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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 days

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You don’t get to tell me about sad

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a/n part two! Thank you for everyone who read the first one. So glad some of you liked it so much. 🫧🤍

summary: Azriel gets an assignment he can’t seem to decline. Now he has a princess full of attitude under his protection. The only question is whose cold heart will break first.

warning: past trauma, scars

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“No threats, nothing," Azriel dropped the report down on the table. Rhys had been the one to go meet with Autumn’s high lord. Bringing back the reports of everything that had been happening the past three days. “Eris said that everyone still thinks she’s there," Rhys stated. They planned on spinning a lie about you visiting an old relative, but it was better if the people who had inflicted the first attack would be misled about your true location.

“This could have been a one-time thing," Cassian hums, flipping through the report himself. “Or someone is waiting for the right moment," Rhys links his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “Why her?”, Cassian frowns. Yeah, Azriel asked that too at first. You didn’t seem to be magically gifted. There was nothing special about you, as far as he was aware. “Eris said she’s a weak link," the spymaster muttered.

“They’re close? That would explain things," and Cassian was right there. Love might be the worst weapon to have. Once, it slipped into the wrong hands. Azriel let out a sigh.

“Considering how he delivered the news, he loves her a lot. I believe, besides Lucien, she’s the closest to him." If he was being truthful, he hadn’t given it much thought. Here in Velaris, he could leave you on your own devices for the most part, at least. He didn’t need to trail after you. There was no need. Azriel had eyes almost everywhere.

“We’ll figure something out. I will ask around to see if something is stirring." Rhys leans back, his eyes now fixed on Azriel, “How are you?”. Azriel tries to hold back to not roll his eyes. “I’ve been fine for two weeks ago." And he was. Yes, his left side still hurt. The scar was deep and rather long. Rapping around his ribcage. Not to mention that he had pulled the stitches out way too many times. “Don’t start this," Rhys says bluntly.

“I could be up at the camps doing what I do best," Azriel points out. Itching to pick this topic back up. “Dying in the snow?"—that was a straight blow from his brother. Rhys hadn’t been able to say it out loud for the first couple of weeks. The thought of Azriel dying had messed with his head. “I said no, so it’s a no. Plus, you have a new responsibility," Rhys states firmly, and Azriel knows that there is no use in nagging him any further. “Counting days till she’s out of my sight," he mutters beneath his breath, standing up to leave. He just forgot to mean the words he spoke.

Velaris was different from what you had imagined it to be. In a good way, but it still wasn’t home. The ever-green trees almost bugged you. It was all too alive. Too bright. You missed the deep oranges. The crunching of the leaves beneath your feet. Rhys tried to be a caring host by giving you an autumn-themed room, but that only left a bitter taste in your mouth. So even if you had been advised by their healer to keep all weight off your swollen ankle for a while, you still found yourself, pulling away the decorations and shoving away the autumn theme blankets, the little trinkets.

You tried to keep out of everyone’s hair. Choosing to take your food into your room. But the four walls were starting to drive you mad. You had tasted freedom, and you didn’t want to be back there. Locked up. Hidden. Forgotten. So when your eyes landed on the two males sparing in the front yard, you, of course, first observed them from your window. Watching through the curtains and then pushing back.

“You should be resting your leg," Azriel hadn’t even turned to face you when his voice found you. A slight smirk tugging at your lips. He had been avoiding you. Or maybe you were too full of yourself. Maybe he was just busy. There was no requirement for him to be at your side twenty-four-seven.

“You’re a shit bodyguard if you didn’t know that I've been doing just that for the past three days," you muse, stepping closer to the racks of weapons that line their training ground. Fingers l brushing over a set of onyx black daggers. “Madja said at least a couple of weeks," Azriel points out, reaching to rewrap his knuckles. “And I said that I'm bored, and now we are here," you purr, lifting one of the daggers, feeling out the weight as you twist your wrist. You could feel Azriel’s eyes. Watching you. Following your every move.

“Or you just wanted a closer look at this“, the male next to him, who you had come to learn was Cassian, smirks, gesturing to his bare chest. Abs glistening with sweat. Yeah, the view wasn’t bad. Autumn males, at least the ones you know, didn’t compare. “And I thought this one was full of himself." You hooked your thumb at Azriel, rolling your eyes.

He shakes his head, “Would it hurt you to say my name?”, "Yes, Mr. Tree, trunk up my ass." You give him the most obnoxious smile you could master. Earning a deep growl from the spymaster in return. Until your eyes landed on the wooden bow, neatly placed on the ground by the buckets of water. “I want to shoot arrows," you mutter, pointing to the weapon, making Azriel’s gaze follow suit.

He let out a small snort, “Have you ever held a bow in your delicate hands?”. That prick. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Oh, news flash, he is also a sexist,” you hiss. Rounding his side to reach for the arrows. “I just don’t want you falling and tripping once again, princess," he teases in an almost mocking tone. You step closer to him. You doubt that he finds you intimidating, considering that you need to look up to even meet his gaze. But your face stays ice cold as you point to the bow, “Give it to me." He doesn’t move at first. As if on purpose. Giving you extra time to look at him. His face. There is a light scar over his right eyebrow. It’s not all that visible. Unless you take your time to… but, your little daydream is cut short by a bow being shoved at your chest. You nearly lose your footing. And just like that, you are snapped out of your daze.

“Don’t start crying when you miss," Azriel says, too full of himself as always. Leaning on the side beam like a smug, fucking cat. Too bad you grew up among five arrogant males. Six if you include that sadist of a father. That’s enough for the amber to catch fire deep within your chest. You line the arrow up. Taking a deep breath. Eyes falling to the target at the edge of the field ahead. And then it’s muscle memory as you let it loose. The first one hit the bull's eye. A satisfied smile speeds on your face as you reach for the second and third. You’re petty like that. Not in the mood to give Azriel a chance to call it fool’s luck.

A loud chuckle fills your ears, and then someone is nudging your shoulder. “She handed you your ass on a silver plate, brother." Cassian’s laughter booms, and you can’t help but match his grin. “Choke on the dust," you muse, flipping him off as you twist away from him. But Azriel is quick as always, grasping your elbow as he spin you back. “Know your place," he says through gritted teeth. Nostrils flaring.

“Maybe you should show me my place," you mutter, crossing an x on his chest. You yank your hand from his grip, glancing at Cassian, “Put the dog on the leash." Azriel curses, making Cassian snort, before the general starts barking, moving to the side to tackle his brother. You shake your head, continuing to walk away. Only catching a faint warning from Azriel, “Don’t fucking encourage it.”

Azriel chose to leave you alone for the rest of the day. Yet he could deny it all he wanted, but the shots were clean. Not to mention that he was almost relieved that you had left your room. A burden or not, he didn’t want you just rotting between the four walls. So he’s not all that surprised when your figure steps out onto the balcony. A lantern in your hand. One that you carefully place on the ledge before placing your hand on the stones. Stepping on your tiptoes, leaning to look over the edge.

"Snooping", the sudden sound of his voice makes you jump, your elbow hitting the lantern and pushing it over the edge. “You’re insane. Absolute sociopath," you gasp, hand on your chest as you try to wipe the threat from your face.

