at work, family and friends would call us Mom and dad. They would say we argued like husband and wife at such young ages. So it was like we continued our relationship becuase it was SO ideal. But internally I could never say or felt that he was the one for me. Like i never saw myself marrying him even though we already lived like we were married.

This is where the KARMA comes in. When I was younger my parents had an on and off relationship. My mom was 15 and my dad was 18 met in high school. They tried to make it work for almost 10 years but never married. As a young girl I used to tell my mom they were meant for each other.

From the outside looking in my parents were BESTFRIENDS, they made it each other laugh and it was so easy. But when they fought it was DESTRUCTIVE and TOXIC and OFTEN. One minute there love birds next they hate each other in matter of hours.

Low and Behold my dad is a Leo rising and my mom Aquarius rising rising.

Opposites attracting ‼️‼️

Back to my relationship and the chris brown comment.. my ex is a Taurus rising but has NO Taurus placements he’s a Aquarius sun lol Chris brown is a TAURUS sun and moon.

As a Scorpio rising I’m always going to be attracted to Taurus energy.

The karma or lesson with this attraction is teaching you the downside and downfall to the typical ideal relationship. It draws you in and things move quick and fast but the lack of actually getting know each other is a recipe for disaster. There’s a underlying feeling of missing something in the relationship you feel but can’t figure out what it is.

The ascendant partner presents themselves like the ONE. But together you don’t agree or understand each other to feel that true love. This is why I brought up the 4th house examplesS

Scorpio rising- 4th house home is sacred but to me home will always be detached and I have to feel like an individual. I’m not attached to my family.

Taurus rising 4th - he desperately wants that traditional home and wife. No matter how bad his family acts he will never turrn his back away from his family .

-Hence one of our biggest consistent arguments was about family.

Another example 5th house

Scorpio rising- Pisces I am very spiritual and dream like when it comes to my expression, fun and romantic energy.

Taurus rising - Virgo he is very boring. Doesn’t care to explore and would rather do practical things.

The most important parts of ourselves our literally OPPOSITES. So not only did I learn that lesson in Ideal love but also understood and forgave my parents Becuase I used to believe they didn’t try hard enough. But they were only surface level compatible. The rest of their placements show why they weren’t compatible.

#aries season #astrology #astro observations #synastry #astro #zodiac #aries #pisces #love #synastry astrology #aquarius #ascendant #scorpio rising

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 9

of mirrors and secrets

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 6,452 summary: you settle your thoughts on soulmates, and then a conversation with your best friend goes wrong in this chapter: more soulmate talk, a sprinkle of Loki being jealous, more points for the "idiots in love" tag, Loki's pronouns are she/they in the second section, an interrupted argument with Loki (i'm sorry) author notes: and welcome back! if you've seen the masterlist today, then yeah the chapter count went up again. i'm sorry. this was originally meant to be the second half of the last chapter, but that cliffhanger was fun, right? 😊 also, if anyone knows anything about gardening i'm very sorry. i do not, and considering this is the only planned time gardening will be used in a scene i will not be learning about anything more than seeding and planting times just to make sure Voranda works in the rough timeline of this chapter. many apologies.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

Tension winds its way through you in the days that follow. Frigga’s words about the soulmate spell containing both blood and soul magic weigh heavily on you. It weighs more since you learnt it the days after Lord Ivarr’s bonding with Lady Tryggvadóttir.

Something that you once admired, something you once looked forward to, something that once seemed so sacred now feels like it could be the worst part of what it means to be a Drekasál.

You force yourself to push those lingering thoughts aside for other matters. Between your lessons and the upcoming string of back-to-back feasts, birthdays, and holidays, there’s so much else for you to focus on right now. And yet, the questions still find time to push themselves forward. To make you worry, think, and wonder.

You wonder the most about if you should ask your family how they see it. Do they see the soulmate bonds as a curse, or do they believe it’s blessed by Yggdrasill and the Voiceless One? Once, you might have believed that they all see it as being blessed by Yggdrasill and the Voiceless One. After all, you did, even if no one had ever asked you.

How else were you meant to view something that you see every day because of the bonded pairs you’ve grown up around all of your life?

It takes so little for you to remain quiet each time you want to ask. Seeing the relationships between your mother and uncle, or Katla and Tórbjǫrn, keeps you from asking.

Your mother and uncle are incredibly close, their bond strong from a thousand years spent with one another. Bonded by time, and by experiences that they sometimes talk about, regaling you with stories from their life before settling on Asgard. Of the battles, the friendships, the adventures, and the mundane moments that filled those centuries.

With Katla and Tórbjǫrn, the twins have always had each other, but you know from watching Loki and her brothers that such a thing doesn’t mean siblings don’t argue or have days they can’t get along. You’ve never seen Katla and Tórbjǫrn do anything like that. They just always seem to exist in harmony, annoying each other in an affectionate, loving manner, but never anything worse.

How can you reconcile the idea that you and your family are all cursed, when they look so happy to have the one they were meant to be bonded to?

