#and/or have been traumatized by authority figures for being ''wrong''

[freakinator]

Hi Citrus what are your opinions on morality 'discourse' in fandom (i.e. people debating over whether or not a character is morally good or bad). Because watching the IASIP fandom from afar has made me realize that discussing a character's morality sort of pisses me off especially since everyone is so decisive about whether or not a person is Good or Bad

personally ii think its interesting even if it does also annoy me sometimes as well, it just pretty much depends on how the person talks about it

i do personally like to analyze a characters morality as well so it would be hypocritical of me to say everyone who does it sucks, however, its one of those things where i only like it if either i or a select few ppl talk about it (like how i am with uu) esp since i analyze it the same way i do with dnd characters -- that is to say i think its influencial to the character but not the end all be all, final product is worth more than the sum of its parts and all that, and ppl who do it any other way (esp if they use it as the sole/main measure of whether to hate a character or not) annoy me greatly

that being said, the main way i like bad guy/good guy analysis is through meta analysis as in what the analyzer themselves are saying (which is probs why i hate the example given above above) which probably isnt that much of a surprise to you since youre aware of my inclinations lol

[custody-if]

CUSTODY is a slice-of-life IF rated 17+ for explicit language, child abuse, substance abuse, self-destructive behavior, sexism, sexuality and more. Inspired by the movie Thirteen. Please avoid if you don’t enjoy reading these themes.

Note: I’m new to all of this so please bear with me!😭 Also know that I don’t condone to any of this, if you see or know a child is being abused please say something or call the authorities!

⟡ DEMO (TBA) ⟢ FORUM (TBA) ⟡ INTROS (TBA)

Step into a life of a teenager, trying to survive along with their three siblings, and with the court system trying to pull you all apart—you must not let them.

You always felt that you’ve been cursed since birth.

You and your siblings being taken away from your parents when you were twelve by child services due to child abuse and domestic violence really put a traumatic impact on your innocence and child like imagination. And thanks to the court systems and such you and your siblings weren’t split apart—imagine what could have happened if they did…

Moving from place to place and home to home has really put a weight on you, but that’s not the real issue. The real issue is them, your foster “parents” and they are something you can’t really get rid of either. Finally settling in your new home, California Los Angeles, you really thought everything would get better. I mean you just started becoming a teenager lucky number thirteen, by now life should be better right?

No.

In fact it got much worse.

Your older brother stopped coming home more, your sister started bringing a new boyfriend home every week because something obviously went wrong and she won’t tell you, and then there’s your younger brother who doesn’t even know what’s truly going on.

The world along with your body is changing every second.

Your now in the 8th grade where there is significant physical changes and emotions all over the place, your starting to notice things that weren’t as important then they were as before and the main focus is to fit in.

Completely shut down and make your own decisions because you feel like you’re old enough.

Make your foster parents life a living hell, and deal with your siblings.

Deal with running away, drama, fights, teen heartbreak, late-night parties, peer pressure, self-discovery, court systems, small teen romance, and parental relations along with family dysfunction…yea it’s a lot.

Will you be able to keep yourself from breaking?

✦ CUSTODY is highly inspired by the movie Thirteen but will have no spoilers! ✦

Full character customization (with wide-ranging effects on story and gameplay): pick your gender, height, build, personality, and sexuality.

Choose your background such as race and backstory.

Choose your aesthetic and how your bedroom looks.

Choose how you react with your older siblings (such as being clingy, avoidant, dependent, innocent, quiet and more).

Be a parent figure for your younger sibling or let the older ones do the work.

The choices you make affect how others around you look at you.

Customize your foster parents by choosing them to be FM, FF, or MM.

Choose to trust your foster parents or don’t it’s your choice. (You don’t have a choice)

Make your foster parents frustrated by being a rebellious teen or obedient.

Choose the family pet (Cat, dog, parrot, or bunny).

Try to fit in with the other kids in the neighborhood by choosing to do drugs, skip school, or dress more “revealing”. (That’s if you fall into the peer pressure)

Create friendships or be a loner.

Have a small crush, full time relationship (by choosing between 3 love interests)

Create a reputation for yourself in the 8th grade.

Avoid being split apart from your family by behaving or misbehave.

Child services checks in every time once a month (choose how to react when you see them).

⟡ MAIN CHARACTERS ⟢

The Older Brother: Sylas ⟡ he/him, 18 ⟢ The ordinary rebellious teenage boy who literally doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else in that matter. Sylas who was born first already knows how it all goes, he told you many times how child services had almost taken him away before you was even born, and to be honest it almost sounds like he brags about it. Highly reserved and keeps to himself in his room or is either never home. You wondered why he never tried to save himself and run away. Maybe it’s because you and the rest of his siblings are his last hope in this hell hole.

Personality: confident, rebellious, short tempered, and charismatic. He likes dark humor and is not afraid to tell you how stupid you look.

Appearance: 6’3 in height with chin length dyed black messy wavy hair dyed with black streaks that he somehow makes looks good, with tanned like skin which is weird since he never leaves his room, and dark brown eyes along with his angel bite piercing, tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing on the left, and ear piercings. He wears a black band t-shirt from the 90’s that he stole from a thrift store and wears baggy grey ripped jeans with a black belt that has silver rhinestones with a skull along with black sneakers. He also has a full tattoo of angel wings on his back, rumor says it’s because it was his nickname back at his old “job” when he was 17.

Your Only Sister: Darcelle ⟡ she/her, 16 ⟢ Darcelle always gotten the spiteful looks from mom every time she was either getting ready for school or just to go hang out with her friends. It was obvious that she was jealous of her, even dad would give her unusual stares. Darcelle was one of the prettiest girls in her whole school and neighborhood, and I mean everyone loved her but that didn’t take her time away from you and the rest of her siblings. She would always take you out along with your younger brother when things in the house got really bad. Now..she doesn’t do that anymore. Maybe there’s something more going on than you realize.

Personality: sharp and quick-witted, she holds confidence on the outside but in the inside she’s emotionally unstable. She treats you and your siblings entirely different than she treats everyone else.

Appearance: 5’5 in height with long length brown wavy hair with dyed blonde highlights and amber eyes along with pierced ears that holds gold hoop earrings. She wears makeup which you don’t understand why since she looks beautiful with or without it. She has tanned skin just like your older brother but with moles all over her body. She wears a red lace crop top and jean shorts with long white socks with red stripes at the top along with red adidas. She likes the color red which is obvious, her nails are also painted red with gold highlights.

Naive Younger Brother: Ollie or Oliver ⟡ he/him, 7 ⟢ You can’t blame him from being naive, I mean he’s only seven but even you knew what was really going on by the age of five. You guess that happens when neglecting parents choose to live through their youngest child. Your older brother always told you that Ollie wouldn’t survive in a world like this and should just hurry up and put him down before something worst gets to him first, he was quickly put to silence by your sister. What ever happens you will make sure nothing ever happens to Ollie, not while you’re still here.

Personality: shy, quiet, dependent, he has a hard time looking at people in the eyes and always hovers around you when he doesn’t have his toys to play with.

Appearance: 3’9 in height with short messy dark blonde wavy hair with brown eyes and tanned skin with freckles all over. He has a small scar near his eyebrow ever since he fell from climbing a tree, you can trust that he never climbed a tree ever again. He wears a normal dark green hoodie with a picture of a dinosaur on the front and long jean shorts with brown sneakers and white socks. He carries his stuffed bear that’s nearly falling apart every wear he goes.

⟡ ROMANCES ⟢

The Handsome Stoner: Scott or Smokey ⟡ he/him, 13 ⟢

He’s known all around town as the stoner kid. He is usually seen behind stores or with his group of friends near the abandoned mall. He’s popular with the girls and rumors say with the boys as well, but when it comes to teachers and police officers not so much. He was the first to talk to you on the first day of school, he gave you some pointers of what you should and shouldn’t do, which was no help at all but you didn’t tell him that. You will always know if he’s near when you smell that huge aroma of marijuana.

Personality: easygoing, creative, openminded, and empathetic. Smokey will always have your back and even more if you offer him a blunt, if you smoke ofc! He once told you that his first blunt was when he was 8, it was offered to him by his older brother which he talks about all the time. When that stupid redhead tried beating you up along with his friends, Smokey came to the rescue earning himself a purple eye and a free new Pokémon card deck which is his second favorite thing besides weed. He said he never had a fear of death since everyone dies, but his true fear was never being able to be high again.

Appearance: 5’3 in height with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, fair skin with light freckles, and hazel eyes with a silver eyebrow piercing on his right and a single silver peace piercing on his left ear. He has a secret tattoo of a weed plant on his shoulder. He wears a brown hoodie with a white peace logo on the front and dark grey sweatpants with floral patterns, green converses, and a grey beanie. He also wears a sliver ring on his middle finger that he got from a corner store near the bowling alley.

(TBA)

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Nightmares Fade

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: After a traumatic mission, you are left shaken by a nightmare that lingers, blurring the line between reality and fear. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, you make your way to the kitchen, hoping a warm cup of tea will calm your nerves. But it’s not just the tea that brings comfort to you.

Based on this request.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, nightmares, a little anxiety and tension, the reader is jumpy, mentions of violence from a mission (implied), mental fatigue, and fluffy (because I can’t help it)

Author’s Note: I tried to avoid gory details or focus too much on the contents of the nightmare.

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You sat straight up in your bed, your heart pounding as you tried to catch your breath. The nightmare clung to your mind. The shadows of your fears haunt you even in the comfort of your bed. 

It was just a dream.

The last mission was gruesome. Normally, they didn’t affect you, or at least you tried not to let them rattle you, but the remnants of the aftermath followed you into your dreams.

It was just a dream.

You wiped your temple, trying to shake off the images and the helplessness that still echoed within you. 

It was just a dream.

Reaching towards your nightstand, you looked over at the time on your phone.

2:15 am

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool touch of the floor grounding you for a moment. 

Just a dream.

You ran your hands up and down your face as if trying to scrub away the bad thoughts.

You paused for a moment, feeling that uneasy stillness. The kind of stillness where every creak in the house makes your skin crawl, where the quiet is too much to bear.

You flinched at a sudden noise.

Something moved.

You froze.

A tight knot formed in your stomach.

But it was just your coat, slipping off the back of the chair by your desk.

A breathless giggle escaped you.

You were being ridiculous.

It was just a silly dream.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your robe and padded toward the kitchen, hoping that making tea would help.

You reached the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, the soft noise soothing your nerves. You weren’t sure why you felt so unsettled; you should’ve been able to shake the nightmare by now. But it lingered, just beyond reach, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Then you heard it.

A sound.

Quiet, but unmistakable.

From behind you.

You screamed, gripping the closing thing to you, which was the handle of the panini press.

Bucky’s tough demeanor cracked, the corner of his lip tugging into a soft smile, a hint of amusement on his face. 

His imposing figure loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders practically filling the space. His blue eyes, though soft in the dim light, were fixed on you, tense yet unreadable.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s just me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Relief flooded through you as you realized that you didn't have to fight off an intruder while wearing a bunny robe, and you released the panini press handle. 

Thank God. 

It was just your wild imagination.

His presence in the kitchen wasn’t a coincidence; you knew he must’ve heard you. You froze for a moment, wiping at your face again, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears. Your first instinct was to turn away, to pretend like nothing was wrong, but that was a pointless game to play with Bucky. He saw through every façade. 

Before you could escape to privacy, you heard a sharp whistle from Bucky. “No, you don't. C'mere, sunshine.”

You winced at his tone, but his voice was gentle and commanding in the way only Bucky could be. 