“You’re pathetic if that made you scared," Azriel shrugs, stepping out for the shadows. It wasn’t pathetic. He knew that. If he didn’t want to be seen, no one would see him. So blaming this on you was lame, but he could excuse it. For now. “You’re a creep," you hiss, leaning over the edge to look for the broken glass, now scattered on the ground. “Who sits in the dark like that?”, you ask, shaking your head and pulling your ginger hair over to one side. Fidgeting with the ends. That’s a new habit, Azriel thinks to himself, one he hadn’t yet observed.

You just shake your head once you don’t receive an answer from him. Eyes darting up the sky. It’s almost pitch black. The last traces of orange and deep purple are coloring the very edges of the horizon. “The sky is beautiful here as well," you breathe out. Not sure why. It felt stupid to get sentimental with that crazy man behind you. “It is," Azriel admits, forcing his eyes from your frame to lift to the sky. But the stars only manage to hold his attention for so long. Before they glance right back down at you, Azriel can’t tell from your face, but he feels the wave of sadness crashing into his chest.

And not even a heartbeat later you speak up again. “I usually take walks with the dogs in the evening, so... old habits die hard. I feel the itch." It’s an almost bitter chuckle that slips past your lips as you speak. Azriel walks close to the railing. “I feel the same if I don’t get to work late at night," he’s not sure why he’s even saying that. Admitting something that you don’t need to know. Or probably care to know. Your nose screeches up. “That’s a weird thing to like," you mutter. Azriel rolls his eyes, “Stomping through the woods isn’t any better.”

The breeze picks up. Chasing the last bits of warmth away. Making you wrap your arms around yourself tighter, but you don’t step back. Don’t move to head inside. “So, you’re a working late and sleep-in type of guy," you mutter. Azriel realizes it then. You’re here because you don’t want to be alone. Force-pushing the conversation to keep someone else in your company. Flashes of the basement flicker through his mind.

“No, I wake up early," he answers, a heartbeat too late, and yet you’re still nodding along. “So, no sleep type of guy," you mutter beneath your breath. The darkness is now fully draping over you two. Hiding you both from the world. “And you’re a talk just to listen to yourself speak type of girl," Azriel points out, making you huff. “And here, I thought we were having a moment." He watches as you turn around, shaking your head. “Jumping to conclusions kind of girl too," he says firmly, and this time it’s enough to drag a little chuckle from your lips as your head falls back ever so slightly.

But the distant pain doesn’t leave your eyes when you glance back at him. “Did Eris say anything by any chance?”, you mutter. A part of Azriel considers lying. Twisting the truth. A white lie. But he can’t bring himself to. Too many people were already keeping you in the dark, so he mutters a quiet, "No." Watching as you nod way too eagerly at his answer, “Of course, delighted to get rid of the troublemaker," there was that pained smile at the end as you finally chose to spread the distance between you two. “Lucien is coming tomorrow, though," Azriel points out, your tense shoulders easing ever so slightly. You don’t say anything as you reach for the glass door.

“Are you going to sleep?”, Azriel asks, almost cringing himself out. What was this sound of desperation? He didn’t fucking care what you did. “Not yet. I will walk in the garden for a bit." You gesture to the fields wrapping around the house. Azriel nods firmly, “Keep to the upper parts; don’t go past the rose garden if you get by the white... ”, “Okay, okay, mother... Tie me to your chair and watch me wilt away while you’re at it," you huff, your lips thinning into a tight line. “I’ll finish some work and come to do a room sweep," the spymaster says in an almost demanding manner. You simply raise your hand to your forehead, saluting him with a quiet “Yes, sir," before disappearing into the house.

It took Azriel way longer to get through his usual routine. He liked his office tidy for his morning working session. So at night, even if he was tired to his bones, he made the effort to sort through every pile of documents. Arrange them neatly. When he finally made it up to the top floor, where your room was located, it was well past midnight. Azriel knew that he could just drop it. He didn’t have to show up and check the room. Yet he still stood there right by your door.

"Princess," he knocked gently, not really in the mood to startle you once again tonight. You might be small and fierce, but everyone has a limit. When no response follows, he tries again: "Yn, it’s Azriel, can I come in?”, but still nothing. He could just walk in, but you weren’t a prisoner per se. “This is your last warning," he says, waiting for a heartbeat before pushing onto the handle.

It was dead quiet in the room. He would have concluded that you might not have returned yet if not for the mess that your bed was. He frowns slightly. Following the line of blankets that lead to the fireplace. And here you are. Curled by the fire, all the blankets dragged from the bed. Piles of books scattered all around you. He didn’t know that you had gone to the library. Or maybe this was Nesta’s doing. In that case, he didn’t wish to find out what was written in them. Azriel scannes the room. His eyes fell on the pens and pencils on the table. A sketchbook. A strange feeling kindled in Azriel’s chest. He has a pad just like that. Kept it in his leathers. So if he feels the urge or if something captures his attention begging to be sketched, he could easily do so.

Azriel steps closer, trying not to leave evidence of looking through your stuff. It makes him uneasy just how close you are to the fireplace, but then. Flame calls to flame. He knows that he should turn away. Just leave you be. There’s no danger here. He knows it. But he finds himself stepping forward, kneeling by your body. He hasn’t seen you so peacefully innocent before. He only knew the frowning, tantrum-throwing princess.

Tilting his head to the side, he tries to drink your features in. You were a Vanserra. The resemblance to Eris and Lucien was there. But a much softer version. With freckles all over your face. Long eyelashes. Your hair was more ginger than fire-red. But then his gaze halted. Your left shoulder was bare. The very top of your breast... a scar. It was a scare that made him halt. On your collarbone. And then two lines going beneath your shirt. Azriel’s scowl only deepened at the sight of one more white line at the side of your throat. “What did they do to you?", he mutters quietly. But it’s enough to make your eyes snap open as you jolt up. And once again, there’s a dagger aimed at Azriel’s throat, this time from the side. The very tip pressing into his flesh.

“What the fuck?", you huff, lowering your hand. “That’s a much better aim. You’re learning fast, princess." Azriel tries to keep his face cool as he steps back. Standing tall. “Why are you here standing over me like that?”, you scowl, pulling the blanket tighter over your shoulders.

“I just came to check the room," Azriel says, moving his gaze to the window. Anything was better now than looking into your burning eyes. “And decided that you can just let yourself in," you say, pushing to stand up. “You were on the floor by the fire; who knows, maybe you were lying there dead?", Azriel bits back, gesturing at the mess you had created. It was embarrassing that he had seen it. No one was supposed to see it. A bitter laugh slips past your lips, “You wish that would be...", and in a blink of an eye, he is there. Inches away from you. Hand reaching for your hair. No doubt he had thought about just yanking it back but decided against it at the last minute.

“Don’t finish that," he says, opting for a warning finger once more. As if he’s scolding a child. “Or what?", you flash your teeth at him. Pretending to bite the very tip of his finger. “You love picking fights, huh?", he straightens, smothering his hair back. The slight curls falling over his forehead. “You love changing the subject, huh?”, you mock back in the same tone. “You might just be one of the most frustrating things that came out of autumn," and you can see that he probably didn’t even mean to say it out loud. But he did. And now you two were standing in the aftermath of it. Your hands curling into fists. “Thing...", you smile at him, “How sweet of you; ladies probably drop their pants for that," and here it was that cold, cold look on your face. "Out," you hiss, now pointing Azriel to the door. Dismissing him.