The answer comes just a few days later.

You’re told at lunch by Katla that Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir are finally ready to meet the rest of the conflagration. Lord Ivarr had apparently even told Katla that he and his new soulmate would be remaining in Asgard. Something you thought she would look happier about than she was when she told you. He’s one of her heartmates, after all. Someone she loves dearly and has loved deeply for longer than you’ve been alive.

You do your best to distract her from whatever leaves a shadow in her dark eyes. You’re not sure how well it works.

Later, your family collects itself in Katla’s pavilion. It’s not as high up as your family’s, but her rooms aren’t as high in the palace as your family’s either. The whole conflagration stands together in a loose, casual formation, though it’s nothing like the one you take up when flying.

While your uncle stands next to your mother, you stand before them. You don’t know the order the others are standing in, but you think Katla and Tórbjǫrn are right behind them. You can’t turn around to check, though. Your mother’s hand on your shoulder feels heavy, rooting you to the spot.

Everyone is standing in tense silence as you wait for the pavilion doors to open. For the new soulmate pair to enter. When the doors finally swing open on silent hinges, you can almost hear everyone’s collective breathing just stop.

It’s strange, in a way. You’d been so eager to meet Lady Tryggvadóttir just a few nights ago when she first showed up. Now you’re worried about meeting her. She and Lord Ivarr have decided to remain in Asgard, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still change their minds. They could still leave. Lord Ivarr could decide to leave Asgard, to journey across Yggdrasil’s branches with his new soulmate, and leave your conflagration behind.

You don’t like the idea of that. Of losing a member of your family just because he decides he wants to leave.

Lady Tryggvadóttir enters first, Lord Ivarr close on her heels. Walking next to each other, you’re surprised to see how much taller the drekakona is when compared to Lord Ivarr. Her height, combined with her high-pointed ears, makes you realise that she’s both Drekasál and Ice Elf.

Watching them approach also makes you realise just how at ease they seem to be with each other already. It’s only been a few days, but if you didn’t know better, you would think they’ve known each other far longer. Something about the way they walk together, the way they move as a unit, is just… different. You’d never realised (consciously, or unconsciously) how your mother and uncle or how Katla and Tórbjǫrn move in the same way.

They move like they’re two halves of a whole. Like one could exist without the other, but to do so would leave you without the complete picture of either Drekasál. And suddenly, you get it. Not entirely, not quite the way a bonded person does, but for the first time, you’re seeing what it means, truly, to become one half of a soulmate pair.

To move without speaking and yet understand one another entirely. To know what the other is thinking, with just a glance. Offering a hand before one is asked, and reaching for it because you know they’re going to without you asking. Someone who is always in your corner, even if no one else will be. Someone to see and understand the worst of you, but also the best of you. A being who is always there, always yours.

It’s nothing short of beautiful.

“Go greet them. Remember your eyes,” your mother whispers to you, and then pushes you forward gently. Your first step is hesitant. Uncertainty winds its way through you as you approach them, even as your steps grow more confidant.

Your mother had said earlier that you must be the one to greet them. You hadn’t thought to ask then why it has to be you, and not someone else from the conflagration. Still, you shift your eyes as you approach; the world becomes sharper, gaining more variance in colour even as it remains monochrome. You can’t see the colour of Lady Tryggvadóttir or Lord Ivarr’s eyes, but you can see their shape. They wear their dragon eyes, just as you are.

You stop a few feet from them as Lady Tryggvadóttir drops to her knee. She bows her head, places her left hand over her heart, and then lays the palm of her right hand pressed flat against the floor.

It’s a gesture of respect. Something that both surprises you and thrills you in a way you can’t quite explain. Even more so when Lord Ivarr follows suit to do the same.

“My Lady Kárudóttir,” both dragons say.

“Lady Tryggvadóttir, Lord Ivarr,” you say. You nod your head at each of them, just as your mother and uncle have taught you. Yet you also choose to be a little unorthodox, to deviate a little from the norm of greeting a dragon who bows to you because you’re curious. “Lady Tryggvadóttir, might I inquire what colour your scales are?”

Without any hesitation, she replies, “Blue, my lady. Not like the dark blue of the ocean as your scales are, but the light blue of the sky.”

A small smile blooms slowly on your face at her answer.

For the first time in your life, you are not the only blue dragon on Asgard.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

When spring arrives in Asgard nearly half a year later, it finds you once again in Frigga’s garden.

It’s Voranda now, the month where the mornings are cold, but the afternoons are starting to warm up. The perfect time to begin tending to the garden, preparing it for this spring’s growth. It's also the first time you've watched Loki try to garden with her new diadem.

Like her brothers, Loki’s sixteenth birthday meant, according to the Æsir, she had finally come of age. For Loki, it mostly meant she was finally allowed to take on a few royal duties, like her brothers had when they turned sixteen. With that milestone had also come the reveal of their royal diadem, and their rune. The symbol she had chosen to be hers, just as Thor and Baldr had done when they each came of age.