You knew he wasn’t going to let you hide. 

Reluctantly, you turned back toward him, though your eyes were on the floor as you shuffled closer. “I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep,” you murmured, keeping your voice steady, even though you could feel your heart still pounding.

“You okay?” His voice was rough with sleep.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky didn’t buy it.

His sharp instincts had a way of seeing right through any façade, especially yours. He uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward you, his large presence making the space feel smaller.

“C'mere,” he said softly, that gentle authority in his voice making it impossible to say no.

Reluctantly, you turned toward him, your eyes flicking to the floor. “Really, Bucky. It’s nothing.”

He didn’t buy it for a second. His flesh hand reached out, gently lifting your chin.

“Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, his eyes filled with concern. “Nightmare, right?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, feeling the weight of the admission, that vulnerability creeping up your spine.

Bucky's face softened, the hardness of his usual demeanor slipping away as he leaned closer to you. "Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Come sit down, alright?"

Before you could protest, he guided you to the couch, his large, strong hand steadying you as he sat you down. He wrapped a cozy, warm blanket around your shoulders, the soft fabric instantly comforting.

“Stay here,” Bucky said with quiet authority, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll make finishing making you some tea.”

You let out a soft sigh, melting into his warmth as he gently pushed a few strands of hair out of your face. 

The simple tenderness of the gesture made your heart swell, and the gentleness of his touch was so at odds with the hardened bravado he often leaned into. 

With you, Bucky was a different kind of man. 

A sweet, soft, protective one.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before he moved to the kitchen. 

The rhythm of his movements in the kitchen was reassuring as you sighed.

When he returned, he was holding two steaming mugs of tea. He settled down beside you, and you shifted out of your cozy blanket cocoon, eager to share its warmth with him.

“Oh, no, sunshine, you don’t have to do that,” he said softly, his voice like a gentle caress.

“I want to,” you murmured, your smile shining through, soft and sweet.

His smile grew, a look of pure affection, as he pulled you closer, his arm sliding around you effortlessly, bringing you into his side like it was where you belonged.

“Here,” Bucky said softly, his voice like velvet, as he handed you a mug, the warmth of it seeping into your hands. His fingers brushed against yours, soft but lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as though he was trying to pass some of his calm into you. “This should help. It’s chamomile.”

You took a sip, the warmth from the tea settling in your stomach and slowly spreading through your chest. 

The sense of calm you needed started to return, but the best part was Bucky. He was still holding you close, his hand gently brushing your hair back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

You paused, considering the offer. It had been so hard to open up to anyone, especially about your nightmares. 

But with Bucky, there was no fear of judgment. He was safe. And somehow, his presence alone made everything feel a little bit easier to bear.

“I was running…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I got cornered and I couldn’t escape. And I kept hearing the team and you…but everyone was too far. No one could reach me in time.”

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, his body tensing for just a moment before he relaxed again, rubbing your back in slow, comforting strokes. “I’m right here, sunshine. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions swelling up again. "I know. I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about how scary it felt."

He kissed the top of your head, his voice like a low hum in your ear. "You don’t ever have to face that alone. We’re here. I’m always here. No matter what."

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like the blanket he’d draped over you earlier. "Thanks, Bucky. You’re… you’re really something else."

“Nightmares don’t stand a chance when I’m around,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair in slow, calming motions. “You’ll never face them alone. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

His words were a promise, quiet but unwavering. And as you snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek, the fragments of your nightmare seemed to fade into the background.

But then you smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the mood, even if only a little. “If we fall asleep here, Sam’s probably going to take another picture.”

Bucky chuckled. 

“Let him,” he said with a grin. “You’re worth it. You should know that by now, sunshine.”

You practically melted into his side. 

There was something in the way he cared for you that made everything feel like it could be okay, even in the worst of moments. 

Nothing else seemed to matter.

And for the first time that night, you felt the weight of fear and anxiety fall away, replaced by the comfort and safety only Bucky could give you.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[aventurineswife]

Young Vidyadhara Reader being found on an operating table by Jing Yuan when the Cloud Knights raid a hidden lab run by the Preceptors and Sanctus Medicus? (Reader’s going to have trust issues towards authority figures after this.)

If you’re not okay with writing this, you don’t have to!

Lost Soul

Summary: In a hidden lab run by the Preceptors and Sanctus Medicus, you, a young Vidyadhara, are found on an operating table, the result of dangerous experiments. The Cloud Knights, led by Jing Yuan, raid the facility, saving you and bringing you to safety. Confused and distrustful after your traumatic experience, you meet Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight, who offers you a chance to heal. Despite his calm demeanor, you struggle with trust, unable to forget what has been done to you, but a quiet connection begins to form as Jing Yuan promises to give you time.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Vidyadhara!Reader, Angst, Healing, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Trauma, Character Growth, Power Dynamics (?), Emotional Conflict.

Warnings: Mentions of experiments and manipulation, Trauma and trust issues, Angst and emotional turmoil, Mild medical content.

The scent of burning incense filled the air as the sound of boots echoed across the marble halls. Jing Yuan strolled calmly through the dimly lit corridor, his eyes scanning the surroundings with an almost detached air. His long hair swayed slightly with each step, and his red ribbon flickered like a flame caught in a breeze. The weight of centuries hung upon his shoulders, yet his steps were as deliberate as always.

The raid had been successful. The hidden lab, a sanctuary for those who twisted the very nature of life and death, was now under the control of the Cloud Knights. Their mission was to eradicate the remnants of the Preceptors’ dangerous experiments, but there was one discovery that piqued his interest.

Inside one of the labs, he found you—lying unconscious on a cold operating table. Your skin was pale, nearly translucent, like a porcelain doll, but there was an underlying ethereal glow to you, one that was distinctly draconic. His sharp eyes recognized you as a young Vidyadhara, a species known for their long lives and strange, cyclical rebirths. But there was something strange about you—an unfamiliarity that made his heart skip a beat.

You were too young to be here, and you certainly didn’t belong on this operating table.

"Lieutenant, what is this?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker—something akin to concern, though he kept his emotions in check.

The Lieutenant, standing nearby, hesitated before answering. "It's... it's a Vidyadhara. We found them in the middle of a dark experiment. They were going through something similar to... Jinyu's accelerated growth. But..." They trailed off, not quite sure how to finish their sentence.

Jing Yuan's eyes never left you. Something felt wrong, a distortion in the natural order. A young Vidyadhara, left to suffer in such a cold and clinical place. His mind raced. "Prepare for transport. We need to take them back to the Luofu immediately."

Days passed, and you awoke in the medical wing of the Cloud Knights' base, your vision blurred and your mind foggy. Pain throbbed in your head, and you tried to sit up, but the ache in your chest made it impossible. You winced, trying to focus, and when your vision finally cleared, you saw him—Jing Yuan. The Divine Foresight himself, standing by your bedside, his arms crossed as he studied you intently.

Your heart raced, and your instincts screamed at you to run, to escape. The memory of being captured, taken from that dark lab, twisted in your chest. You didn’t know what was real anymore, who to trust. The experiments, the Preceptors, the Sanctus Medicus—they had all led you to this moment of uncertainty.

You recoiled slightly, pulling away from him as best as you could. “Where am I? What do you want with me?” Your voice was hoarse, but your anger was clear. You could sense the judgment in your own words. Your trust was gone. You weren’t sure who you could rely on anymore, least of all someone with so much power.

Jing Yuan’s eyes softened ever so slightly, but his gaze remained steady. His presence was commanding, yet there was a tranquility to him that contrasted with your own turmoil. "You’re safe here. For now. You were found in a hidden lab—part of a dark experiment," he explained, his tone measured, like he was trying to reassure you without force. "We’ve taken care of the situation, but you’re not the only one who has been affected by it."

His words were calm, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped. You wanted to argue, to shout at him for putting you in this position, but you found yourself holding back. He wasn’t like the Preceptors or the people who had performed the experiments on you. You could sense the sincerity in his voice, even if the trust you had once had in others had been shattered.

Still, the questions remained—too many to ignore. "Who are you really? What do you want with me? And why... why are you helping me?" You couldn’t help but feel the bitterness that clung to your words. There was too much uncertainty swirling inside you, and you needed answers.

Jing Yuan let out a long breath, his eyes flicking over your form as if searching for the right words. His face, though youthful, seemed weary in a way that suggested the weight of many lifetimes pressed upon him. He had seen too much, lived too long, and yet, his calmness radiated through the silence.

“You are a child of Long’s legacy,” he began, his voice low but resolute. “The Vidyadhara are no strangers to hardship, but you... you are different. The experiments conducted on you were not meant for healing or growth—they were manipulation, a distortion of your cycle. As for what I want, I merely wish to ensure that you are allowed to heal in peace, without the constant pull of those who would seek to exploit your kind.”

He stepped closer, and for the first time, you noticed a glimmer of something in his eyes—an understanding that spoke to something deeper than just a military leader, something more... human.

“I do not expect you to trust me right away,” he continued. “I do not expect anything from you, except time. Time to heal, time to grow, and time to make your own choices.”

You hesitated, a flicker of something—perhaps hope—dancing on the edge of your heart. You didn’t know what the future held, and you weren’t sure you could ever trust again, but something in his words, in his gaze, made you pause.

For a moment, just a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe without the weight of suspicion. Maybe... just maybe, he wasn’t like the others.

But the scars of your past would not fade so easily. The doubts remained. You couldn’t let your guard down yet. Not with someone so powerful.

“I’ll need time,” you said quietly, your eyes never leaving his. “But I’ll never forget what’s been done to me.”

Jing Yuan gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that suggested he understood far more than you realized. He didn’t push. He didn’t demand. He simply let you speak, letting the silence fill the space between you both.

“I’ll be here, when you're ready,” he said softly.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

[isawritesshit]

The Color Blue - Chapter 1

image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest

Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too.

Warnings and Content: fem! reader and slightly ooc! (?) gojo (ig; i feel like i didn't write him as in character as i wanted), cursing, allusions to and anxiety about marriage consummation, themes of traumatized and anxiety-ridden reader, themes of forced/arranged marriage

Author's Note: Fuck me in the ass, it took me wayyy too long to get this out to y'all I'M SOOOO SORRY GUYS I DIED AND NOW I AM REBORN BACK AND SEXIER THAN EVER! Anyway, I'm at least happy to finally get this out for you guys because you guys gave me so much love for the prologue (mwah mwah). If you have yet to read the prologue, pleaseee do so! Provides some good context to the premise of the story. I'm going to flag once more that there will be themes of nsfw and physical/mental abuse down the line!

Word Count: ~7.3k

___________________________________________________________

"Are you afraid of me?"

He spoke. You masked your surprise easily. Did you look afraid? What made him suspect that? How do you answer?

Respond clearly. "No, Gojo-sama. Apologies if I seem at all startled in any way. I am taking in my new surroundings," you replied with a slight incline of your head towards him.

Satoru's eyebrows raised a little. It was the first time he had ever heard your voice. As he suspected, it was graceful and beautiful, but still so sad. And what was with the honorifics? He waited a second for you to say something else, but nothing came. "Do you like it? The house that is." Satoru figured the only way to get anything out of you was to ask himself.

He asked you a question. Respond clearly. Tell him what he wishes."Yes, your home is beautiful Gojo-sama. I'm very fortunate to be living here as your wife." Your words sounded exactly the same, clipped and poised to perfection like the small smile you had on your face. Your skin was cold despite the amount of fabric that covered it, but you refused to shiver. You refused to tremble despite the fear you were feeling. Yes, you had trained and prepared yourself for this. You would be fine.