The next morning is rather awkward. Azriel finds you in the sunroom of the house. Your legs tugged beneath you. You don’t lift your head, and he says nothing. Taking his usual spot by the window to drink his coffee. It unsettles him. The silence. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s some creepy stalker. Maybe you both should settle the ground rules. Talk about the situation. But once he finally finds the courage to open his mouth, the door opens. A gasp slips past your lips as you jump up, rushing to the male standing in the doorway.

"Luci," you breathe, wrapping your arms around your brother’s neck. The warmth he carried seeping into your body. “My little flicker," he mutters against your hair, leaving a couple of kisses on the side of your head. "Azriel," Lucien nods in acknowledgment. Azriel follows his movement. “I’ve got it from here”, Luci smiles at the spymaster, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“What’s going on?”, you mutter against his chest, refusing to let go. “What did Eris say?”, your brother asks, and it’s enough to make you pull back. “I don’t give a fuck about what he said," you grunt. “I want to know what you know," you demand. You have a full right to. Lucien holds your gaze for a moment before letting out a tired sigh, “We will be heading back for a bit." You shake your head, turning away from him.

“I will tell you as soon as I can, I promise," he says as he steps forward, holding you by your shoulder as he lowers his forehead to lean against you.“Why are we going back?” It’s a whisper, but blood runs thicker than water. And you need to stick together, as you always did. Even if you still don’t understand anything, “There is a public outing. He needs us by his side." That makes you chuckle, “I also needed him by my side in case anyone was wondering.”.

"Yn," Lucien sighs, but you shake your head. “You don’t get to make me feel bad for him." It’s selfish, you know that. But they had sworn to protect you, and this feels like the opposite of it. “He’s figuring this out too; be kind," Lucien mumbles, pulling your hands into his and squeezing them. “Come on, you’ll get to watch the joy on Azriel’s face when I tell him that he’ll have to spend a couple of nights in autumn," he nudges you, making you smile ever so slightly, “Now that I can get behind”.

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Taglist: @emryb

#azriel acotar imagine #azriel x oc #eris x azriel #azriel x you #azriel imagien #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x oc #lucien vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you

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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

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A Fate Inked In Starlight

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Warnings - mentions of blood, Eris being gentle 🥺, memory loss, kinda arsehole Rhys?x

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Leaves of red and orange peered down at you inquisitively, and the earth was hard and slightly damp beneath you.

You hissed as you moved, a metallic sting coating the inside of your mouth. The world tilted, a dull thumping in your mind swelled behind your eyes and you pinched the bridge of your nose in attempt to centre yourself.

It hadn’t worked.

Looking about, you drank in where you had awoken, soil and an array of foliage welcomed your sight, dark bark held onto browning leaves, some of which floated around where you sat. Light birdsong and the faint chirp of crickets flittered around you with the occasional crunch of dry twigs that snapped under the weight of the mammals that trotted by, not heading much mind to you.

You were clad in some kind of black armour, a second skin that fit you perfectly as it curved around your breasts and hips, the material splitting open in the shape of lightening across your chest where yellow gems and light hummed. Jewelled metal talons were fitted to your fingertips, coated with dry blood that had worked itself into each crevasse it could. You were sure that whatever you looked like was not a pretty sight.

Something had kept you glued to your spot, swaying slightly from the brute force that had clearly been wrecked upon you. From what you had no idea.

From the distance, you heard the beating of hooves against the hard ground, growing louder with each passing moment before a brilliant white stag exploded into the clearing where you were. It was beautiful, those pools of emerald bore into you, there was terror laced behind them, and the stag readied his attack as he lowered his antlers toward you.

“I’m not going to harm you,” you told the creature with an extended hand, an extension of your surrender, “I promise.”

The stag surveyed you, noting the wild hair that had fallen from a once tightly strung braid, the blood that coated your neck and fingers, the bewilderment in your eyes. No, you certainly weren’t a threat.

“I’m not sure how I came to be here. I don’t know where I am,” you continued, as if the stag would be able to answer any of your questions.

The creature relaxed, taking a tentative step forward to sniff the outstretched talons fixed to your fingertips. He huffed and shook his head, one of his hooves tapping against the ground as another sound entered your earshot.

“Dogs,” you said softly, sadness laced in your rough voice that scratched at your throat. “Go. I’ll distract them,” you turned your hand, exposing your palm to him, he rested his snout in it gently, and only for a moment before he bounded away. Leaping over molehills whilst leaving you alone once more.

The barking drew closer and your breath caught in your throat at the obvious number of hounds that approached your position, perhaps mistaking your blood for that of the stags.

They hurtled into the clearing, the hedges and flowers parting for them as they surged through the air and landed in front of you, mouths pulled back and snarling teeth ready to tear you apart. You shuffled back as they circled you, snapping, slobber dripping from their canines causing your heart rate to beat in your ears. Hitting the trunk of a tree, you sighed, realising there were no weapons attached to the leather holsters at your thighs made your current predicament a lot more complicated.

You wouldn’t dream of harming an animal, at least, you thought so.

A flutter of your heart gave way to gentle excitement when you had seen the stag, and even the dogs despite them wanting to turn you into a meal.

A sharp whistle tore their attention from you, pulling them back to the source as he too entered the clearing. His head was tilted to the side and he examined you with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, assessing if you were a threat or not. Red hair and amber eyes found you, and he approached, splitting his gaze between you and your laboured breathing to the scene around you both.

“Who are you?” His voice was rough but held a stoic calm, the deepness of his words made your hairs stand on edge.

A simple question. Your name. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, you stuttered, eyes wide as nothing came to mind, “I, I don’t know.”

You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Wide doe eyes staring at him in bewilderment, he knew your skin would be soft despite the mud and blood coating your surface. The sharp jaw and hallowed cheeks, full pouted lips and an elegantly pointed nose. Too beautiful for a human or fae.

The confusion etched into every inch of your features made the man relax a little, he knelt before you, his dogs happy with wagging tails brushing against his side, “Do you know where you came from?” By the looks of your armour, the blood coated talons, and the cuts dug into the side of your neck, it was clear to him that you weren’t from Prythian. You looked too advanced for his world.

You shook your head, muttering a faint and weak answer to him.

He hummed, reaching to tuck a strand of your dirty matted hair behind your pointed ear. Fae, he noted. Smiling when you didn’t flinch under his touch, he offered a hand to you, it was calloused and rough, but his pressure was gentle and guiding as he helped you from the ground.

“I’m Eris Vanserra, and you’re in the Autumn Court,” he looked down at you through thick lashes and offered a warm smile.

“Eris,” his name fell from your lips and he nodded in encouragement as you familiarised yourself with the sound of it. Yes, you definitely weren’t from his world, if you were, you’d surely cower from his name and the mention of where you were.

A pressure consumed your feet, and you found one of his hounds sat on them, staring up at you with its panting tongue flopping against the side of its jaw, its tail rustling the leaves beneath it as it wagged happily, “That’s enough, Duke,” Eris scolded the hound, rubbing between his ears in a bid to get him to move, “I’m sorry about him.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind,” you smiled, and he noticed the warmth in your eyes, the molten gold and ocean blue that could have him entranced if he wasn’t careful. “I’m sorry about this,” you motioned the air, the current situation you found yourselves in, “I wish I knew what to say.”

“It’s fine,” he frowned slightly as he peered at the still open flesh on your neck that leaked with every heartbeat, “Let me help you with that.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Eris smirked, “You’re not asking,” he shrugged as he heading back in the direction from whence he came, adjusting his brown jacket which lay over a cream open collared shirt. You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it before, the well fit pants and shirt, the adornment of fine rings across his digits. Eris Vanserra was clearly someone of high standing, and you felt stupid for not knowing. The disappointment felt foreign to you.