Made of gleaming nornaseiða uru, the horns that curve back out of the band of Loki’s new diadem are tall and elegant. The cheekpieces curve softly around Loki’s cheekbones, adding a bit of something between awe and fear to the way the diadem looks on her. The segment between the horns also has an embossing of her symbol — a Kenaz turned on its side so it points down.

It’s because of how tall the horns of their diadem are that you’ve spent the last ten minutes kneeling a few feet away from her, trying not to laugh.

Loki’s tending to an elderberry bush, the branches only beginning to bloom in the early spring weather. As she’s checking the soil and pruning the lower branches of the elderberry bush, her horns keep getting caught in the upper branches of the bush. You were tending to a juniper berry bush just opposite her, but the constant rustling and aggravated noises Loki kept making as they tended to their bush ended up distracting you.

“You know,” you start to tell them after she breaks one branch trying to disentangle the horns from the bush, “if your diadem is giving you this much trouble, you should probably take it off.”

The laughter you’re trying so desperately to hold in as you watch Loki struggle must be clear, because she turns an exasperated, affectionate look on you. The branch she broke off falls to the ground, and you can’t help but smother your giggle behind your hand as it hits the soil.

“Sticky charm,” Loki grumbles as she sits back on their heels. It takes a moment for you to understand it's an explanation for why she hasn't taken their diadem off yet.

“Loki,” you say, unable to hold back your giggles as you give them a disbelieving look. “Tell me you didn't.”

“The sticky charm was the only way to get it to stay on my face!” Loki says to you with obvious irritation, their jaw clenching as she defends herself. “This one only has a half-band, not a full band like my ceremonial diadem. I know it wasn’t the brightest idea, okay?”

Her words throw you off balance for a moment. Loki’s rarely irritated at you, and you wonder how many times she’s had to defend herself today about casting the charm on their diadem. Your giggles die down quickly, your smile slipping into a frown.

A stricken look crosses their face when she sees your frown, and the young goddess looks away, shoulders stiff. You shuffle over to their side, reaching out a tentative hand to place on their shoulder as you lean around, trying to look into her eyes even as she turns her face further away from you.

“Loki…” You say their name as softly as you can, suffusing those four letters with the soft, gentle affection you hold for your best friend. You rest your chin on their shoulder. “Who said it?”

Loki is quiet, but then she takes a deep breath, her shoulders untensing as she leans her head against yours. Their answer is hushed as she tells you, “Both of them. They said I shouldn’t be so ‘irresponsible’ with spells I cast. I know they have a point, but…”

“You didn’t like hearing it after you’d already realised your mistake?” You offer.

“I didn’t like how they said it to me,” Loki corrects, then sighs. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this with your parents.”

You let out a soft half-laugh as you wrap your arms around them, hugging them.

“Maybe not about seiðr, but my father still struggles to deal with me being a dragon, and my mother still thinks I’m too Æsir. Add in my seiðr that neither of them understands, and,” you give a half-shrug, “sometimes I think I might as well be completely foreign to them.”

The chuckles you and Loki both let out are tinged with bitterness and mutual understanding. This is far from the first time you and Loki have lamented about your parents, and you know Loki’s grateful that she has someone to talk to about it.

When Loki talks to Thor and Baldr about it, her brothers don't seem to understand what she’s telling them. Something the young goddess has told you she believes is simply because neither of her brothers wield seiðr the way she does. Thor and Baldr’s seiðar are more elemental in nature, rather than the free-flowing nature of Loki’s.

“I still can’t believe they let you commission six headpieces. Did you really need so many?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face as you try to banter with your best friend and get her mind off of what their parents had said.

“I needed more, actually.”

You can hear the grin in Loki’s words, her tone dry and playful, and you let out an amused huff before asking, “Really? The ones you’ve commissioned already weren’t enough?”

“Well, I was thinking about commissioning one with horns that angle out from the band, and then angle up like the others.” She moves her hands around to create a vague shape, trying to outline her idea for it. You lean around to look at their face — thinking for a moment that surely they’re joking with you — but she looks completely serious, even with the slight smile on their lips.

“You make me look forward to when I’ll have to commission my own headpieces after maturity less and less,” you say to her. You shake your head, a slight smile of your own on your lips, before resting your chin on their shoulder again.

“Do you know what design you’re going to do for yours?” She asks, leaning back against you.

“Mmm, I have a few ideas for what I want,” you say. “I know I’m only going to commission a ceremonial one, and a war one. I’m not royalty, so I don’t need to commission a diadem.”

“You could be, maybe, someday.” Her voice is soft as she looks away, twirling the stick they broke from the elderberry bush. You grimace at Loki’s words, feeling uneasy about her veiled suggestion for multiple reasons.

As the only child of Týr Hymisson, in some ways it makes you, well, valuable to Asgard.