Satoru only cocked his head and crossed his legs, observing you like a painting from where he sat on the couch. "Thank you." His voice conveyed his usual charisma, but the look he was giving you did not. He sighed as you only bowed your head again and said nothing. He could tell you were afraid, you just didn't wish to admit it. Was it stubbornness or nervousness that had you standing like that before him, looking both strong and weak at the same time?

After a few moments, he spoke again, this time with a little more calmness and reassurance. "I don't bite, y'know." Not a word left your lips at that. You didn't even move. It was like he had a statue standing in a wedding dress in the middle of his foyer. Not a statue, a corpse, with unfeeling, empty eyes. Maybe you weren't happy with the current situation. "Did you like the reception? I'm sure you had input in the planning."

Take this chance to show your worth. "I planned the entire reception, Gojo-sama. I hope it was to your liking." You clasped your hands even tighter as you waited for his reaction.

Satoru raised his eyebrows. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry then, I'm sure you liked it because you put it all together. Well, uh, I definitely enjoyed it, and I'm sure everyone else did too. You did a great job. Uh, thank you," Satoru chuckled. He meant every word. Planning an event of that nature must have been a daunting task and you had done it all on your own. You must be pretty independent.

"Of course, Gojo-sama. It was my duty," you replied with another bow. The fear in your gut subsided at his words. It seemed he could be won over by acts of service.

Duty. That's when it clicked in Satoru's head. You saw this as 100% a duty. Well, it wasn't like he didn't see this arrangement as a duty too, but it had always been more than that to him. It was both a duty and an enjoyment. At least, that's what he hoped it would be for the both of you.

He said nothing for a few moments. You didn't move. He could tell by the uncomfortable silence that the household staff was probably listening from somewhere nearby. Perhaps that also made you uneasy. "Let's head somewhere more private," Satoru murmured, and stood from the couch.

Private? A chill ran down your spine that worsened when he made his way over to you. Were you both going to-

You remained silent as he took your arm gently and led you up the steps of the grand staircase. He moved slowly, watching and searching you for any indication of emotion or feeling, but you gave him none. He cleared his throat before speaking once more. "That outfit seems uncomfortable. I'm surprised you've been able to wear it all day."

Your mind was running circles around his words, but you didn't show it. Is he going to offer to take it off me? Why is he being so gentle with me? Where is he leading me? A bridal chamber? A bedroom? "It is not uncomfortable, just a little heavy," you responded, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. "The tailors did a fabulous job with it."

Satoru hummed and muttered his agreement. He would take this as slow as possible. He knew that the first thing he would have to do was make you comfortable. "I see. If you would like, you may change out of it, and I can take you on a tour of the rest of the estate. Or, you can sleep if you're tired."

This seems like a test, you thought. Which option would he prefer? "I can change and join you on a tour of the home," you responded. "If that is what you wish of me."

Not exactly the answer he was looking for, but an answer nonetheless. "Alright. I'll show you your bedroom. It's apart of my rooms of the estate. I hope that's alright," he said as he guided you towards a set of double doors down the hall.

Satoru stepped before you to open the doors himself, a few staff members walking out past. You assumed that they were finishing their cleaning for the night. You could tell a few of them looked at you as they passed, though you never looked up to meet their gaze.

You could tell these were Gojo's chambers, as they were decorated somewhat differently from the rest of the house. While the entire house had a more contemporary feel to it, his part of the estate added western styles to it: gray and white furnishing, an upstairs that led to an open second floor balcony overlooking the first floor living room space, comfortable carpeting, and a woodsy, homey scent. There was a dining area and billiards further to the right to entertain guests. Truly a home within a home.

Satoru led you up the stairs, watching as you looked over the second floor railing into the living room. When you reached the top, he gestured to the first door on the left. "This is my bedroom here, in case you ever need to find me," he said as he moved you two forward. "And this one is yours." He opened the next door over.

Satoru let you step into the room first. "I wasn't sure what you would prefer in terms of the color of the room and everything, so I had a few of my staff design it for me. Do you like it?" he asked, a slight guilt to his tone. He felt bad that he knew almost nothing about you. He didn't even know where to start when he began planning to incorporate you into his home, but he figured an inviting bedroom would be a start.

"Yes, very much so" you replied. The room was bigger than your one at the Kamo estate. The furniture was made of oak wood, with the room itself having accents in white and various shades of purple. The canopy bed was plush and had silk sheets. Most of your attention was drawn towards the bookshelf in one corner, which already had some of your books as well as many new ones. The closed curtains, which had little butterflies sown on them, had moonlight escaping into the room. The wall to the right had another door, which you assumed led to the bathroom and closet. "Thank you for arranging this for me, Gojo-sama."

You moved your gaze down as you turned to face him. "Of course," he chirped.

Silence once more.

He sighed audibly. "You're gonna hurt your neck if you keep looking down like that, pretty girl. Especially with that monstrosity on your head," he said softly as he approached you. You stilled, jumping a bit as Satoru reached his hands forward to grasp the top of the headpiece. "Shh, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Just taking it off for you," he murmured when he saw you tense up. He removed the headpiece gently, letting your hair fall. He resisted the urge to touch the soft locks upon seeing them unbound, and instead opted for setting the headpiece on a side table. "There. Feels a lot better, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Thank you, Gojo-sama." You still didn't look at him. After a pause you asked, "May I go change now?"

Why did you ask for permission? "Sure," he answered, a little confused as he watched you retreat into the bathroom. He stood awkwardly in the room as he heard you shuffle around behind the door. He sighed and leaned against the bed. What was it that had you so... uptight? Why wouldn't you relax?

Meanwhile, you made yourself busy undressing and slipping out of the heavy fabrics of your wedding garb in the bathroom, hanging up the piece and choosing a simple, flowing dress to change into. You looked into the mirror once more, and paused.

You had forgotten about the white lace lingerie your handmaidens had forced you into while dressing you this morning. A provoking technique, they had called it. It was beautiful, the entire ensemble having been comprised of silk and lace with little flowers adorning it, but you felt incredibly uncomfortable now that you saw yourself with it on. You felt more like a prized ham, wrapped up and ready to be eaten. And that is my responsibility tonight-

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of movement coming from the room. Right. He's still out there. You thought back to how he had taken off your headpiece. You couldn't help but be frightened for a moment, but then the way he removed it had been... gentle, as all his other actions toward you had been.

You were used to men like him: large, imposing sorcerers, with big egos and even bigger amounts of cursed energy. However, when any of those men came close to you, maybe even to just put a hand on your shoulder, their touch was also gentle, but not in the way Satoru was. They were gentle and domineering. Satoru had been both gentle and considerate.

But what he had called you...

It still felt like he was trying to get something out of you. And you didn't like it.

You slipped on the dress over the lingerie, letting the soft velvet material warm you as the skirt ended at your ankles. You had always liked this evening dress.

Satoru's head shot up when he heard the door click open. You stepped back into the room, ready to be led. Your apparel took him aback at first. He had expected you to choose something comfortable, a t-shirt and leggings at least, but you still came out dressed like you were going somewhere. You looked beautiful though, and he supposed it was nice to see you in something that wasn't clan-styled regalia (didn't matter that he was still wearing his outfit from today).

Satoru said nothing as you took his arm and let him lead you into the estate. Although he didn't look directly at you, he observed your movements. Beautifully robotic was the way he could best describe it. But why?

Then it dawned on him. The wedding had been ceremonial, so your actions there he could ignore, but everything after... it was like you were still in the ceremony, even in this moment. He saw it firsthand when you said your goodbyes to your family. You would be seeing them so much less now that you were married, yet neither of your parents nor siblings hugged you or expressed any emotion when sending you off.

Then finally with himself. You never looked at him. You complimented him at every opportunity. You asked for permission to go get dressed.

He could never get you to relax. To be comfortable. It was like you were being monitored by some invisible camera that he couldn't see and that you feared.

Duty. 100% a duty.

He looked down at you once more as you walked down the hallway, eyes trained ahead. Yes, those eyes had been his first sign, he realized. For what once held liveliness and curiosity in youth had been replaced with a senseless, dull husk of what he remembered.

Something had happened in those seven years since he last saw you. He felt sorry for you.

He felt sorry because he felt like this was somehow his fault.

But that wasn't going to stop him from trying to be the best he could to you.

___________________________________________________________

An hour later, Satoru had shown you about half of the estate, everything between recreational rooms, kitchens, dining rooms, and his own personal office. Yet, as he talked, you seemed disinterested, elsewhere.

The both of you were on the first floor, walking down a hallway with floor to ceiling windows on the left wall.

"There's not much left to show you, or at least anything that's interesting anyway. If there's anywhere else you'd like to..." Satoru's voice trailed off when he looked at you again, staring out of the windows as you passed.

There. You looked out the windows toward the estate garden, your eyes wide, glittering, and curious. He opened his mouth and then closed it. You looked like a little girl staring at a new doll in a toy store. Finally, something that he could read from you that you refused to hide. Wonder and interest.

Satoru stopped walking when the two of you reached a set of glass doors that led outside. "Do you want to see the garden?" he asked, almost chuckling when you nodded eagerly. "Let's go then." He opened one of the doors to let you through, watching you with amusement. You still kept your face neutral, hands folded over your chest as you stepped out into the open air before walking, practically running, over to the vast flower beds and trees across the lawn.

He just stared as you bursted with this sudden childlike excitement. So you can be won over somehow. Satoru laughed under his breath, a small smirk on his face as he went to join you. You started by walking between bushes, running your hands along any part of the plants as you could. He never would have guessed that you were interested in plants, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. He could see you being the type of girl that's interested in feminine things. Things like dresses, books, and maybe even chocolate desserts. Things like flowers.

You were kneeling next to a bush of blue hydrangeas as he approached. He thought you looked perfect like this, the moonlight playing off of your hair, skin, and dress while you ran your fingers along petals. However, when you realized he was getting closer, you quickly got up and returned to how you were in the foyer: standing straight, hands clasped, and head bowed. It stopped Satoru in his tracks, but also made him understand a little more of how you worked.

You must see a husband, him, as an authority figure that you have to please. Satoru didn't know why. Maybe your family pushed you to be a good wife, but now you're just taking it too far. You must be able to relax when you're comfortable, or when you're alone. That had to be it. Right now, you seem to view this place as comforting, so he had to be the same.

And if he seemed to make you feel uncomfortable, he would leave you alone.

But first, he had to try to get through to you.

"Do you like gardens?" Satoru asked, even though the answer was really fucking obvious.

"Yes, Gojo-sama," you replied. "I like flowers and plants. They are a great enjoyment of mine. Your garden is the most magnificent I have ever seen."

It was the best Satoru had ever seen too, but at this point, he couldn't tell if you were lying to him just to make him happy. He took a step closer and huffed a little. "Y'know... you don't have to call me that. I mean, I'm your husband, not the emperor," he chuckled, though he was dead serious. Laughing through it was the only way to show that he wasn't mad at you. "Why do you like flowers? Or these ones in particular?" He gestured to the bush that you had been admiring.

If you were nervous or scared, you didn't show it. You seemed to be pondering for a moment as you looked at the bush. "I... don't know. Flowers have interested me since I was a child. I used to keep up a garden at home."

A garden that you'll never get to take care of again, he realized. "Well, if you want or... if you need something to do, I can have someone show you where we keep our gardening supplies. You can do as much or as little as you like of course."

Your eyes lit up at the request. "That would be lovely, Gojo-" He could tell you were about to add the "-sama" at the end, but stopped yourself. He still smiled at the way that you seemed to beam in the current setting.