The male looked back at you expectantly, his well kept fiery red hair tousling over his forehead, freckles visible as the sunlight hit his face. “Thank you,” you followed his steps, Duke trotting alongside you like a personal guard.

Once you had made it back to Fir Manor, Eris’ private residence that was home to him and his hounds alone, he insisted that you bathe, that it would be easier for the healer to assess the damage if she could tell what was or wasn’t your own blood.

You didn’t need telling twice, you thanked Eris for the spare clothes, a sheer deep red dress, before you slipped into the bathroom and peeled off your second skin, paying no mind to the marks that littered your forearms and torso, the marks that covered every inch of your body.

It seemed silly. To be so trusting of someone you’d just met. But something told you that Eris wasn’t a threat to you. Something had allowed you to feel safe with him.

You sighed as the hot water worked to relax your muscles, the rest of the world fading away into blissful nothingness.

Rhys was happy.

Finally happy.

A mate and a babe. A family. No danger for the first time in what felt like a millennia.

Rhys watched them, watched his Nyx swaddled into Feyre’s chest as she painted, humming some lullaby to the dozing babe. Light poured into the room from the domed glass and he let a content sigh pass through his lips from where he leaned against the doorframe. Relishing in the sight for a moment longer before retreating back to his office and closing the door with a soft click.

He wasn’t sure where the rest of them were, Mor would be returning from the human lands soon, Cassian and Azriel were surely training, Nesta was probably nose deep in another book in the library with Amren at her side, and Elain was tucked away with Lucien somewhere revelling in their newly accepted mating bond.

Everything was as it should be.

The papers on his desk were too chaotic for anyone else to understand but him, he knew where each treaty lay in the stack, where each letter from a concerned citizen sat, when Az’s countless reports waited for his eye.

Though, one thing caught his eye that definitely hadn’t been there before he’d gone to check on his mate and child. A folded up rip of parchment, singed at the edges with an aroma of wet grass gripping to it.

It reeked of Autumn, of Eris.

Rhys wasn’t worried that the heir had contacted him. They were planning for a better Autumn once Beron handed over his title, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to hear from the eldest Vanserra at all. Scanning the parchment, Rhys felt his interest grow in the words, the vague message that beckoned him to Fir Manor, telling him that someone had dropped into the forest who Rhys may be interested in meeting.

So, the High Lord of the Night Court stalked through the halls, parchment in hand as the clash of swords and jostling laughter flooded his senses. Then he saw them, his two brothers in their training leathers, wide smiles and bruises that would fade within the hour as they jabbed another with playful words.

“Ah, did you call on Rhys to come and save you, Az? How desperate,” Cassian glimmered, his wings rustling and body keeping guard against Azriel’s oncoming attack.

Rhys stepped between them, holding the parchment in the air between his fingers with a smirk on his lips as Azriel to it from him, scanning the words, “With no memory of where she came from?” Azriel questioned, his shadows curling over his shoulders as though they wished to see what held their masters attention whilst he handed the written words to Cassian who pouted about being left out.

“Do you remember the visitor we had not too long ago?”

Azriel smirked at the memory of the redhead scouring through the caves of Prythian, “Bryce?”

“Yes, Bryce.” Rhys sent a glare to Cassian, no doubt still unhappy at his mates willingness to aid the girl, “She too fell into our world out of nowhere, didn’t she?”

Cassian stopped the thought before it could be shared, “Yes, but Bryce knew who she was and why she came here. It seems this woman doesn’t share that similarity,” he turned the paper over in his hand, like some newfound information was going to be inscribed elsewhere.

From the brief information that Eris had sent to Rhys, the woman who had fell into the Autumn had no idea who she was or where she was let alone how she found herself bleeding in a different world from her own.

“Regardless,” Rhys’ eyes glowed at the hidden message Cassian had tried to convey, that maybe this woman had nothing to do with Bryce and whatever war she was fighting on her shores. Though Cassian did have to admit that it was a coincidence that another soul had floated through into their world. “It needs to be investigated. Azriel, you’ll come with me. Cassian, you’ll stay here.”

The pair knew better than to convince Rhys otherwise, Azriel especially knew better than to refuse and potentially put his home and people in danger.

Another invader had dove into his world, his home, and he’d be damned by the Mother if he let another one trick him again.

Authors Note

Hi my loves!

It’s been a while. I know I’m usually a Bridgerton girly but I’m kinda obsessed with everything SJM right now.

So, here we are. My first Maasverse fic 🤷‍♀️

I am wanting to write a series on this so let me know what you think! I’ve been out of the game for a bit 🤍

#azriel #rhysand #cassian #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #feysand #acotar imagine #maasverse #mor acotar #amren acotar #crescent city #crescent city imagine #bryce quinlan

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fairiedance · 5 months

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Palestine - The Land of Sad Oranges

The Jaffa orange holds a lot of symbolism for the Palestinian struggle. This varietal was developed in the 19th century and named for the city Jaffa, where it was first produced for export. It was a major export of the region until the industry declined under British rule and disruption from WWII. Finally the establishment of Israel caused irreparable damage as groves were seized or destroyed by settlers. Israel took over production on seized land but never achieved the same success with the crop, and what remained of Palestine suffered ongoing violence and blockades preventing the industry from further success. The Jaffa orange has remained a symbol of the Palestinian homeland, most notably in Ghassan Khanafani's short story The Land of Sad Oranges.

This orange with a Palestinian flag for a leaf can be found here on shirts, stickers, mugs and more. ALL PROCEEDS from Palestine related sales will go to my Palestinian best friend to help him bring his girlfriend over to America. Any left over will be used to help his other loved ones around the Levant who are being hurt directly and/or financially by the attacks on Gaza, the increasing Israeli raids in the West Bank and the collateral damage in surrounding countries. All designs available here.

Thank you so much to the three customers who bought stickers, a mug and a hoodie yesterday! You are very kind, your help is greatly appreciated.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #فلسطين #jaffa #jaffa orange #land of sad oranges #colonialism #decolonize #social justice #human rights #save palestine #art #sticker art #stickers #palestine flag #redbubble

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

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Hello again! I noticed that the request might were open if not sorry for asking this!

But can we get a reader x dogday where reader is a new worker that was assigned to help the smilling critters look after the kids at playcare and when reader's eyes first land on dogday their first instinct is panic and fear, trying their best to avoid him

And dogday being the sweet boy he is, tries his best to interact with reader, trying to comfort and reassure them while also to befriend them

Note || short but sweet… also kinda confusing so apologies. •v•

WC || 813

You were new, hired to help the Smiling Critters attend to the children at the orphanage. There are all sorts of sights you were used to, just some still had easily frightened you even as you had gotten older. Your family members had teased you for your fears before, harmless at most, but it stuck with you.

When you had first laid eyes on the Smiling Critters themselves, they were large, gigantic creatures. You weren’t exactly told of this exact circumstance, but you had seen how relaxed in their presence.

One person in particular had remained to stick out to you, suddenly you were shy. He was large like many others in size, only a foot taller (seems to be a recurring theme between the males and females). You weren’t prepared to be faced with the leader of the Smiling Critters, you didn’t want to cross paths with him. You were far too avid to interact with any of the members, let out the one with such a sunny demeanor.