Your father is the General of Asgard’s armies, and one of the most powerful gods in the Nine Realms of Asgard outside of the House of Odin (politically speaking, anyway). Of Asgard’s nobility, only your mother, Kára, outranks you. Once you come of age some time in the next decade, you’ll be the highest ranking unmarried member of the Court of Asgard. And with your family being so close personally with members of the House of Odin, it makes you highly valuable to Asgard. If the realm needs a non-royal for a marriage alliance with one of the other Realms of Yggdrasil, you would be its first choice.

Loki places their hand over one of yours, holding onto it gently. That strange, familiar warmth begins to burn in your hand and spread through your body. The sensation breaks you from your dour thoughts, bringing you back to this simple moment.

A cool spring breeze rustles the bare branches and the barely there leaves, driving some of Loki’s dark hair to tickle your face. The sun lays a gentle warmth on your skin, the heat seeping through your clothes. There’s a gentle twittering of birds from the trees across the Sleipa. And in the silence of the moment, you can hear Loki’s breath and your own heartbeat.

It’s one of countless simple moments between just the two of you that you’ve had together over the years. One you would like to do again and again, perhaps even for the rest of your life.

The warmth in your chest, centred in your heart as the beats grow heavier, trembles and shakes.

Like a match lighting a candle in the middle of the night, suddenly you can see into the web of those clouded, often nebulous feelings you associate with Loki. Feelings that you have so frequently pushed aside and ignored for the last year, as that trembling, shaking warmth in your heart envelopes you until the world shines brightly.

If it’s possible, you will do this with Loki for the rest of your life. Part of you belongs to Loki, a part freely given to her over and over through the years you’ve known each other. A large piece of your heart that has grown to cherish — to love them as more than a friend.

There’s a small part of you — springing off the realisation of your affections for Loki — that thinks, ‘Yes, I could be royalty someday. Because of you.’

But you can’t just say that. The words stick in your throat, clawing their way back down into your chest so they remain unsaid. Your heartbeat quickens and your stomach curls as the words refuse to be spoken.

Loki is your best friend. If you were to lose that to a confession of your affections, if you were to lose her, you don’t know how you could ever pretend everything is just the same as before.

So you let the words settle back down in your lungs. Let them make a permanent home there.

And then you pretend the words never crossed your mind in the first place.

Like you haven’t realised the sheer depth of your affections for the Goddess of Mischief.

“Comes with the territory of being my father’s daughter,” you say with a shrug.

An attempt at nonchalance over something that you both know bothers you. Something that’s bothered both of you since the first time Lord Alfarr made an off-hand comment about arranged marriages and betrothals between Asgard's nobility and the other kingdoms in the Nine Realms.

Before Loki can say anything, you scoot around them with a grin on your face. You give a playful swipe at her nose with one finger as you tell them, “Besides, my mother would never let me be married off. According to her, dragons don’t marry, we only take heartmates. And Babba always listens to her when it comes to Drekasál things. So, Princess Loki, you are stuck with me until I decide to go looking around Yggdrasil for my soulmate.”

Loki giggles as she shakes her head. She takes your hands in hers, her expression soft.

Your traitorous heart leaps in your chest at that gentle look of hers. Warmth burns and curls tenderly from your heart to your hands. She’s always beautiful, but even more so when this look is on their face. You love seeing such a tender, earnest expression on their face — especially when it’s directed solely at you. It makes you feel alive in a way you can’t quite put to words.

“I will always be happy being stuck with you, Firefly,” she says. She leans towards you, the look on her face becoming a questioning one as she stares at you. “Do you really want to go running alone across Yggdrasil for decades? What if you never find them?”

“I’ll find them.” You say it with heartfelt conviction. You understand now (because of Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir, and because of your mother and uncle) that, while it’ll take time, you’re destined to find your soulmate at some point. “It’s the Voiceless One’s will. It might take me a while — a long while even — but when I do find them, it’ll be worth it.”

You look up at the sky, where Iðavǫllr hangs, high and shining in the daylight. Your mind wanders and wonders about the realms out there. Places you’ve only read about, places your heart yearns to see and experience. Your voice turns wistful as you say, “I’ll get to see so many places out there among the stars, Loki. See so many things that we’ve only heard or read about.”

“Yet Asgard is your home, and we are your friends. You would truly leave us behind to chase after a being you might not find for centuries?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice. The chance I find them in Asgard? It’s low.”

You shift your gaze from the sky back to Loki, who’s looking at you. The look on their face is something that reminds you of desperation — but that’s silly; this is Loki, and she’s never desperate about anything.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that is exactly what you’re seeing.

“I’ll come home for you,” you promise. Your words are soft, but their meaning is weighted. “I’ll always come home to you.”

You squeeze her hands, watching the way her eyes dart around your face. It’s something Loki has always done, weighing the words they hear. Like sometimes she’s not sure she can believe what she hears, despite their godhood being a domain that gives them more clarity on if someone is lying or not.

“I’ll hold you to your word,” Loki finally says. She gives you a tentative smile, squeezing your hands back. You smile at them in return, yours far less hesitant and far more bright. After all, you expected nothing less from the Goddess of Lies.