"What other things do you like? Do you have any hobbies?" Satoru asked, watching as you continued to run your hands along the plant.

"I like music," you stated.

"Really? You play any instruments?" He proceeded to raise his eyebrows as you listed a slew of different types that you knew how to play, though you added that piano was your favorite. "What else?"

"I like... cooking, and cats, and," you settled one of the hydrangeas in your hand, "the color blue."

Satoru hummed in response. He felt like he was getting somewhere. "Really? Well in that case, I guess I should've had your room be that color."

"Purple is still just as nice," you replied with a small smile. It was brief, but he could tell it was genuine. It took his breath away. It was almost embarrassing, this effect you were having on him.

"Yeah, I guess." Satoru dared to move a step closer to you. He could see you tense, and decided this was as far as he would get. Maybe now was the time to get some answers out of you. He watched your hand continue to rub the petals. "How do you feel about... all of this. Really."

"Your garden is dazzling-"

"No, I mean our... situation. Be honest with me," he said gently, but the way he worded it almost made it sound like he was pleading with you.

You paused before answering. Your hand stopped moving. "This marriage is just as important to me as it is to my father and the Kamo name. I will do right by him to ensure that it succeeds. And not just for him, but for you as well." Your tone was light and sophisticated, your voice sweet as can be, but it still felt fabricated. Rehearsed. Satoru wasn't buying it.

After a few moments, he decided to try something a little bold. "Look. I'm not your father, okay? And this isn't the Kamo estate. You don't have to be so... restrictive around me. I know this is, like, your first time ever talking to me, but I'm not some authoritarian." He almost regretted the words when he saw your guilty face. "But of course, that also means I'm not going to control the way you act. You can do whatever you want, say whatever you want. It's all fine by me." Silence again. "(Y/N)?"

You seemed... confused. Satoru spoke again. "Are you feeling alright? All I'm saying is I want you to be comfortable here. If that means... not interacting with me as much, then I get that."

Still nothing.

Satoru sighed. Maybe he needed to take a different approach. Maybe he just needed to leave you alone for a while. "If there is... anything else you want to see, I can show you. Otherwise, I'm going to go to bed. You can stay out here as long as you want..." he said softly. He began to turn away from you, listening for your movements as he started to walk inside. You only walked from your spot and moved further into the garden.

The halls echoed with the sound of his footsteps. That went... much differently than expected.

He thought back to fantasies he used have of what this night would look like: learning more about you, showing you around the estate, laughing with you until both of your stomachs went numb.

Kissing you for the first time in that garden, and, if you wanted it, carrying you back to his room in seconds.

But as he thought more about it, Satoru realized just how unlikely those scenarios would have been, especially with the current situation. He speculated that your behavior was a combination of your familial expectations, anxiety, and the fact that you were meeting him for the first time. Not to mention, he knew he wasn't the most approachable-looking person in the world.

This was going to take some time. He would let you get used to the house first, get used to seeing him and the other staff around. Then eventually, you might begin to open up to him once you felt safe.

Or you might not talk to him at all.

Satoru really hoped it didn't come to that.

___________________________________________________________

Some time ended up being much longer than what Satoru thought you would need. It had been a week since you last spoke, and you made no effort to approach him.

He did get some semblance of a routine you kept. You were definitely a busy body, always up and ready with a full breakfast waiting for him on the dining room table before he was up (although, since he had the following two weeks after the wedding off, he was sleeping in later than normal). By the time he was finished eating and getting ready for his day, you had gone halfway through your daily routine, which included cleaning and managing the state of almost every room in the whole building. Once that was finished, you prepared lunch, taking your portion out to the garden to eat. The rest of the day you used for your own recreation, usually something along the lines of taking walks, reading, or taking care of different parts of the garden. Of course, you still had time set aside to make him dinner before you stayed in your room for the rest of the night.

Just noticing the things you do throughout the day was a source of admiration from him alone. Satoru knew that the kind of work he did would be considered maddening and dangerous, yet he accomplished everything with ease. He couldn't help but think of you in the same light. You completed the same tasks everyday without fail or signs of fatigue (gods know he could barely clean a fucking toilet without gagging). He noticed that the meals you cooked were not just chosen randomly, but instead were meant to be perfectly balanced in terms of nutrition while still complimenting every bite he took. In other words, fucking delicious. Satoru knew he wasn't a bad cook either, but you made five star meals like it was no one's business.

He would see you often around the house, your skirts or dresses flowing as you flitted about. He could tell you favored modest clothing, usually in either knee to floor-length dresses, or blouses with skirts of the same length. Your makeup was simple, your hair always done up and clean.

Whenever he was close enough to you or entered a room you were in, you always bowed politely and addressed him, never saying more than was needed, before returning to whatever it was you were working on. Satoru knew if he asked, you would sit down and have a conversation with him or eat with him, but he wasn't going to push it. He wanted to be sure it was something you were okay with.

Yet hours and days dragged with almost no change. What was meant to be your two week honeymoon break passed, and Satoru had to return to his missions. Somehow you had already known what time he gets up to eat, and, just like almost any other day, there was a breakfast waiting for him.

No sign of the person who cooked it, though.

Satoru decided he couldn't take this anymore, the awkwardness and silence. No, he was going to find you and asked if you wanted to eat this breakfast with him.

Luckily, he found you in the kitchen putting away dishes you had just finished washing. "Good morning, (Y/N)," he said, trying to sound as polite as he could without frightening you.

You must have been lost in thought, because you jumped when he said your name and turned towards him.

Head bowed. Eyes down. Hands folded.

He was tired of it.

"Good morning, Gojo," you replied. "I hope you had a restful evening last night."

"I did..." he said. "I was just... wondering if you wanted to eat that delicious-looking breakfast you made with me. You're allowed to say no, of course." He felt stupid having to add that last bit.

"Apologies, Gojo, but I already took my breakfast this morning, but I sincerely appreciate your offer." He felt his stomach drop inside him a little. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No, it's fine. I'll be home later tonight." He tried to keep his tone from sounding disappointed. He couldn't be mad at you for eating before he asked you. However, Satoru wanted to end the conversation positively, with something not so... stale. He turned to walk to the door, looking once more over his shoulder at where you still stood. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and then opened it again. "You look gorgeous today, by the way."

That surprised you. Not the words necessarily, nor the fact that these weren't your best clothes, but the way he said it. Like he meant it. It stirred something in you. You decided to look up at him, but he was already gone.

A while later, Satoru was dressed and ready to go, his car parked just outside with the AC blasting. He walked down the grand staircase... with you waiting for him at the bottom.

You were waiting for him. He paused in front of you once he reached the bottom of the steps. You had assumed your usually stance, but... he could tell you wanted to say something.

"I... realized that I never asked what you would like me to make for dinner for when you return..." you said as if you were just realizing that you were standing here, and you needed to make up an excuse.

It tugged at his heartstrings a bit. You had never asked if he had a preference for dinner, so... this was you trying to approach him to start a conversation. "Well, whatever you want to make is fine. You're such an amazing cook. I would never not eat anything you make," Satoru exclaimed with a small smile before leaning in a bit as if telling you a secret. "But, if I must request something, I reallyyy like mochi desserts," he whispered before pulling away. "But you didn't hear it from me."

Your small smile and barely noticeable laugh made his heart explode. Pride swelled in his chest. So you have a sense of humor in some regard...

He smiled and walked past you to the door, walking through before-

"Gojo," you called from across the room. Satoru turned at the sound of you calling his name.

"Have... have a nice day today..." you said, giving him a small bow.

His eyes widened in surprise before he flashed you a grin. "You too, pretty girl." And just like that, he left, the door shutting behind him.

Satoru was trying to do his best not to holler in excitement on the other side of the door. You went out of your way to meet him at the front door and ask what he wanted for dinner and told him to have a good day? He felt like a middle school girl. A stupid smile plastered itself on his face as he walked to his car.

And stayed for the rest of the day after.

___________________________________________________________

The next few weeks went just the same: him waking up to breakfast that you sometimes stopped by to eat a few bites of, you saying goodbye and asking what he wanted for dinner at the door, and him coming home to that meal in the evening, which you occasionally ate with him also.

Satoru felt pretty spoiled if he was being honest. He never liked those mysogynistic views on gender roles, especially when it came to the roles of a husband and wife, but he was now understanding the appeal. He had assured you a few times that you didn't need to have something home cooked and ready for him each time he came home, and that he was just as fine with takeout, but that never stopped you. He knew it was serious, if not a little concerning, when he asked for a three-tiered Danish cake for dessert as a joke and you had made two because you, in your words, got bored and had the time. He didn't even know he owned the cooking supplies needed to do that. Nevertheless, to say he ate most of that within a few days would be an understatement.

As time grew, Satoru had been able to observe you more closely. There were the normal things, like the type of books you liked to read (mostly poetry), what time you liked to take your walks (sometime between 3:00 and 6:00pm), and what days you went to the grocery store and farmers market (Wednesdays, if he's correct) despite household staff insisting to him to tell you to stop because it was technically their job. He could never find himself to do so.

Then there were a few... less fortunate things. You still don't look up at him, for starters, and your voice still retained that proper, unnatural tone. Besides the times where you say goodbye to him in the mornings, you always observe and never speak unless he speaks to you. You have a cell phone, but you almost never use it, so he assumed you probably have no friends that you contact, or even family that wanted to contact you for that matter. Lastly, among a few more things, you always try to sneak an ice pack from the fridge some nights when you think he can't see it in your hand as you walk back to your room with it. He never knew what it was for, until he saw it on your neck while you read in the library, something he had to peak through the doors to see.

You get neck pains because of the subservient posture you forced yourself to have around him, and Satoru started to think just how far back this training you had been given goes. He knew that you couldn't get neck pains from bowing if you've only been doing it for a month.

One day, he brought the situation up to Yaga as they watched some student sorcerers training out on the grounds. "You really don't know the kind of backwards training the Kamos put their girls through?" Yaga asked, fixing a stitch on one of his jujustu dolls. "I thought you knew what you were getting into, especially since you're in one of the clans yourself."

"Well, I'm starting to see it," Satoru says with a wince. "I just don't know how to get her to... relax, I guess. Act normal, y'know?"

"Do you think she even knows how?" Yaga mused. Satoru went still. "The Kamos are traditionalistic; their customs span all the way back to the Golden Age of Jujustu as a way to preserve the glory of that time period. This includes how they train their... females."

Satoru furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know much," Yaga said, a piece of the string in his mouth as he adjusted a stitch. "The kinds of things like how to please a husband, how to raise kids, how to behave around authority figures, which includes men. Weird stuff like that. And if (Y/N) is Arao Kamo's only daughter that was betrothed to marry the Six-Eyes wielding Gojo clan head, you can expect her to be well educated in that regard."

Satoru sighs. He felt stupid for not looking into that, for chalking it up to some kind of anxious defense when it was much more than that. "I'm a real fucking idiot."

"Yeah, well, while that may be true, there's not much you can do but give it time. With the kind of stuff she was brainwashed to believe, the least you can do is give her some patience," Yaga said, finishing up his patch.

"True, but that'll take forever," Satoru groans, looking out at the young sorcerers sparring. "She won't do anything unless I tell her to. She doesn't know what it's like to just... have some sort of free will."

"Then maybe show her what's like to have one," Yaga says with a groan, settling back into the bench they were sitting on.

There was a pause before Satoru chuckled. "This is the one time you've actually given me advice that I considered listening to."

"Good. You should, otherwise I'll send you on another mission from this weekend," Yaga grumbled.

"Fine, I'll listen."