You shied away from the yellow-orange dog, full of comfort and warmth but his presence just scared you the most. You didn’t like him, or anything you could make out of him.

Even if he was entertaining the children, he had noticed how quickly you went away from his vicinity. Which caused him to get concerned for you, normally people would get surprised but they’d get used to him pretty fast.

Simply you had shuffled further away from him, not wanting to be buzzed with incessant fear and anxiety that the leader was giving you.

“Uh–”’ If he could raise a brow, that would be right now. DogDay tilted his head, then sighed. DogDay had ushered the group of children to continue playing by themselves, he noticed you coming into work earlier. But why would you get scared of him? Everytime he tried to get closer to you, you just sort of ran away. DogDay was a little confused as to why you wouldn’t want to interact with him, every human employee he came across had talked to him at some point or another.

This shouldn’t be any different.

Well, he wasn’t going to rush into it with you. DogDay wanted you to get comfortable being around him on your own terms, but he was albeit a little impatient. Not exactly one of his best qualities he’ll admit, but he just wanted to be friends.

“Uh, hey friend!” You flinch at the sunny tone coming up from behind, you walk back a few inches to realize it was DogDay. He raised his hands to assure you he wasn’t trying to harm you, or even have the motive to do so. “Angel, why are you so afraid of me?” his tone sounded so sad.

Your shoulders deflated, crouching down as your hands laid to rest against your knees. Body shaking with an anxiety that it shouldn't be something about him had unsettled you somehow, you just didn’t want to talk. DogDay’s face seemed to express one of hurt, hurt to see you shrunk away from him. He sat down on the ground, staying right where he had stood previously. He wanted to truly befriend you, yet it looked as if you remained a shaking ball of fear.

“It’s okay, you're okay here.” He nodded slightly, his large hands laid against the floor as if he was waiting for your own hands. “No need to be scared of me.”

A few moments had passed, a long pause fulfilling to be an air of awkwardness for just DogDay in particular. You slowly slunk over to his side, standing up and walking closer to him. The sunny dog was a little giddy; he had managed to convince you he was harmless, but he had remained calm as he didn’t want to scare you away.

DogDay had waited until you finally sat down in front of him, “See?” You heard a thumping sound coming from behind DogDay, you raised a brow. You looked behind DogDay to see it was actually his tail wagging, he was happy.

He was happy?

You look back at DogDay, the ball of anxiety that had been bubbling in your gut had dissipated. Feeling no reason to panic or whatsoever, you were just being silly. You nod and smile at him, taking his large paw and inspecting it. DogDay stilled, seeing what you were doing, he was even more elated.

Everyone doesn’t just come and go without a little bit of love, especially if that love was fluffy. You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning in to hug him.

All that darkness goes away eventually.

DogDay was no more less than happy to befriend you, or maybe something close, as this had confirmed you were more comfortable to be around him now. He didn’t want to push it, returning the hug with a gentle hand.

#poppy playtime #dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #dogday x reader #poppy playtime dogday #dogday

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holyfigtree · 5 months

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#the land of sad oranges #palestine

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k-tarotz · 5 months

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PICK A CARD; Your & Your F/O’s Dynamic

PILE ONE PILE TWO PILE THREE

hii and welcome to this pick a card! 🫶🏻 it will be a reading related to your fictional other! if that’s not your thing remember to not judge, everyone has different interests. that being said, if you are unsure how to pick a pile take a deep breath and choose the one your eyes first landed on, or the one you feel most drawn to. have fun and thank you for participating.

F/o reading | Kpop reading | personal reading | masterlist

PILE ONE

the sun, nine of pentacles, six of pentacles

so right of the bat this is someone who genuinely adores you a lot. they love the way you laugh, dress and carry yourself. they have a deep sense of love and adoration for you! not a single thing they don’t like about you.

they see you as the sun. the brightest, best thing in their life that they cannot live without. it doesn’t matter it you are a gloomy person, or not as positive as you could be. they will see only the good in you, never focus on your faults. they have a really high sense of love and adoration for you and nothing can change that. in their eyes you can do no harm, and that stays like that, most probably forever.

they would also most probably love to spoil you rotten, whatever you want is yours because they will get it for you in a heartbeat. they won’t accept a no. for some of you, your f/o could be really rich so they have no problem spending money on you. for another half of the group this is someone who doesn’t have a lot but is an insanely hardworking person and will do anything to provide you comfort.

they love you too much to just sit and watch you daydream about the things you could have. they are very action oriented and it will show in your relationship. there is also a possibility they aren’t good with words but they for sure will love you so much EVERYONE will know it. even strangers.

they love you dearly and would never ask for anyone else in their life, to them you are like a sweet summer song on a warm night under the stars. something that is impossible to forget.

this dynamic mainly sun x moon, but there is also a really strong power dynamic here. neither one of you less than the other but both having different roles. i don’t think theres a specific name for this one but the vibe is ‘would give up the world for them x not used to affection but secretly loving it’

some of you might be very shy receiving so much love and affection because you aren’t used to it or have never been loved this way before but this would only motivate your person further to love you deeply and show it to you everyday, let that be with big or small actions.

channeled messages: “ I love you, my dearest “, “ I wouldn’t mind dying in your arms”, “Do you love me like I love you?”, ��Catch me before I fall”, “Wether you are 20 or a 200 years old I love you regardless”, “Summer Time Sadness”

other things that might be relevant:

ice, distance, natto?, orange, laces, black, aesthetics, gold, music/singing, fashion, pool (pool parties for some), king

PILE TWO

judgment, hermit, the world

this one is soooo cute! with all due respect, each pile is insanely cute, but this one is especially sweet. your f/o could be a person that has a hard time opening up to people and could be labeled as a cold person even if they are not. so, ultimately a misunderstood person.

regardless of that they do have a hard time with affection, as i have already said~ they could push people away on purpose and hurting them before getting hurt themselves. now with you this would change. no matter what happens and what they do you just keep loving them without needing a specific reason. you just love them for themselves without any bad intentions and it’s so new to them and they love it so much they just want to be around you all the time and they get so overwhelmed with this feeling they aren’t quite sure how to react to it but before they realise it they fell in love already.

you fell first, they fell harder. way harder. they love you so much they feel like their heart can jump out of their chest at any minute.

since we have the hermit & the world card together it is also very possible that you are their first and last love. (even if they are written to have romantic interest in the show.. it does not matter.)

however don’t be mistaken though, they do have a very ‘fuck it, i am going to love you on purpose’ energy. they want you to know that they love you, are in love with you and that it’s not because of some accident or uncontrollable force but they adore you for the person you are. for the things you do, for the way you talk and because you are you. they love everything about you, even your habits. they find it very endearing.

once they are comfortable accepting the fact that they are in love with you they will be very affectionate with you. let that be cuddling, holding you on their lap (or vise versa, whatever you prefer), kissing you, defending you even when they know you are wrong but correcting you in private, helping you cook, doing the things you have no energy for or whatever makes you feel loved they will do it. you won’t have to tell them. they are attentive and always pay attention to you. they adore you more than you could ever imagine.

channeled messages: “Please don’t cry for me”, “I love you the most”, “Don’t take your eyes of me”, “Theres a million worlds where I love you and I would destroy each one where I don’t if I had the power”

other things that might be relevant:

white cat, car, hell (??), tent, snake, help, healing crystals (?), bites, tags (?), spices, red, power