Loki stands, pulling you to your feet with them. Lacing their hand with yours, she tugs you along after her, saying, “Come. We’re going to find my mother. We’re done with the plants, and it’s nearing dinner time. And based on the procession of hǫfálfar that arrived just after lunch, we have guests from Søkkvavǫllr this evening.”

“Søkkvavǫllr? The hǫfálfar are visiting us again? So soon after Búradagrinn?” you ask, genuine curiosity and excitement in your words as you follow behind.

Búradagrinn was only a couple of weeks ago, and there had been several hǫfálfar in attendance during those three days of celebration. You’d had a lengthy and enjoyable conversation that first night with a young hǫfálfar named Bǫðvarr before Loki joined you. Topics about various interests like Søkkvavǫllr’s famed underwater fields, the recent discovery of an old castle in Vanaheimr’s polar cap that predates Álfheimr’s first visit, and the new play Death of Desire had all come up as you spoke with him.

“Hoping Bǫðvarr is going to be there?” Loki asks. She doesn’t look back at you when she speaks.

There’s something unfamiliar in Loki’s words, something almost bitter that makes you frown at them. They’d avoided your question entirely. Loki loves to tease that she knows the truth sometimes. You’re used to that, but rarely does she not answer. At least not without hinting she knows the truth. And their tone… you’ve never heard that tone before from your best friend.

“Well, he was nice to speak with,” you mumble, trying to ignore the sudden pit in your stomach. “Did you… not like him?”

Loki suddenly straightens, her hand gripping yours a bit tighter and subtly pulling you closer to her side. The way she does this is an answer in and of itself, and you can feel yourself relax almost immediately. You can’t help the bit of a smile that tugs at your lips as you wrap your free arm around theirs, and lay your head on Loki’s shoulder.

“You know you’ll always be my favourite,” you tell them. There’s a warmth curling and winding through you. Your heart beats a little harder in your chest. It’s borne of the sudden, spiralling fantasy that Loki’s jealousy might be something more than you greatly enjoying that brief acquaintanceship with Bǫðvarr.

It’s a fantasy you have to quickly shove down and lock away. You can’t recall Loki ever even hinting that she thinks of you as anything more than her best friend. You’d make a fool out of yourself eventually if you let that fantasy run wild.

“Mmm, do I now?” Loki asks, but her tone is lighter now. More playful.

“Well, I would hope so! It would make calling you my best friend a bit awkward if you thought someone else was my favourite,” you say, squeezing their hand.

“And here I thought Gauti was your favourite,” Loki teases. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at her words

“Oh dear. Well, don’t tell him he’s not actually my favourite. I’m sure it would crush him horribly to learn it's actually you, Your Highness,” you reply, doing absolutely nothing to hide your wide grin.

Loki brings the both of you to a halt. She presses a finger to her lips, tilting her head back and letting out a falsely contemplative hum. Then, they turn to face you, leaning toward you with a smirk and a playful glint in her eyes.

“No,” Loki says, poking your nose quite suddenly, “I think I will let him know I’m your favourite. We can’t let poor Gauti continue believing such a lie! That would be —”

It happens without warning.

One moment, Loki is looking down at you with that playful smirk. The next, something heavy, and solid, and sharp smacks into your face. You hiss in pain, turning your face away and backing away a few steps from her. You hear whatever it is thud against the ground a few times before rolling into the bushes.

"Ymir's drowning blood! What in the Nine Realms was that?" you ask. Hand pressed against your forehead, you take in a sharp breath, gently rubbing at the suddenly aching, tender skin.

"Are you okay?" Loki asks, something like distress in her words. She quickly steps closer, a hand outstretched towards your face. Brushing your hand aside, their palms cup your cheeks as she looks at your face.

It takes only half a second for you to realise what's different from just moments ago. Their diadem is gone. There's not even an impression left behind on her skin from where it's sat for most of today.

“That was careless of me,” Loki mutters, angry and annoyed as she holds your face, “not realising the sticky charm had a chance of dispelling before this day is over.”

You hold very still as she cradles your face, unwilling to move in case you give your recently realised affections for her away. The intensity in how she looks at you is disarming, and it takes a few moments for your mouth to work again.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve taken worse hits in training,” you tell Loki, trying to reassure them you’ll be fine in a few hours.

Their thumb swipes gently over where her diadem hit you in the face. The pain fades quickly, and you know without having to ask that she’s taken the moment to heal the minor bump.

“Better?” they ask, eyes searching your face to see if she needs to heal anywhere else. The healing hadn’t been necessary for such a minor thing. A tiny part of you finds it pointless, because you’ve definitely had worse injuries from training, but most of you appreciates the gesture for what it is. Affection and care.

“Yeah. Thanks, Loki.”

You gently pull away, quickly averting your eyes. They fall on Loki’s diadem, resting beneath a cluster of what appear to be shrubs just to your left. Looking at them, it takes you only a moment to identify what kind of shrubs they are. You know the shape of those leaves and how they grow. It’s a shrub you’ve helped tend to, and one you’ve harvested urushiol oil from when asked.