___________________________________________________________

That next day, Satoru planned on asking you about something when he saw you before he left.

"Hey, pretty girl," he quipped with a smile as he walked down the stairs, enjoying the slight blush that formed on your cheeks, something he had noticed the past few times he called you that.

"Good morn-" your gentle words were cut off by a sudden cough and a sniffle that caught his attention. He stepped in front of you.

"Hey, are you alright? Is your throat okay?" he asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with one of concern.

You seemed to pause for a moment before speaking. "I'm alright. Something caught in my throat is-" You coughed again, this time more aggressively as you turned to cover it.

Satoru's brow furrowed. He gently pulled your chin so you could face him again. He felt your forehead with the back of his hand. "You're burning up, (Y/N). You probably have a fever."

"I can assure you, Gojo, I feel-" You gasped as you were suddenly lifted into his arms, his hands resting underneath your back and knees as he walked you back up the stairs. He smiled a little when he felt you throw your arms around his neck.

"Please don't lie to me, (Y/N). How long have you been feeling like this?" Satoru asked calmly as he carried you to your room. You looked down at the floor.

A pause. "About the past two days." Satoru sighed.

He opened the door to your room and set you down on the bed. "Hold tight, okay? I'm just going to go grab some things..." He left and returned a few minutes later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, some medicine, and a glass of water.

Setting the items down on your bedside table, Satoru started by ripping two pills out of their packaging and handing them to you with the water. "Why have you been walking about like normal when you've been feeling this way for the past two days?"

You took a moment to take the pills before answering. "I am well enough to complete my usual routine, so I saw no need for rest. I had the staff prepare your meals to make sure you did not catch my illness," you replied weakly, trying not to cough.

Satoru shook his head. "But we have people hired here to do those tasks anyway. You still need to take care of yourself." Your brow furrowed.

"But I'm still-"

"Don''t fight me on this," Satoru butted in. You lowered your head, eyes despondent. "I don't mean to say I don't appreciate what you do every single day. Really, I really appreciate it. But I don't want you doing anything when you're clearly feeling like shit."

"My apologies-"

"Don't apologize. Please." Satoru's mouth tightened when he saw the ashamed look on your face, the way your shoulders caved slightly. He spoke again, this time more smoothly. "I'll call Yaga to cancel my appointments for today. Just let me take care of you... and don't feel bad about it. Okay?"

Satoru didn't care that he was almost begging with you, but he needed you to understand that that's all he really wanted right now. To take care of and cater to you for a change instead of you constantly doing so for him.

"But, you might get sick too..." His chest tightened a little at the guilt you displayed, your tone of voice, the slight whine in it.

"That's fine. Just means I don't have to go to work longer," Satoru chuckled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to your legs. "But don't think that's the only reason I'm here with you now, of course."

Your lips moved into a small, downturned smile as you huffed a laugh. You weren't even smiling in full, yet he thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

A sharp, painful sounding cough from you broke the silence. Satoru handed you the water again, propping another pillow behind your head. Once you finished, he took the water from you and handed you a woolen blanket that you had resting on the end of your bed. "I'll get some lozenges for your throat and some tissues. For now, just rest for me, okay? I'll come back to check on you, but if you need anything just yell. I'll be in my room," he said as he adjusted the ice pack onto your forehead.

"Okay," you whispered. You looked almost... stunned. Like you never expected this. It made Satoru sadder than he would like to admit.

After a few seconds, he stood, turned off the lights, and shut the door quietly. He walked away right before the sound of your soft cries reached the door.

___________________________________________________________

Satoru looked after you for the next two days, making sure you took medications and got proper rest. Even when you were well enough to get back on your feet, he still made your meals and brought you ice packs and popsicles at night for your throat.

He apologized the first few times he served you food, scratching the back of his head and laughing. Sure, his grilled cheese and tomato soup wasn't bad, but it was embarrassing compared to your culinary genius. You never replied, looking back at him with a perplexed expression.

Satoru noticed this, and he had his suspicions as to why you may be confused. Because you had been living with him for the past month and a half, he was able to easily discern what your looks meant, or at least, what he thought they meant. Your confusion was not necessarily because of actual confusion, but rather, because you weren't used to gestures like this. It was a little disheartening, of course, but slowly, you began to accept them with a small smile and nod of your head. It put him at ease to see you that way.

Now was the third day Satoru stayed home to be with you, and because you seemed to be doing much better, he knew this would probably be the last day he would have to do so. Thus so, he wanted to make the most of it.

It was early afternoon when Satory began to approach your room. You had taken to sleeping in while being sick, and if there was one thing he had definitely learned from this time with you, it's that you could sleep when you weren't waking yourself up at a certain time. He found it cute, and somewhat surprising.

He snuck into your room as you slept, gently placing the reason he came in on your bedside table: a vase, with those blue hydrangeas in it. And just as he was about to walk out, you called his name.

Satoru stilled and turned slowly. You were staring at the flowers on the bedside with a haphazard, exhausted look on your face. God, and just when he thought this moment couldn't get any more precious...

"Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. Goddamn, and I had it all planned out too! Having you wake up to flowers, I was just gonna get cracking on some blueberry pancakes and everything-"

"Oh... are we celebrating something?" you asked, looking between your hands and the flowers.

"No, 's just because. Unless there's something you want to celebrate? Happy your-fever-decreased-from-103-to-101 day?" he chuckled. "Anyway, I'm going to attempt to make pancakes even though I'm ass at it. Hope you're okay with Frosted Flakes as a fall-back option." Satoru turned towards the door again. This woman has him adding blueberries to his pancakes-

"Satoru...?"

He paused, stopped, buffered, restarted. Did you just call him Satoru? His brain was running laps around the replayed sound of your voice in his head as he turned. He was elated, estatic, down-right jolly, one might say.

And then all that was thrown out the window he faced you completely, and you were looking right at him.

Head up. Eyes bright. Smile... paragon.

"Thank you... for taking care of me."

Satoru knew you weren't just talking about this past three days. He felt like a five year old boy laying his eyes on you again for the first time as he, the ever so confident, swaggering, and teasing Gojo Satoru, flushed. "Yeah, no, it's no biggie, you deserve it cause you do so much and you're my wife so I kind of have to and-" he bumped into the door behind him, "fuck, you know what? I'm just gonna shut up and go... pancakes... haha, yeah..."

This poor man Satoru turned the corner and facepalmed, shutting your door behind him while your small laughs could be heard from the other side of the door. Running a hand through his hair, he tried his best to compose himself while he walked away, but then your face flashed in his mind again, and it was like he had a buzz that reached from his brain down to his whole body. He was smitten.

Once he reached the kitchen, soft music playing from his phone, he searched up that pancake recipe. While he began to get out ingredients, there was a knock as someone entered through the doors that led to the rest of the estate. One of the household staff.

"Sir, there's a guest at the front door," the woman stated.

"Who?" Satoru asked as he leaned over the counter while scrolling through the recipe.

"Arao Kamo, sir."

Fuck.

___________________________________________________________

tags: @leonora13x @cole-silas @feeiry @mysuperrainbow @tw0fvced @emptybrain01 @xixiwang @drilled-brain @lvieee @xxkoyukixx @we-loveebony @sereniteav @ilovecoyotepeterson10 @baby—vera @jebemticeluporodicu @louannfox

I love you guys

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading roundup: march 2025

posting a day early because I don't want to stress about trying to speed read to finish either of the books I'm working on in the final hours of March lmao.

March has felt very long, thanks in part to a spring break extended by a trip to Alaska that culminated in a frantic, 24 hour scramble across three airports to get home in spite of some genuinely horrific weather and countless changed flights. among other problems, I didn't get to read as much as I would have liked to on the way home, because I was too busy stressing about whether or not I was going to make it home at all.

but! despite the horrors we persist, and March has still yielded an interesting book crop - and the first bingo on my 2025 book bingo sheet! also, in writing up this post I realized I read several trans authors (Liontas, Hoffman, Zhao, and several anthology contributors) during the same month when Trans Day of Visibility takes place. it wasn't intentional at all, but I do think it's neat :)

what have I been reading?

Sex With a Brain Injury: On Concussion and Recovery (Annie Liontas, 2025, read by Natalie Naudas) - Sex With a Bran Injury is by far the biggest smash success so far of my tentative foray into audio books. it weaves memoir, history, and politics, examining Liontas' own triad of traumatic head injuries as well as the history of such injuries and the factors that lead to them. Liontas examines figures such as Henry VIII, positing that his erratic behavior may have been the result of a head injury inflicted by jousting, as well as contemporary causes of concussions (hello, the NFL!) and the grim statistics for Black men with undiagnosed head trauma, many of whom end up losing years of their lives behind bars because of behavior directly caused by their trauma. it's all expertly woven into Liontas' own account of their repeated injuries and the strain it put on their relationships, particularly with their wife. Liontas articulates their changing mental capacities in excruciating detail, perfectly communicating the frustration and helplessness they felt as whole portions of their brain seemed lost to them and the myriad of reasons why they struggled to ask for help no matter how bleak things became. I also have to shout out Naudas for being a truly exquisite narrator, thoroughly embodying Liontas' narrative. her voice is so great to listen to that I genuinely want to go listen to more audio books just to hear more of her - especially since she's narrated some books I've already read and loved, like Nghi Vo's The Chosen and the Beautiful and Helen Hoang's The Heart Principle.

The Weavers of Alamaxa (Hadeer Elsbai, 2024) - Elsbai's first book, The Daughters of Izdihar, was sort of an unexpected gem for me last year, offering up a tale of fantasy feminism rooted in a city based on 20th century Egyptian. while it isn't strictly groundbreaking - magic users are lightly oppressed, women are oppressed, the rich girl has to learn class consciousness to ally with the poor girl for feminism - but I had fun! and then I read the second book in the duology, and I had... less fun. while Daughters certainly wasn't afraid to get dire - rampant misogyny, police brutality, the death of a supporting character during a protest gone wrong - Weavers escalated the stakes significantly, straight into a war against a neighboring monarchy that seeks to exterminate weaves (think elemental magic users comparable to Avatar's benders) altogether. what follows is a bloody struggle that kills off several more supporting characters before resolving itself with improbable speed, largely thanks to one of the protagonists gaining access to powerful new magic that feels, frankly, like Elsbai pulled it out of her ass. that sounds mean, but unfortunately this book just doesn't satisfy. the first book's struggle for suffrage, playing on familiar patterns with a fantastical twist, feels utterly lost in favor of heightening drama for drama's sake to the point that the previous book's plot feels almost perfunctory. could have been a standalone, I fear.

The Personality Brokers: The Strange History of Myers-Briggs and the Birth of Personality Typing (Merve Emre, 2018) - an indispensable read if you, like me, are an avowed MBTI hater - or, frankly, if you're an MBTI lover in need of a reality check re: the indicator's extremely eugenicist origins. emphasized with a crash course through the history of American psychological trends (including a truly unbelievable attempt to profile Hitler), this is a thorough and thoroughly WILD tour through the lives of Jungian child abuser Katharine Briggs and her crotchety, franchising daughter Isabel Briggs Myers. the only thing missing, for me, is more insider gossip on Emre's experience doing mandatory MBTI training in exchange for access to Myers Briggs' correspondence (spoilers: she was, ultimately, denied), but no book can give you everything.