PILE THREE

queen of swords, nine of swords, four of pentacles

alright so for your person you are someone very healing, maybe not intentionally but you heal them in ways no one could ever do before and they adore you so much for it. you give them more perspective in life and teach them things they wouldn’t have been able to think about before. this could be views on life or specific things. definitely related to how different you two are as people, but in a good way.

do you know that saying? “i can change them” well you actually can, and it’s really cute.

they could be someone that is known as a powerful but morally not correct character, or perhaps just have a personal growth arc. well, with you they would have this not only faster but better. i am not saving that you would be their saviour and they cannot live without you, but that’s kind of the energy here.

maybe at first you wouldn’t be willing to get together or like them? either way, they would want your approval a lot, straight from the get go. they look up to you like to no other and want to be someone you approve of. they have this deep desire for your love. so they would naturally change themselves for the better.

i know some people look at change as a negative thing so i would like to say: they wouldn’t force their personality or anything of the sort to change, but rather their morals/principles and the way they view life. ultimately they would have more understanding and love in their heart because of you. they would want to see the world from your eyes, understanding what you think and why you do the things you do.

they view you as someone deserving of their love, their trust and such. you would be one of, if not the only, people they show their vulnerable side to. you are a diamond in a rough in their eyes.

you are also someone they wish to protect with all their might and will, they could be very possessive over you. (though not in a toxic way.)

channeled messages: “come with me”, “kiss me just one time”, “they might leave but i will never leave you”, “ i understand, you don’t have to say a word”

things that might be relevant:

royal, river, tenten (?), kelp, yoyo, yagami (death note), bandages, fire torches, silver, rings, sunlight

thank you for participating

- Candy

#tarot #pac #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a photo #tarotblr #spirituality #astroblr #f/o

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featherandferns · 2 months

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orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

#JJ #JJ Maybank #JJ x reader #JJ Maybank x reader #jj x oc #jj maybank x oc #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks jj #outerbanks jj #outer banks jj x reader #outerbanks jj x reader #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic

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holdmytesseract · 7 months

Text

Illusions

°☆• Dream or Nightmare? (Part 2) •☆°

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: When the TVA throws Loki on a journey through his past and future, it turns out to be a cruel rollercoaster ride for the god...

Warnings: angst & sadness, tiny bit fluff, a smol suggestive scene, angst, bit of pregnancy stuff, oh and did I mention angst?

Let me know if I forgot something!

Word Count: 4,1k

a/n: Well... I listened to music - those two songs to be exactly...

... and they inspired me to write this. I am already apologising, because... It's quite sad and angsty. 👀 Or to say it in Mika's words: 'This is the hardest story that I've ever told' - perhaps.

I hope y'all like it! 💚

Tagging: @lady-rose-moon @muddyorbsblr @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @chennqingg @jennyggggrrr @theaudacitytowrite @alexakeyloveloki @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @evelyn-kingsley @vanilla-daydreaming @valencia-rou @loz-3 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @glitchquake @goblingirlsarah @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins (Continuing in the comments!)

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

The grip of the Minutemen tightened painfully around Loki's arms, as the god tried to break free from their grasp - in vain. He didn't stand a chance against four of them; dragging him down one of the seemingly endless corridors of the TVA.

"Where are they taking me?!" Loki screamed over his shoulder, trying to reach the man in the brown suit with grey-blonde hair and moustache. "Mobius, where are you taking me!" The god received no answer. Not even as the Minutemen hauled him into a big room. It looked familiar, yet different.

While Loki still struggled against the men's harsh grip, he saw Mobius tapping away on his TemPad - until a well known orange 'door' opened. The TVA agent nodded at the Minutemen, who started to move once more - straight towards the portal. "Mobius! Please!" Again, no answer; causing Loki's patience to wear thin. "I demand to know what this is!"

Shortly before the god's body could touch the orange barrier, they stopped - and Mobius appeared in Loki's field of view. "That happens when you break a friend's trust, Loki," he said; stepping closer. His face was stern, but his eyes were filled with a mixture of disappointment and hurt. "I don't want to do this, but you leave me no other choice."

With those words and a last gaze at the 'variant', Mobius turned around and walked away. Loki's jaw dropped. "Mobius! Mobius! Wait! You know the truth! Nothing here is real! You are a mere puppet on a string and you know it! Please!" Loki's plead fell on deaf ears. Again. And before he could say another word, the Minutemen pushed him through the portal.

Loki stumbled; the force of the unmerciful shove took him down. He landed on his knees - already waiting for the incoming pain of the impact; but there was none. At least no strong pain. He had landed rather softly. Nevertheless, slipped a soft groan past the god's lips as he straightened his back; raven curls whipping through the air. Loki looked around; scanning his surroundings - eyes widened instantly.

Underneath his knees was green grass. The air smelt deliciously of a trillion different flowers. A soft breeze rustled the trees nearby, and the moon stood high in the night sky; shining down on him and illuminating the world around him - just like the countless fireflies. He didn't even have to look further to know where he was...

Home.

He was in Asgard, and that was clearly his mother's garden. Why would Mobius send me here? Loki frowned; was confused. Slowly, he got up; brought himself back on his feet. His rather ragged and worn out TVA suit was looking even dirtier now; the green stains of the grass on his knees adding to the demolition.

Everything was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. But that was the last thing Loki cared about, honestly... "Mobius!" He called out once again. "What is this foolery?! Why did you take me home?! Is this real?! What-" The god cut off his own sentence as he suddenly heard something. Laughter... Child's laughter. It was getting closer and closer - until... A young boy with green robes and short black hair ran past him, followed by a young girl in a beautifully bright blue dress; her hair billowing in the wind. They were clearly chasing each other; running light-hearted through Frigga's garden.

Loki watched for a few seconds, before it hit him; eyes widening to the size of plates. His breath hitched in his throat as the two children came running straight towards him; his eyes settling on the little girl's face.

"Y/N..."

Loki breathed out your name; eyes still stuck on your youthful self. It send a jolt through his whole body - and especially through his heart. He remembered. This very night. Your parents and Loki's parents had to speak to the high council - and since your father was Odin's advisor, he needed to join. Frigga had sent you up to Loki's room in order to play, but the two of you chose to go outside instead. He remembered... Every second.

The laughter echoed in his ears as you and his younger self ran straight through him as if he was nothing but a mere projection. "What-" But before Loki could think further about it, the world suddenly started to spin around him. Faster and faster and faster. It took the god to the ground with a loud scream.

Like a few minutes ago, Loki landed soft. This time, though, it wasn't grass... He looked beneath himself. It was straw. Still a bit dizzy from whatever just had happened to him, he shook his head gently and brushed a few loose raven curls out of his face. Chest heaving with the deep breaths he took, he looked up - and immediately recognised this place as well... The royal stables.

"What... What is happening here? What is this?" Loki asked, but of course nobody answered his question.

Then he heard steps. Quick steps - and only a few seconds later, you appeared in the huge door frame of the stable. Now though, you weren't a child anymore. You had grown into a young woman. His heart skipped another beat at the sight of you.

Loki witnessed how you quickly ran barefoot into the stable and hid yourself behind against the wall beside the door; giggling. The next thing he noticed was a voice. His voice.

"Y/N? Y/N! Where did you go?!"

You giggled again; rolling your eyes with a smile. "Come find me, Lokes!" You called out - and Loki remembered. It was again something he had experienced. Years and years ago, of course; in his youth - but nevertheless...