Thunderwood. A harmless plant to you, and to most other beings native to the Nine Realms.

You drop to one knee, reaching for their diadem —

“No!”

Loki’s voice rings out, sharp and high. At the same moment, an invisible force wraps around you in an instant. Before you can even understand what’s happening, you’re slung through the air and landing a few feet down the path.

You lay there for a moment, too stunned by the quickness of events to speak.

Loki is kneeling down beside you. She doesn’t touch your arm, even as she tries to check it over. You don’t know what they’re looking for. The look on their face is one you’ve almost never seen either — genuine terror.

“Did you touch it? Did any of it get on you?” she asks, her voice tight and her words rushed.

“What?”

“Did the leaves touch you?” their eyes flick up to your face briefly before returning to your arm. “I need to get you to Lady Eir, and quickly.”

You’re taken aback by their tone. As you sit up, you say, “What? No. Why? Is something wrong with the thunderwood?”

“Thund—gods above,” Loki says. Something in her features twists in a way that makes you feel twisted up and almost ill inside. You don’t like it, and you don’t know why.

“Firefly, that wasn’t thunderwood.” Loki picks up your arm gingerly, looking at it closer. Without even looking, she waves a hand at her diadem. It dissolves before your eyes, and you know they’ve sent it somewhere. Likely their room, since it wasn’t in their hand to store in a pocket dimension. “That was Hel’s touch.”

“No. No, it couldn’t be,” you tell her, tugging your arm from her grasp. You stand up and step away from her, wanting a few feet of space between you and the young goddess. That distracting warmth and fluttering feeling in your heart is not what you need to feel or focus on in this moment. “I know those leaves. I know the way thunderwood looks, Loki.”

Loki stands up after you do. She looks at you with a pinched expression.

“Thunderwood has red stems. Those stems are purple,” she tells you. Something about the way they say it makes your posture tighten. It hits you a moment later why. Something about her tone has shifted away from that Loki-tone you always hear, to the regal, authoritative tone of the Princess of Asgard.

“I know the difference between them, Loki,” you snap back to them.

“Really? Can you suddenly see colour then? Because last I checked, that curse makes it so you can only see in monochrome,” Loki bites out, stepping towards you. You swallow the growl that wants to slip from you. The growl that demands to remind her the kind of being they’re speaking with.

“It’s not a curse.”

“You still buy into the whole ‘fated’ aspect? Genuinely? Even though you could have died—”

“Because I am, Loki!” A growl slips from your lips without you realising for a moment. You turn away from her quickly and take several deep breaths, pushing down the swirl of wrath that snarls and howls inside you. Once it’s contained, you turn back to her. You can see the flinty look in her eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth.

“It is a curse, and it needs to be destroyed. Permanently.” Loki’s words are soft and sharp. They’re a dagger, slicing right into your heart as the memories of your conflagration’s soulmate pairs flash to the forefront of your thoughts.

Your words are still edged with hardness when you speak again, but they’re quieter than before.

“Just because you don’t understand what it means to have this spell on your soul—” you emphasise the word ‘spell’ on purpose, letting them know you don’t agree with their word choice, “—doesn’t mean you have the right to scorn something that is part of me. I didn’t judge you.”

Loki flinches hard enough that it surprises you. You freeze in turn. It was a low blow in more ways than one. You regret saying it now, especially when you know you’ve undoubtedly hurt her.

“What’s with the shouting I heard?” Frigga’s voice says from behind you.

You tense immediately, a sick feeling filling you once more as you watch how Loki turns a charming smile on her mother. If you hadn’t been the one arguing with her, you wouldn’t have even thought they were angry just a moment ago.

“Hello, Mother,” Loki says with their usual grin, tinged with that warning of mischief. “We were looking for you.”

You compose yourself quickly, turning to Frigga with a mostly neutral look on your face. You hope your slight quirk of a smile is convincing enough.

Frigga raises her eyebrow as she walks right past you to stand closer to Loki. She looks between the two of you as she asks, “Were you now? Well then, what can I help you both with?”

Loki places one hand on their hip, waving the other dismissively. “Not for anything of that nature. We finished tending to the plants you asked us to, and now it’s nearly dinner. Firefly’s hungry, so we wanted to let you know before we left to eat.”

When Frigga’s eyes land on you again, you shrug at first. You follow it with, “Loki told me we have guests from Søkkvavǫllr. I want to see them.”

“Very well,” Frigga says, nodding, “if you’re done for the evening, then go ahead. I’ll join the festivities in time. And Loki?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Try not to cause too many problems for our guests this evening. I heard they weren’t quite so entertained by your antics with the young prince during Búradagrinn. I’d rather you not offend them again, understood?” Frigga says it with a smile, placing a hand on Loki’s back.

“Yes, Mother,” Loki says again, though their tone is a bit more exasperated this time.

“And wear your diadem with the full band this time as well.”