The Prospects (KT Hoffman, 2024) - a romance between two minor league baseball players, one of whom is the first trans man in pro baseball! it's perfectly fine, although absolutely loaded with jargon about baseball politics that will mean nothing to you if you're not a baseball enjoyer and there's not strictly enough plot to justify being nearly 400 pages long. at risk of shamelessly self-promoting, a more thorough review will be up on my patreon on Tuesday :3

What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing From Complex Trauma (Stephanie Foo, 2022) - let me be so clear: I don't have CPTSD. I don't even have regular PTSD. I have different baggage and different mental health problems than Stephanie Foo does, and that's fine! not every memoir needs to hit at a personal level! but man... it hit at a personal level anyway, because despite our hugely different experiences and outcomes, Foo and I share a lot of the same struggles. reading about the ways she found to grow and heal beyond her hurt, all written about in a tone that's brusque and even humorous without ever cheapening the seriousness of the subject matter, really resonated with me. I'm unfamiliar with Foo's previous work in radio, but I got really emo reading about her progress, and the whole book made me feel really seen.

Convenience Store Woman (Sayaka Murata, 2016, trans. Ginny Tapley Takemori, 2018) - read this book in a single day at it is a TIME. Keiko you are god's strongest aroace autism warrior and you did not let ANYONE change you. you live and die by that convenience store, girl, fuck yeah.

Heavenly Tyrant (Xiran Jay Zhao, 2024) - I was so, so worried that after years of waiting Heavenly Tyrant wasn't going to live up to the hype of Iron Widow, and god. I should not have stressed even a little bit. while the giant mecha battles that were such a standout part of Iron Widow take a bit of a lesser role in the sequel, that's only because our heroine, Wu Zetian, is busy fighting for her life as she becomes the reluctant empress of Qin Zheng, world's #1 shithead socialist nightmare boyfriend. (your honor. I'm sorry. but he is SO funny.) after Weavers of Alamaxa this book was particularly satisfying in its portrayal of drawn out, bloody, terrifying political upheaval in which there are no clear good guys anywhere to be found. this book is too huge to be perfect - maybe it's overstuffed, maybe it's a little too didactic about socialism, maybe the writing is too uneven as it strains against the bonds of technically being YA - but I don't care, I couldn't put it down and it was wild enough to keep me entertained the whole way through. following in the footsteps of Iron Widow, the final few chapters of Heavenly Tyrant escalate the stakes to absolutely dizzying new levels, and I'm both confused and excited. where the hell will the third book go with this? I have no idea, but I can't wait to find out.

Meet Kaya (Janet Shaw, illustrations by Bill Farnsworth and Susan McAiley, 2002) - one of my lovely students recently gifted me a copy of Meet Kaya because Kaya was my #1 favorite of the historical characters from American Girl. (no, I never had a doll; I was a books only girlie.) these books are itty bitty and can be read in about 15 minutes, and they're jam-packed with little details about the time period and culture that each girl inhabits. in the case of Kaya, a Nimiipuu (or Nez Perce) girl living in 1764, I think that the story does suffer some from the amount of time that Shaw (a white woman) takes to explain aspects of Plateau Indian life that would be much less familiar to contemporary child readers than the lives of more recent, white characters like Victorian Samantha or WW2-era Molly. still, the book gave me a pleasant kick of nostalgia, and since I never finished the series as a kid (my school library was LACKING) I'd love to go back and finish them all now since they make for sweet palate cleansers, but first I want to do some investigating into any critique of the books from Nimiipuu or other Native critics to make sure that the depiction of Kaya and her family is at least moderately accurate and well-researched. while I was in Alaska I looked up another old favorite, Julie of the Wolves, and found that it's been pretty thoroughly panned by many Native reviewers for Jean Craighead George's sloppy depictions of Native language and culture (and of life in Alaska generally), and I'd rather not waste time on something if it's poorly written.

Consumed: The Need for Collective Change: Colonialism, Climate Change & Consumerism (Aja Barber, 2021, read by Barber) - there are parts of this book that are informative and interesting, namely regarding the wasteful excess of the textile industry and fast fashion in particular, but man. this book just felt very directionless and unfocused in places. I don't know that we needed to take time to explain that white people having negative experiences and difficult lives doesn't negate the concept of white privilege! surely we can expect a little more of the reader than that! as is, the activism 101 approach and Barber's exceedingly casual authorial voice makes this comes across as a book best suited to reality checking Shein-hauling 18 year olds.

Legacy: A Black Physician Reckons With Racism in Medicine (Uché Blackstock, MD, 2024) - I read this book in tandem with Linda Villarosa's Under the Skin: The Hidden Toll of Racism on American Lives and on the Health of Our Nation, which I'm still working on as I write this. while Villarosa takes a more journalistic, big picture approach to America's racial healthcare disparities, Blackstock gives an overview of many of those issues while providing a much more intimate account of her experiences as a Black legacy physician (after her mother, also Dr. Blackstock). it's both a touching tribute to the example set by Blackstock's mother and an excruciating look at the racism deeply entrenched in American healthcare, from the adulation of medical experiments done on enslaved people to the subpar care available to Black and brown communities in many parts of the country today.

Bury Your Gays: An Anthology of Tragic Queer Horror (ed. Sofia Ajram, 2024) - not to be confused with the Chuck Tingle horror novel of the same name! like many short story anthologies, this one has high highs and low lows, and if you're not a fan of stories in which the gays almost invariably die (sometimes from supernatural causes, and sometimes from run of the mill hate crimes), it's probably not worth the slog to find out which is which. my personal favorites were Son M.'s "This Body Is Not Your Home," which had the vibe of enjoyable YA written by a grade-A edgelord reminiscent of Alaya Dawn Johnson's gay zombie love story "Love Will Tear Us Apart"; August Clarke's "Cleodora," because I love evil dykes and creepy ladies from the sea; LC Van Hessen's "American Gothic," which is the second story in the collection to ask the evergreen question "what if you killed a guy while you were fucking him and then he came back, would that be fucked up or what?"; and November Rush's "Black Hole," which is sort of like Stephenie Meyer's The Host if it was fun.

and, as always, my bingo sheets:

the spontaneous sheet, filled in with whatever happens to apply, is going great! by my count I've got three bingos, and it's nearly completely full

the sheet for the boos that I actually planned out to complete all of the bingo prompts is... doing a little less awesome, to put it mildly, but I have plans to remedy the situation!

[wajjs]

to sum up SOME of the things happening in Argentina:

There's a nation wide manhunt for Loan, a toddler that disappeared in Corrientes (province that has borders with Paraguay, Brasil and Uruguay, three neighboring countries). Foul play has been suspected from day one. The family is believed to be involved by some people. The most popular on going theory is that he was sold to an international pedophile ring dedicated to buying kids from Latin American countries and selling them to people in power in the USA and aligned countries.

The court case connected to Tehuel, a trans young man that disappeared while going to a job opportunity he was offered by a local semi-political figure he was supposed to be able to trust, has been reopened. It is heavily theorized that this political figure, plus his partner and an accomplice, tortured and killed Tehuel for being trans. (There is a strong online theory that they fed him to the pigs after to get rid of his remains. Another popular theory is that they sold him to a human trafficking ring.)

The ex first lady, Fabiola Yañez, and ex president, Alberto Fernández, are in an ongoing legal battle after she was more or less forced to come forward and press charges against him for physical and psychological abuse. A lot of it was perpetrated while he was in office during the pandemic. He kept her locked up, isolated, and publicly blamed her for the things that went wrong during his presidential mandate. Unfortunately the media is having a field day with the pictures of Fabiola beaten up, basically showing off her bruised face and body while zooming in on the injuries. Fabiola had to come out and ask them to please stop showing those pictures as they are effectively re traumatizing her and her son.

Current president, Javier Milei, has effectively altered the employment contract law, taking away things that were meant to protect workers from corporate/employer greed and abuse. He has also effectively closed down the statal, official, ways to get in contact with authorities in case of gender based discrimination and abuse.

Current ruling political party (far right) is pushing forward a denial of facts and attempt at retelling our history by more or less saying that the last military dictatorship wasn't that bad, trying to pardon their sentences (even though the ones in charge of kidnapping, torturing, and disappearing people are living well while serving their sentences). A delegation met with one of the most heinous figure heads of the last dictatorship. A person from said delegation alleged it's old history and that people born during the 90s don't know and don't care about it.

[farshootergotme]

Alright, I'm back to this.

I already addressed in my reblog why Dick is considered to be an emotional support pillar in the Batfamily, not only for Bruce. Now I want to talk about this part in the og post, specifically:

"but. there have been instances where - like alfred - he enables bruce's behaviour and/or makes excuses for it."

I want to say that I agree. However, I want to elaborate on why I agree and why Dick could be considered an enabler.

Let's first define what enabling means to have that out of the way:

“The term "enabling" refers to the act of allowing or permitting someone to continue a behavior, habit, or addiction, often by providing support, resources, or excuses. Enabling can be both intentional and unintentional, and it can have a significant impact on the individual's life and relationships.”

So, at first, I didn't think Dick should be classified as an enabler since it isn't his responsibility to control what Bruce does. However, reading more about the subject, enabling includes taking on responsibilities for the other person and avoiding conflict by ignoring someone's harmful behavior or not putting any boundaries, which gives the other person the go-ahead to keep crossing those unspoken boundaries that you never really settled.

Although I would like to argue Dick does try to have some boundaries with Bruce, most of the time he lets him get away with lots of things he does to him. I mean, we know of the long history of abuse there is from Bruce to Dick, even if his actions are not always his fault/intentional. (See: mind-control, hypnosis, accidents, etc.)

I'd like to be corrected if I'm wrong, but I don't think there's a time in which Dick has directly addressed Bruce's not-so-great parental skills. Lack of safe environment for emotional vulnerability? Poor communication? Putting so much responsibility in the hands of a child? And I wouldn't say it is for not trying to make Bruce responsible. But when he was a child, confronting him about these things… Dick just wasn't suited for it. No matter how much insistence there might be from his part about them being equals, Bruce is and always was an authority figure. He was the owner of the manor, he was who had right over their equipment and the cave, he was the oldest—the parent, and Dick had no way to go against that without feeling like he was going to war in his underwear with a stick for weapon against a fully-armored warrior with shield and sword to attack.

And as an adult, having a discussion about any of this might be even harder because he's been since childhood rationalizing and excusing Bruce's behavior just so he could justify to himself why he couldn't say anything about it. Why he was letting himself get hurt without fighting back.

In his mind, Bruce always has some kind of reason. “He was traumatized”, “he was grieving”, “his parents had died when he was much too young, how could've he known better?”, “he tried his best”, “Dick understood Bruce better than anyone else, why would he need to communicate or show him affection when it's all hidden under the small gestures?” and it could go on and on.

That's where the excusing Bruce's behavior, thus enabling him, comes. This is where Bruce gets a pass because hey! He can't be blamed when it was a result of the circumstances! (But it does become a fault when he keeps going with the flow instead of trying to change the direction. “The circumstances” stops being an excuse when you're the one who contributed to them.)

And as the family grew, Dick started taking on more responsibilities for Bruce because Dick knows Bruce isn't apt to be everything the others would need. That lack of communication? Dick compensates by explaining for Bruce. The affection? Dick will give it to them. All the parentification? Brushed under the rug. Nobody notices (or ignores it) and it's a cycle of enabling Dick to be codependent and Bruce to be emotionally immature.

But despite all my previous points, Dick isn't always like this. He isn't letting things go everytime something happens. He isn't looking the other way to all the things Bruce does for his sake. In fact, out of all the kids, I'd say Dick is the one who's confronted Bruce the most.

Batman #416

The New Titans #55

Batman #600

Nightwing (1996) #99

Outsiders vol.3 #21

And although he excuses Bruce to himself, he does let others know about Bruce's harmful behavior and encourages them to set boundaries.