Steps were heard again as a younger Loki, dressed in his armour ran around the corner. Before he could pass you by, you jumped out of your hiding place; straight into the god's arms. He was caught by surprise of course, but then a joyful laugh left his lips, before his palms found your hips and he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

Loki was still standing in the middle of the straw like frozen; watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. His nerve ends tingled; butterflies running wild inside his belly and by the Norns, he could swear that he still felt your lips on his. How soft and kissable they were. You had been his best friend, but on that very day, you had become his lover. His princess.

Loki wanted to relive this wonderful moment in his life longer, but then he felt again that pull and the stable started to spin around him - just as he witnessed how you and him stumbled backwards into the pile of straw; lips still entangled.

"No, no, no, not agaiiiiin!"

Loki felt like falling, before he landed with a thud on a soft but also not soft underground. The smell of pine, moss and earth hit him the second Loki reopened his eyes. Different trees and plants were everywhere around him - but they were painted black. It was dark outside. Again. Looks like the Asgardian forest, the god thought; running a hand through his hair. I must be in the woods.

Loki looked around; eyes searching for you, and after taking a few steps, he found you - and himself. This time, he dared to step closer, giving the fact that he couldn’t be seen anyway. Twigs snapped underneath his feet as he approached you.

You and Loki were on a small glade; a picnic blanket keeping your clothes from getting dirty. You had an arm underneath your neck to support your head - just like Loki, while your free hand was intertwined with his. Both of you were gazing into the night sky; pointing at different stars.

Loki came to stand directly beside you and himself; watching. He swallowed hard; knew exactly where the TVA had taken him. The god had figured out quickly that he was obviously 'travelling' through his memories. And that 'journey' or by Odin's sake whatever this was seemed to have one thing in common... You. No wonder, though. You had always been the key element in Loki's life. You were the one who kept him grounded. His anchor in the raging storms he had to face. Be it his father, brother, Warriors Three or heritage. You had been always there for him, until... Well, until Thanos and New York happened. He always wanted to find his way back to you, but then the TVA ripped him out of his timeline.

Loki swallowed hard in order to suppress the upcoming tears in his eyes; the full force of the realisation hitting him, that he was probably never ever going to see you again. Feel you again. Taste you again. His heart yearned for you - more than ever now, and all he wanted was to go back.

The god got ripped out of his thoughts, as he watched it happen before him. He had been so nervous back then. Afraid of rejection.

"Y/N, I... I know that this might come out of the blue and way too soon, but... I-I can't wait any longer. I-I want to finally make you entirely mine. I can't imagine a life without you anymore. I need you. My heart needs you. It belongs to you already anyway, so..." Loki reached in the pocket of his trousers. With a shaky hand he presented a silvery ring, which was literally shining in the pale blue moonlight. You gasped; hands flying up to cover your mouth, "Would you do me the honour and become my wife?" and then tears started to fall quickly. "N-Norns, L-Loki, I-" You had to take a deep breath to calm your racing heart - something Loki misinterpreted slightly. Fear struck him. "I-I know I can't afford you what my brother could. No title of being Asgard's queen. No throne. No-" You immediately interrupted him with your lips on his.

"Loki, stop that nonsense right now. I don't want Thor. I never did. And I definitely don't need or want the throne or being called the queen. All I need..." You cupped his chiselled cheek; gazing deeply into his blue eyes. "... is you, my prince. Always have been. Always will be. I love you. So, yes. Yes. I want to marry you."

A relieved, light-hearted laugh escaped his lips, before he smiled brightly and slipped the ring on your finger.

Loki, who still stood on the sideline, watching, found himself smiling. He loved that memory; held it close to his heart. It was such a special day for him - and you.

Before he could reminisce for too long, he got pulled out again. This time, though, the world faded entirely to black around him...

Once Loki woke up and slowly came to his senses, he felt pain shoot through his whole body. Perhaps because he had landed full force on a stony underground - unlike before. Nevertheless, he quickly felt a change. Something was different. It was not like the last three times.

Groaning, the god lifted himself off the ground - and immediately recognised what exactly had changed. He was still on Asgard; on the balcony of his chambers, to be exactly, but... He frowned, as he saw you standing underneath the sinking sun; gazing aimlessly into distance with the engagement ring he had given you twinkling in the red-orange rays. He couldn't remember. This time, he couldn't remember. Even though he tried hard to. This was not one of his memories...

Loki stepped closer towards you; eyes never leaving your frame. You were sad. He could tell. Not just because at the look on your face. He could feel it.

Silent tears were running down your cheeks, causing Loki's heart to cry out in pain. He had always hated to see you cry. That hadn't changed. It never would. "Y/N..." Loki whispered. "What is wrong, my love?" You didn't answer; just kept on crying quietly. He wanted to speak up again - but you spoke first.

"Oh Loki..." You cried softly; wiping away some stray tears. "Where are you?" You asked; gaze still directed up into the sky. "I hope you find your way back to me, my beloved... Someday..." His eyes widened; and he immediately started to run the last few meters separating you from him. Loki wanted to comfort you; wrap you up in his arms and wipe away your tears - but he never reached you. His feet stuck suddenly to the ground, as the world slowly started to spin around him. "No, no, no..." Loki mumbled in slight panic; desperately trying to free himself - but his feet wouldn't budge. It was almost like they suddenly acted on their own will.

"Y/N!"

He decided to use his voice instead. "Y/N! I'm here! I'm right here, darling!" Loki reached out his hand - but it was too late. Darkness overcame him as got sucked in the next dark hole, before he got spit out somewhere else.

The ground beneath him was familiar. As if he had been here before - and he was. Loki felt the soft grass of the royal gardens underneath his fingertips, as he heaved his tired body off the grassy ground.

Yes, he was right back to where he was in the beginning - but this time, his mother's garden looked different. Everything was beautifully decorated. Countless white chairs were lined up in front of him; each of them looking neat and elegantly - just like the people sitting on them. White rose petals were everywhere. It was beautiful. The god swallowed hard. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly that he must've landed at a wedding. His gaze drifted to the archway at the end of the passageway; formed by the chairs. It was as well beautifully decorated with white curtains and roses. And underneath the archway... Loki's heart stopped to beat for a moment.

It was you.

You were standing there, wearing the most beautiful wedding dress he had ever seen. Your hair was braided into a stunning plait; speckled with daisies. His heart skipped another beat; pumping pure love through his veins.

But the problem was the same. He couldn’t remember. This never happened. He never had the chance to finally marry-

Loki couldn't believe his eyes. All the people on the chairs, his family standing beside the archway, you... Suddenly everybody turned to face him. Suddenly, every pair of eyes was on him; leaving the god even more confused. Can they see me? Can she see me? Is this real?

Loki felt how the emotions got stuck in his throat. This moment... He had waited for this to happen such a long time. And all of a sudden, it was within reach.

Tears clouded his eyes, as he found himself running again towards you - towards his future; towards everything he ever desired and wanted.

This time, he actually managed to reach you - and for a moment, Loki believed that this was truly happening. That he was going to finally marry you right here, right now. You stretched out your arm towards him. Loki breathed out a teary laugh; reaching for you. He wanted to take your smaller hand into his bigger one; feeling your warm, soft skin finally against his - but he couldn't. His hand just slipped through yours, as if you were a ghost. He tried again - with the same result.