Loki’s smile slips a little, then becomes a bit more forced. She says, “Of course. I’ll grab it before we go to dinner so I can change too, since I doubt you want me going to dinner in trousers and a tunic. Anything else that you need me to do before I go, or are we free to leave?”

Frigga seems to be trying to withhold some of her amusement as she looks down at her child. You’ve known the Queen of Asgard long enough to recognise how terribly she’s hiding it though. You’ve never quite understood why Loki’s occasional lack of subtlety is so amusing to Frigga.

“Yes, you may leave,” she says. She drops a kiss on top of Loki’s head. “I love you, Loki.”

“I love you too, Mother,” Loki says as she begins walking back towards the garden’s entrance.

“We’ll see you later tonight, Frigga,” you tell her, before turning away to follow Loki.

Despite the tension you feel choking the air between you, Loki doesn’t try to outpace you as she walks. They walk like nothing is wrong, but you can tell they’re still mad or upset about the argument. She doesn’t link arms with you as you walk, nor does she speak.

You remain silent as you walk, too afraid of upsetting her more by speaking. Telling Loki you’ll see them at dinner once she breaks away to take a lift up to her room is hard enough. Especially with how friendly Loki acts towards you right before she gets in the lift.

It feels easier for you to breathe once Loki’s gone. You don’t understand why Loki reacted the way they did in the gardens. They’ve never snapped at you like that before.

And you’ve never growled at them before either, you think to yourself.

“It is a curse, and it needs to be destroyed. Permanently.”

The words sting, and you’re glad you’re alone when you remember them. You lean against a wall, somewhere between the lift you left Loki in and the lift you’re headed to so you can change as well. With your head in your hands, you bring forth the hundreds of memories you have of your conflagration’s soulmate pairs.

As always, your mother and uncle are the first to spring to the forefront of your thoughts. You’ve seen them almost every day of your life that you can remember. Theirs is a more subtle bond, but you’ve always felt the love between them. You’ve seen them support each other, and you’ve seen the easy way they bring joy to one another.

Lord Ivarr and Lady Helga are the next to come to your thoughts. They’ve been a wonder for you to watch since that first day. You’ve watched them as they adjust to seeing the world in a new way. You’ve watched Lady Helga learn how to fit herself into Lord Ivarr’s life, and how easily he’s made room for his soulmate in so many spots. Sometimes you’re not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it. Lady Helga is, though. You’ve seen it on her face a few times.

Then there’s Katla and Tórbjǫrn. The twins have always shown you without any restraint the joy and warmth that comes from being each other’s soulmate. You envy them for how close they are. You also can’t count how many times you’ve begged the Voiceless One for your bond to be like theirs.

An aching joy fills you as you let the memories of them fill you. You yearn for your soulmate, whoever they will be. You have your hopes for a bond like Katla and Tórbjǫrn’s, but you know you’ll adore whatever bond the Voiceless One gives you. They’re yours, whoever they are.

You know the soulmate spell isn’t a curse for your people. You just can’t figure out how to show Loki so she sees it like you do.

After a few more minutes, you push away from the wall. A deep breath in, then out, and then you head towards the lift that will take you closest to your family’s quarters.

You don’t know what awaits you tonight, or what tomorrow will bring, but you know what your future holds. Your soulmate. Whoever they are, wherever they are right now, they’re yours. And when you find them, you know without a doubt your universe will be all the brighter for it.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr

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[the-moon-in-the-gutter]

Part-Time Soulmate, Full-Time Problem

TW: alcohol consumption, accidental injuries, blood, scars. Nothing described in full or egregious detail

A/N: title from Hold Me Like A Grudge by Fall Out Boy. And yes, I accidentally posted a draft of this earlier today lmao. Thank you to @sovaghoul for the nickname for Alpha and to @spillways-of-your-soul for listening to me prattle on about this for ages.

At least once a week, Mist and Alpha will cook dinner for their pack together. To jazz up the task, they had begun flipping a coin to see how they would cook. This week in particular it was Mist's week to flip a coin, fishing her lucky coin from her pocket before calling out "Heads drunk, tails sober" to her counterpart. The coin was caught, landing on heads and Alpha turned towards the refrigerator to bring out a bottle of homemade wine while Mist went to the cabinet for their glasses. This was their therapy for the week, to be able to cut loose without restrictions and enjoy the company of their oldest friend. the one who understood the other best. The one who brought them out of their shell, as Mist is still the only ghoul capable of bringing forth words from Alpha, even after all this time.

As they begin cooking, the wine starts flowing. The pair of ghouls laughing raucously over a joke one had told while they worked, holding a close eye on the stove. They're master cooks separately, but have absolutely mangled meals before as a pair. All was going well with the preparations, drunken voices singing along to the song flowing from the radio in the kitchen. That was until Mist turned with her glass, intending to place it on the counter. Instead, the wine glass had missed, falling and shattering on the floor.

"Son of a bitch" Mist hissed, kneeling down to begin cleaning up the glass before gasping as a shard sliced her palm.