Batman: Urban Legends #10

Batman #416

So, in conclusion, Dick both is and isn't an enabler. He excuses Bruce as much as he doesn't. He ignores his faults but also confronts him about it. He allows him his flaws and he points them out.

What I'll say is that Dick isn't like Alfred in this aspect, but he does on occasion unintentionally enable Bruce, even if not always.

Now, Bruce and Dick aside, I want to have a section to talk about why I dislike using the term ‘enable’ when it comes to a parent-child relationship. (You can skip over this, just a personal opinion that I felt the need to share. But it isn't needed for my argument, so is just an extra to my post)

When a child ‘enables’ a parent it can mean a few different things:

Making excuses for their parent's behavior.

Taking on responsibilities.

Providing emotional support.

Ignoring the issue.

Accommodating the parent's needs.

These all cause the parent to avoid responsibility, have no consequences for their actions and have their own scapegoat and emotional support that will make it easier for them to avoid seeking help or attempting to become better due to the lack of repercussions to their actions.

However, it really isn't the child's responsibility to make the parent see where they're going wrong. It isn't their job to go “Hey, actually, you should get help because you aren't treating me like your child”. They aren't the ones who have to constantly communicate their needs and point out the shortcomings of the adult, so it always gives me this sense of wrongness when I use this word for these cases because, really, it's more about the parent enabling the child by permitting and encouraging the parentification of said child than the child enabling the parent to be an awful guardian.

Yet again, that's just my opinion. I can change what the word means and what it includes in its definition. But I can have and voice my thoughts about it and believe there should be a different way of calling it that doesn't make it sound like the child is the one at fault for their parents behavior.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 35

Image Source

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 7.2K - This definitely could have been split into multiple parts but I started foaming at the mouth and have no self control.

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Additional Note: You may have noticed that I’ve replaced all the images in previous parts with GIFs or photos linked to their original sources. A friend was helping me with the original images and I later found out they were primarily using AI-generated content. To support independent artistry, I’ve decided to remove those images and replace them with original works that include links to the sources. This decision aims to combat the negative impact AI can have on artists and creators. I apologize for the earlier oversight and will ensure to uphold artistic integrity going forward.

Three days. Three days in the House of Wind with just Azriel. The thought was exhilarating and a little terrifying, as you pondered the possibilities of what those days might hold. Azriel did have his personal home in Velaris, the Town House, but since your return, he had essentially relocated his life to the House of Wind to be near you. Now, you had three days of isolation with him, or so you thought.

Nesta paced about your room, her bare feet whispering against the plush blue carpet. You sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow in your lap as you watched her braided hair slowly unravel and the tension radiating from her every step. 

“Why did I do that? That was so stupid,” she muttered, her eyes flicking anxiously around the room.

“Nesta, you have to tell him,” you said softly, your voice steady but gentle.

“I could have waited longer, and now I’ve put myself in this situation,” she groaned, rubbing her temples as she sank into the chair in the corner, her fingers tracing erratic circles on her skin.

“How long did you think you could hold off?” you asked, knowing the answer was not much longer.

“Longer than this! Longer than this weekend.” She huffed, her fingers now digging into her scalp.

“Do you really not want to go?” you asked, watching as she chewed her lower lip, avoiding your gaze.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, her eyes darting to the floor.

You leaned back against the headboard, drawing your knees up. “You know, it’s probably going to be a little strange, given you asked to stay at the cabin and now you’re the one backing out.”

Nesta sighed. “I can’t back out now,” she said, her voice wavering, as if she were trying to convince herself more than you.

“You could always figure out a reason not to go,” you suggested, half-heartedly. 

She peered up, her brows raised slightly as though the idea were preposterous. “Like what?”

You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her reluctance, but the desperation in her eyes made you ignore your better judgment. “You could say you don’t feel well.”

Nesta scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah, like that won’t raise more questions.”

“Or you could say you just don’t want to go. That you’re not feeling up to it,” you offered, rolling your eyes slightly.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands, rubbing them up and down as a groan escaped her. “I can’t back out,” she finally sighed, leaning back again, “I need to just get it out there. I can’t hide from it if he’s standing right in front of me.”

“To be fair, he’s been standing in front of you for the last week, and you’ve been avoiding it,” you pointed out, your tone light but with a hint of sarcasm.

Nesta’s glare could have melted stone, her eyes sharp and venomous. “That’s different,” she snapped, before her hand unconsciously moved to rest on her womb, a tender touch to the life growing inside her. She turned to gaze out the tall windows overlooking Velaris, her eyes like reflecting pools of fear, guilt, and perhaps hope.

You observed her quietly, noting the new radiance pregnancy seemed to give her. Despite her worries, her skin glowed with a renewed vitality, her eyes, though filled with uncertainty, shone brighter, and her hair had gained a lustrous fullness. It was remarkable how quickly pregnancy transformed her. Your thoughts drifted to your own mother, wondering if she too had experienced that early glow, if she had known about her pregnancy at four months, or if you had been a secret she kept even from herself for as long as she could.

You tried to pull yourself from that daydream, reminding yourself that your mother was more a figment of your imagination than a memory. It felt childish to pretend she was anything more. “Nesta,” you began gently, “I can’t say I know exactly how you’re feeling.” Her eyes flicked to you, her finger tracing her lips absently. “And I won’t say everything’s going to be okay because, well, we both know that’s a promise I can’t keep.” Nesta’s delicate finger paused on her lower lip, her other hand pressing gently on her stomach as you continued, “But carrying all this stress alone,” you gestured to her, “it’s not good for you or the babe.”

Nesta’s eyes hardened, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Cassian wouldn’t want you to go through this by yourself,” you added softly.

Her gray eyes, clouded with grief, locked onto yours. You could see the inner struggle, the battle between her fear and the need to share her burden. Silver began to line her eyes, the tears she fought to hold back shimmering like tiny stars.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you whispered, leaning forward from the headboard. “It’s okay to worry about the worst and try to prepare for it.” As a single tear escaped down her flushed cheek, you added, “But it’s also okay to feel joy about this. To celebrate. This is a big deal, Nesta—this is amazing.”

She sniffled, her attempts to brush away the tears only making them fall faster. You offered a reassuring smile. “Enjoy these moments with Cassian. He’d want to share this with you.”

Nesta nodded, her tears now flowing freely despite her efforts to contain them. She sniffed, her smile watery but genuine. “What about you? Plan for this weekend?” she asked, clearly eager to shift the focus. ”

You looked down, rubbing your hands over your thighs, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Not sure what you mean,” you muttered.

A crooked smile tugged at Nesta’s lips. “Three days alone with Azriel,” she reminded you, her voice laced with teasing.

You nodded, still fighting the blush spreading across your face and, perhaps, a few other places.

“No big plans?” she pressed.

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing formal.”

“How’s everything going with Azriel?” she inquired, her tone growing more earnest.

You glanced up at her. “You mean with me and Azriel?”

She nodded, her gaze intent.

“It’s good. Things are good,” you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to keep your composure.

Nesta let a silence settle between you, her smile turning knowing, almost cheeky.

“What?” you asked, finally meeting her gaze.

Nesta shook her head, crossing one leg over the other casually. “Just seems like you two are enjoying each other's company a lot.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “We do like spending time together.”

“A lot of time,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

You glanced at her, your cheeks burning. “We get along.”

Nesta’s catlike eyes gleamed with amusement. “You know, I’ve never seen Azriel look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You didn’t respond, but her words struck a chord, making your heart race.

“It’s like he can sense when you’re about to enter the room and drops everything just to see you first,” she continued.

You shrugged, trying to deflect. “Isn’t that part of his job? To be observant?”

“Sure, but he doesn’t get that goofy smile for just anyone,” she teased.

You knew the smile she meant—the half grin Azriel couldn’t seem to suppress. You wanted to dismiss it as Nesta reading too much into things, but deep down, you couldn’t ignore that Azriel had confessed his feelings to you. Feelings he said he hadn’t even realized he had until you came along.

“So?” Nesta prompted, her voice light yet probing.

“So what?”

“So things are going very well then?” she asked, her question thinly veiled as a statement.

“Yes,” you admitted. “Things are going well.”

“And things…” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, “down south?”

Your eyes widened in shock.

“Oh come on,” she groaned, her hands slapping her thighs in exasperation. “You read as many of those smut books as I do. Give a girl some details.”

You laughed lightly, embarrassed but amused by her persistence.

“You know the boys have a joke about wingspan being related to… other sizes?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

You looked down at your hands, “No, I didn’t.”

“Mhm, and Azriel always goes oddly quiet when they bring it up.”

You giggled, making Nesta’s grin widen. “So… it’s good?” she pressed.

You shook your head, still laughing. “I wouldn’t know.”

Nesta’s face fell slightly, confusion clouding her features. “Wait, you mean you haven’t-?”

You shook your head, meeting her gaze. “We haven’t. Not yet.”

“But he’s been in your bed for months!” she exclaimed, a note of desperation in her voice.

You shrugged, feeling a mix of awkwardness and honesty. “We just,” you paused, “We haven’t gotten there yet.” And now pink rose to your cheeks for a different reason. 

Nesta broke her gaze, her own face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You cut her off gently, “No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

Her interest sparked again, though she still looked cautious. “Have you two talked about it at all?”

You pulled the pillow closer to your lap, your fingers nervously tracing nonexistent frays. “Not really.”

You’d shared more of your past with Nesta than with anyone else, down to the painful details you tried to bury. Her voice, gentle and filled with concern, asked, “Are you ready for that?”

You kept your eyes fixed on the pillow. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” she began, her tone careful, “but I guess I just want to know if you’ve been intimate like that with anyone other than… him.”

A shudder ran through you at the thought of the 'him' she referred to, memories of past pain and harsh touches flooding back. “No,” you replied softly. “Not fully.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. “Do you think you’d want to try?”

You considered her question. Your body responded intensely to Azriel, your stomach fluttering at the thought of him, and his touch sent electric shocks through you. Physically, you were more than ready for something beyond mild petting. But those memories were powerful, and they had interfered before. They had with Kai, where attempts at intimacy had often triggered terrible flashbacks, forcing you to stop. Now, knowing that moments of vulnerability could open a line to Caelum, you worried if you could ever enjoy intimacy without the fear of what might slip through the bond. You looked up at Nesta, your voice trembling slightly, “I don’t want to go my entire life without being close to someone like that.”

Nesta gave you a gentle smile. “I think we both know that Azriel would understand.”

You returned a tight-lipped smile. You wanted to believe he would understand, that maybe he would even forgo that aspect if you asked. But then you thought of his skin against yours, the longing you felt for him, and the dream of a life you wanted, one that included closeness and a future you couldn’t have if you couldn’t be that intimate.

Nesta’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “I know it’s a little hypocritical, but,” she met your eyes, “just talk to him.”

She smiled softly, and you found yourself smiling back. You chucked the pillow across the room at her. She laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the room, and you laughed too. It felt good to laugh like that, to share a moment of joy with her, a moment that just felt normal. 

—

Nesta made good on her word, and when the morning finally came for her and Cassian to set off, she did so with a determined gleam in her eyes. When she hugged you goodbye, she lingered a bit longer than usual. You couldn’t tell if the prolonged embrace was for her or you, or perhaps for both—a silent recognition of a weekend that might have you both coming back changed.

As for Azriel, he missed the departure, having been called to the River House by Rhysand early that morning. He’d roused you slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple, urging you to go back to sleep, promising he’d return before Nesta and Cassian left. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case. You didn’t know when he’d come back, but as you wandered through the hall, hands mildly dirty from prepping the rooftop garden for overwintering, you paused by the library, rocking back on your heel as you saw the outline of wings.