"Take my hand. Come on, Lokes..." You suddenly spoke up; smiling brightly. Your bright Y/E/C eyes were literally shining. "What are you waiting for?"

Loki felt like crying. His happiness washed away like sand on a beach - within a few seconds.

Frantically, he tried to reach for you again. "I-I want to, my love! I want to, b-but... I can't... I-" Loki's body froze once more; signalling him exactly what was about to happen. "No! Please!" He was powerless. He couldn't do anything against it as he got pulled away from you - again.

Another familiar setting, but no familiar memory. It felt like everything happened faster and faster; draining his physical and emotional energy. Whatever this was... Whatever Mobius had thrown him into... It was cruel. Torture.

Loki's body hit the very soft ground with a thud. It was softer than ever before. His palms glided over the surface; realising that he had landed undoubtedly on his bed - and the furniture around him belonged to his chambers.

He would've loved to just stay there and close his eyes to make it all stop, but when he heard the sound of bare feet touching the floor, he got up. Loki's head turned to follow the steps and when his eyes found you, did they widen immediately.

You were standing in the doorway; leading towards his bathing chambers. Nothing but a flimsy satin robe covered your body - which glided off your shoulders and fell to the floor, just in the moment when Loki's eyes settled on you.

The god swallowed hard; jaw slacking. You wore nothing underneath. He just stared. Stared at the holy temple which was your body. Memories flooded his head of endless nights (and days) he spent with you beneath the sheets; worshipping this temple - like you deserved. Like the goddess you were. It shot a warm feeling throughout his whole body; nerve ends tingling with desire - but it also left another gaping hole in his already bruised and battered heart.

He'd be never able to touch you again. To feel your beautiful curves underneath his fingertips; to touch your warm skin with his lips and kiss every square inch of your body.

"Are you finally joining me, my prince?" The sound of your angelic voice grabbed his attention; eyes focusing on your face - which was directed at him now. You were looking over your shoulder; hands working on freeing your hair from the plait.

"Time to consummate our marriage, husband."

It was the last thing you said, before you vanished inside the god's bathing chambers. Loki's feet and hands twitched. He desperately wanted to rip his clothes off his body and follow you, but he wasn't even able to finish that thought.

Darkness swallowed him whole once more.

Loki found himself kneeling on the stony surface of his balcony once again; exhausted. He couldn't take this anymore. His heart couldn't take this anymore. He just wanted it to stop. Unless he was going to break - and little did he know that what was coming now really did break him. The straw that broke the camel's back.

Sure, Loki could've just kept his eyes glued to the ground and not look up, in order to spare himself some pain - but being the fool in love he was, he couldn't. No matter how much it hurt... Seeing you was just too tempting. So, he somehow managed to stand on both feet again and looked up.

You were leaning against the beautifully crafted railing. You hair was flying in the warm summer breeze. You were clearly enjoying the warm rays of sunshine on your face and the naked skin which wasn't wrapped in the beautiful emerald green dress you were wearing.

A goddess. You looked like a goddess.

Loki's eyes wandered over your body - but suddenly froze in place. He felt his heart drop for the millionth time; but this time it shattered into a trillion pieces. The god's knees buckled; legs almost giving in. Pregnant. You were visibly pregnant. There was no doubt - and with the next blink of his eyes, the tears started to mercilessly fall; wetting his ragged shirt.

"N-No, please... Please..." He didn't even know what he was begging for. For his eyes to betray him? For this to end? For you to finally be able to notice him? For the illusion to fall?

The smile on your face was brighter than the sun itself, as you ran your palms absent-mindedly over your swollen stomach - until it dropped and your eyes widened for a moment; looking shocked. Loki's heart was jumping over the cliff alongside your smile - but then you breathed out a laugh.

"Loki, I... I can feel her!" Her? "She's kicking! Come, feel!"

Your words caused even more tears to roll down the god's cheeks, as he began to shake his head. "I-I can't, Y/N, I-I can't..." Loki whispered; voice filled with despair and sadness.

But you couldn't hear him - and perhaps didn't even see him. That hadn't changed. But it didn't stop you from doing something you hadn't done the last three times the TVA had tortured him with your presence. You walked over to Loki; stopping mere inches in front of him. To feel you so close almost caused his heart to explode. He inhaled a shaky breath; swearing that he was able to smell you.

"Feel, my love," you repeated - and without blinking grabbed his hand to press it against the side of your stomach. Loki gasped; his whole body shivering. Your warm, clothed skin suddenly on his; the soft fabric of the dress underneath his fingertips; the clearly noticeable kicks against his palm. It was overwhelming. So overwhelming, he didn't even question why you were able to actually touch him.

It was a small moment of bliss, before he broke entirely...

In this moment of bliss and blinding love, he wanted to reach for your hand and bury his head against your baby bump to feel more - but like before, he couldn't. His hand slipped through yours, as if he was trying to capture air. This realisation dragged him back down to earth, reminding him that this was nothing but a cruel game the TVA played. It wasn't real.

Loki broke. His legs gave in as he sunk to his knees; palm slipping from your body. His vision went blurry.

"Mobius, please... D-Don't do this to me, please... I can't anymore. I can't. I-I know this isn't real. I know it isn't. Please stop it. I can't have that w-with her - I-I never will. She is n-not truly here. Please. Have mercy. I can't take this any longer." He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. It was all too much.

All of a sudden, everything got quiet around him. All Loki could hear were his own muffled cries and sobs. The god had curled himself up into a ball - nothing more than a picture of misery.

He didn't know how long he was half kneeling, half laying on the cold ground. Perhaps only a few seconds; perhaps a few hours - but at some point he could hear quiet steps approaching. Brown dress shoes came into his field of few. Definitely not you.

"Loki, I... I didn't know, I... I am sorry." A soft, familiar voice urged to Loki's ears. "I didn't know that Ravonna would send you through this..." Mobius.

The god lifted his head; looked straight into the sorrowful, compassionate face of his 'friend'. The agent offered him his hand, which Loki took to lift his exhausted body off the ground. "W-What... What was that? Torture, I assume." The man opposite him swallowed visibly. "It... It was a glimpse into the future, but also an illusion." Loki's eyebrows slanted into a frown, causing Mobius to explain further.

"What you saw was everything that happened... and could've happened."

Now he understood; a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You showed me something I'd die for to have but never could. She's out of reach - and she'll forever be. Just like what you showed me. Am I right?" Mobius swallowed again; didn't dare to say something. So, he just nodded carefully.

Loki's heart broke all over again; another bitter laugh finding its way past his lips. It truly hurt Mobius to see him this way.

"I am sorry. I didn't know that Y/N-" The god shook his head, interrupting him immediately. "Don't. Just stop, please."

Defeated, the TVA agent nodded.

A few beats of silence passed, before a small whirring sound announced the opening of a portal. "Come on. Let's get you out of here and talk, huh?" Loki nodded; wordlessly following Mobius.

There was no point in arguing or stepping up against him. Loki's glorious purpose was gone. He had lost - everything which ever meant something to him. His brother. His mother. His life. But especially, he had lost you - and the life he could've had with you. Love. A happy marriage. A child. Everything was gone within the blink of an eye; and only now did he realise, that he already had lost all of it the second he made that one wrong step which got him here.

There was no point in fighting anymore. He had nothing left to fight for. All that was left, was a gaping hole in his broken heart.

No hope. No love. No happy ending.

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