Alpha was quick to rush to her side, the buzz of the alcohol fading away as he turned to help his partner in crime. "Here, let me get the glass don't worry with it" he said, trying to gather the larger pieces in his palm to take to the trash. In the haze of the moment, he had not noticed his palm too was cut.

The fire ghoul, having dumped the larger pieces of glass in the trash, turned to help Mist from her position on the floor. As she took his hand, the realization struck them both. The blood on their palms mixing, finding a home in the other's wound.

"Elf, you're bleeding" Mist said, turning his palm up and reaching for a paper towel to stem the flow.

Alpha looked down, both of their palms stained with blood. Yours and mine. The gravity finally settled in between the two ghouls, sobered by the events. They had formed a blood pact, as all the wine produced on the Ministry grounds was sacred. Even if it was made in the shed from blackberries that grew wild on the outskirts of the property.

"Do we tell anyone about this?" Alpha was the first to speak, clutching a paper towel in his palm as the turns toward the stove, turning down one of the burners.

Mist was stood at the sink, running cool water over her palm to stem the flow. "I say no, because how do you say it? 'Oopsie we formed a blood pact by accident'" she laughed, adding air quotes for emphasis.

Alpha shrugged, turning back to face his best friend turned bonded pair. "I mean there's no real way to say it, I'm sure they'll catch on eventually though."

_________

And catch on they did, as the newly strengthened bond between the ghouls became more apparent. There wasn't a place one could go without the other showing up without a moment's notice. Instances of saving the other from danger, as Alpha had to break up an altercation between a group of Siblings that had continued in the infirmary. Mist appeared by his side, aiding the fire ghoul in separating the foolish humans.

The strength of their bond had only increased the mental connection between the ghouls. One winter afternoon after a particularly difficult sermon in the chapel, Mist was no where to be found. The ghouls filed out of the pews one by one, walking quietly and politely before congregating outside of the doors of the chapel to talk with Siblings and each other. Terzo's ghouls had all been unsettled by the talk given by a guest speaker during mass, but it seemed to strike Mist worse than the others.

"Where's Mist? I could've sworn she was right behind me. Damn near tripped me trying to get out of here" Pebble said, looking around for the water ghoulette. Emotions were high amongst the ghouls that no one had noticed that Alpha slipping away from the group.

The fire ghoul moved quickly through the snow fall on the ground, searching for signs of the ghoulettes tracks as he made his way towards Primo's rose garden. His feet knew which way to go, while the others had possibly panicked and began searching all the wrong places for the pair. As Alpha entered the clearing his eyes fell to Mist, sat on the steps of Terzo's mausoleum.

The smell of dragon's blood incense hung heavy in the air amongst the smell of fresh snow and the freezing blooms of heliotrope left by Omega. Alpha settled next to Mist wordlessly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to bring her close to him.

The silence hung heavy in the air, only to be broken my Mist's shaky voice as she leaned further into Alpha's warmth. "I cannot believe the clergy allowed Cardinal Tennyson to speak like that" her voice broke, tears had begun stream down her cheeks in an unstoppable tide.

"I don't think they were let onto all that he was going to say, based on the looks on their faces when he had switched up to speaking of Terzo and us.." Alpha offered as a consolation, knowing that his words were not enough to smooth over the emotions swirling inside the ghoulette. Especially when he didn't fully believe them himself, anger still finding a home in his chest at the words said.

Mist shook her head, "That's not the point and you know it Alpha. No guest should speak ill of a past antipope, nor his ghouls. We shouldn't be demeaned and mistreated for what was stripped away from us. Imagine what we could have been, what we could have accomplished." The words fell from her mouth in a torrent, much akin to waves crashing ashore in a thunderstorm.

With that, the wind was stolen from Alpha's sails. It was true what she said, Terzo's ghouls were very commonly looked down upon both within the walls of the Minsitry and by outsiders. While some may blame it on scandal and proclivity, many were hateful because they found the ghouls to be less approachable. They were too different from those summoned by Copia, but too similar to those summoned by Primo and Secondo. New Siblings would spend months going out of their way to avoid the ghouls, especially Mist and Alpha. He knew of how many of the Sisters of Sin spoke of Mist, degrading her position within the church. He was viewed as a hot head, too quick to anger, one to stay away from because "what if he's unstable?"

The pair had held their weight in shame, spending their free time away from the prying eyes of Siblings. Two ghouls who were in a unique position. A unique partnership with no romantic undertones. A place in which they can find comfort, respect, and equality.

"Come on, let's get back to the abbey before you freeze to death" Alpha joked lightheartedly, dragging the ghoulette to her feet.

Mist relented, walking back hand in hand with Alpha. Scarred palm against scarred palm, as they discussed the details of their evening plans. It would be the same as it has been for years now, Alpha mending holes in the other ghouls clothing while Mist sat on the opposite end of the couch from him, her latest knitting project in her lap.

#the band ghost #mist ghoulette #alpha ghoul