Peeking through the entrance, you found Azriel at the writing desk, his hand pressed to his temple, his leg bouncing under the table. His boot squeaked softly on the floor as shadows curled around his feet like restless cats.

“Hey,” you chirped cheerfully, stepping into the room.

Azriel started slightly at your voice, turning to you with a surprised smile. “Oh, hey!” he replied, that goofy grin lighting up his face.

You walked over, wiping your hands on the small towel you'd brought with you before tucking it into your back pocket. “Where have you been?” you asked, leaning your hips against the desk, your body angled towards him.

Azriel’s hazel eyes, sparkling with mischief, met yours. “Got caught up with Rhys,” he said, leaning back in the chair, his hands interlocking behind his head, causing his biceps to flex slightly.

“Everything okay?” you asked, arching a brow, noticing the way his eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, his posture relaxed yet commanding. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” But his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

Deciding to trust that, like Nesta with Cassian, Azriel knew what he was doing, you chose not to pry into matters beyond your reach. Instead, you nodded, and his eyes flicked to your hands.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted, gesturing towards your fingers.

You glanced down, seeing dirt still peppered under your nails. You began to dig them out, a sheepish smile crossing your face. “Oh, yeah. Elain had me prepping the soil for overwintering, but I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know how you manage it, but it seems like every time you walk away from me, you come back covered in grime.”

Feigning offense, you scoffed, “Okay, well, every time you leave, you come back smelling like actual shit and death.”

“I’m talking about leaving you alone for five minutes, and you come back like that,” Azriel countered, his grin widening.

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes. “What can I say? I like dirt.”

“Dirty girl,” he purred, his tone taking on a teasing edge.

Heat crept up your cheeks as you looked away, biting your lower lip to suppress a smile. “Gross,” you replied, though a laugh slipped through.

Azriel’s laugh was a low rumble as he stretched back in his chair, his wings flaring slightly. His black shirt rode up, revealing the tantalizing V-lines that disappeared beneath his waistband, along with a glimpse of his defined abs. You tried to keep your gaze on his face, but your eyes betrayed you, flicking down for just a moment.

As he straightened, catching the way you looked at him, Azriel’s smirk deepened. “Enjoying the view?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush threatening to deepen. “Don’t flatter yourself, Shadowsinger.”

His chuckle was warm, and his eyes sparkled with teasing affection as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate murmur. “I think I already did.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed off the desk, catching Azriel’s eyes trailing your hips as you walked away. It seemed he might have been entertaining thoughts of potential weekend activities himself. Letting yourself flop backward over the couch, you landed with a thud on your back, legs dangling lazily over the backrest. “Plans for the rest of the day?” you asked, casually picking at the dirt caked under your nails.

“Actually,” he replied, “I was wondering if you might be willing to do something for me.”

Your ears perked up just as you pulled a piece of your nail off completely, hissing slightly as a small bead of blood welled up in the tiny wound. “What is it?” you inquired, pressing your thumb to the spot.

“I have to meet someone from the Summer Court this afternoon.” Your heart sank a little, imagining Azriel’s weekend filling up with more responsibilities. “But I was supposed to pick up something from a shop in the city. If I drop you off, would you mind getting it? I can swing by and pick you up on my way back.”

You flipped your legs over the back of the couch, peering up over the crest of the sofa to meet Azriel’s eye. “Sure,” you agreed, though your voice lacked enthusiasm.

Azriel’s face relaxed, and the tension that had coiled around him when you walked in seemed to dissipate. “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

You smiled lightly, “Just let me clean up first,” you said, scooting off the couch.

“Thank the gods,” Azriel replied with mock relief. “I was worried I’d have to carry you down there smelling like dirt and sweat.”

As you walked out, you stuck your tongue out at him over your shoulder. He laughed, leaning back in his chair again, and you had to stop yourself from turning around to admire the view. 

“Careful, you might catch flies,” Azriel called after you, his tone teasing.

You snorted, waving him off as you headed to clean up.

—

When you finally finished getting dressed after your shower, you opened the door to find Azriel standing across the hall. You jumped slightly, hand flying to your racing heart. “Gods, Azriel! We need to get you a bell or something.”

Azriel smirked lightly. “Ready to go?” He seemed anxious, perhaps pressed for time, though he hadn’t exactly given you any.

“Now?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Azriel glanced around in confusion. “Yes?”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” You opened the door wider as Azriel crossed the hallway, tossing you your jacket from the front entry hall.

It seemed he’d been waiting on you—how long, you had no idea. He threw open the balcony doors, letting the cool air rush in, a sharp reminder that winter was on its way. Azriel smiled over his shoulder, extending a scarred hand to you. “You haven’t told me what I’m getting for you yet,” you noted, taking his hand. He scooped you up under your knees, cradling you close as his wings took a few powerful flaps, lifting off the marble floor. Your stomach flipped at the quick descent down the mountainside.

“I wrote the address down for you. Just give them my name,” he said, the wind biting at the tips of your ears.

You furrowed your brow. “You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking up?”

Azriel glanced down at you, his smile widening. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Not even a hint?”

“Okay,” he responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just trust me on this one. It’s nothing bad.”

“I’m not collecting the head or fingers of your enemies?” you joked.

Azriel chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “That would be an errand I’d want to handle myself.”

“So it’s you who doesn’t trust me?” you countered playfully.

“I wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun,” he replied, smirking.

“Gross.”

“You love that word today, don’t you?”

“When I look at you, it’s the first word that comes to mind,” you shot back, your face breaking into a smile.

Azriel landed gracefully on a deserted sidestreet. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” he said, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. “Here.” He handed it to you, leaning in to place a light kiss on your temple.

You opened the paper, squinting at his neat, thin handwriting. No name of the building, but you recognized the street. “So I can’t know what I’m picking up or where I’m going?” you asked, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be late. Consider it a trust exercise. Do you know where it is?”

“Well, I don’t know what ‘it’ is, but I do know where it is,” you replied.

“One hour. I’ll meet you there.”

You watched as he shot back up into the sky, wondering why, if he was meeting you there, he dropped you off a good fifteen-minute walk from your destination. But again, trust. So instead of calling out to question him, you sighed and began your trek through the city, shaking your head with a bemused smile. 

Local shops were already setting out items for Winter Solstice gifts, the streets adorned with twinkling lights and festive decorations. Your heart ached a bit, reminded of how different your life had been just a year ago. For a moment, you wondered if you had moved on too quickly from everything that had happened. You shook the thought away; dwelling on others’ perceptions of your healing wouldn’t help. Or at least, that’s what you tried to remind yourself.

You knew the shortest route to this particular street cut through the city near the entry gate, but the memories there were too sharp to face today. So, you opted for a longer, winding path, adding about ten minutes to your walk. The detour gave you a moment to breathe, to let the festive atmosphere seep in without the weight of the past pressing down too hard.

When you finally reached the correct street, you followed the numbers until you stood in front of a small bakery. The sweet scents of fresh breads and pastries swirled out from under the door, mingling with the crisp winter air. You rechecked the address Azriel had given you. This was definitely the place. Stepping up to the front door, your mouth watered at the sight of cranberry tarts with their crystalline sugar gleaming in the window, boxes of dark chocolates overflowing with cream, ganache, and fruit, and cakes delicately frosted with winter themes of ice and snow.

The bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, the warm, cozy interior a sharp contrast to the chill outside. Your eyes adjusted to the dim, inviting light, and you noticed a few other patrons standing in front of the large glass counter, debating their purchases. You approached the rather plump, cheery-eyed male at the register.

“Hi,” you greeted as he smiled down at you. “I’m here to pick up something for Azriel.”

“Oh!” The male’s eyes lit up with recognition. He nodded and disappeared into the back of the bakery. You must have been in the right place. While you waited, you watched a female baker behind the counter delicately package pastel macarons into a cellophane box, her hands flying yet precise as she tied a pastel blue ribbon over the top.

The male reappeared, holding a small white box secured with red twine. He handed it over the counter with a broad smile. You thanked him, looking down at the box with curiosity, slightly disappointed that you couldn’t see its contents like the macarons on display.

Given that the sun was beginning to set, you figured you didn’t have much time left before Azriel would come to retrieve you. With the mystery box in hand, you crossed the street and sat on a bench, pulling your jacket tighter around you as you watched fae bustle by.

A few small children barreled down the street, chasing each other and giggling wildly. They stopped in front of the bakery, pressing their noses to the glass, their eyes wide with longing for the delectable treats inside. You watched as the female baker inside noticed their hungry faces. She smiled warmly at them, exchanged a few words with the male baker, and then disappeared into the backroom.

Moments later, she emerged with a white paper bag and stepped outside, beckoning the children closer. They approached cautiously, eyes alight with excitement. She handed them the bag, her smile radiant as she reminded them to share. 

The children eagerly took the bag from the baker, nearly ripping it as they peered inside. Their eyes lit up with delight as they distributed various cookies and candies among themselves. You smiled, remembering how, when you were young, the baker Henri used to give you scones that hadn’t sold the day before. A memory that once included your mother, now replaced by Titania. There was something comforting about these children, nearly a century later, still engaging in the same rituals. Adults continuing to offer sweets from the kindness of their hearts, expecting nothing in return but a smile and the hope that these children might someday pass on the same acts of kindness.

You heard footsteps crunching on the sidewalk next to you and looked up to see two large, winged shadows approaching. Azriel’s face was partially obscured by the late afternoon sun. He took a seat next to you, crossing his legs casually and draping his arms over the backrest of the bench, one foot jostling slightly.

“Hey,” you greeted, moving the box to the other side of you.

“Hi,” he replied, his warm smile melting away the chill in your bones.

“All set?” you asked. He nodded. “How did it go?”

His face conveyed a sort of nonchalance, his mouth twitching slightly downward but not quite frowning. “Fine,” was all he said, shrugging. “How was your little errand?” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the white box.

You handed him the box, feeling its light weight in your hands. “Fine, I think.”

Azriel took the box from you, untying the twine and turning slightly away to examine the contents. You strained to see over his shoulder, but one large wing blocked your view.

“If all you wanted were pastries, why be so secretive?” you scoffed, amused, as he replaced the lid and turned back to you with a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t a male have a little fun?”

You huffed, your eyes scanning his face. There was something about his presence you couldn’t quite place. The look of hesitation behind his eyes, the continuous bouncing foot, and the odd secrecy made you think Azriel might be nervous about something. But what, you couldn’t quite figure out.

“Ready to go?” he asked quickly, standing and adjusting his jacket. You watched him, taking the hand he extended to you, agreeing quietly while complaining slightly about the cold. He just called you a crybaby in response.

The two of you walked through the streets, searching for a quieter sidestreet where Azriel could fully stretch his wings for takeoff. When you finally found one, he picked you up gracefully, asking you to hold the pastry box, which you obliged. The entire flight home, you debated just opening the lid for a peek inside.

As you landed back on the marble balcony, Azriel gently placed you on your feet. You adjusted your top, smoothing the fabric with a quick tug, while he reached for the double doors and swung them open, reclaiming the white pastry box from you. The warm glow of the fire beckoned from within, its gentle crackling drawing you closer. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it casually onto the bed as you entered the room.

“Thanks,” Azriel’s voice followed you. “For doing this for me.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, flopping down onto the plush bed, your arms stretching upwards as you tried to ease the ache in your muscles. “No worries.” You expected Azriel to make a swift exit, eager to tackle the next task on his agenda, but he lingered. Standing near the double doors, his eyes stayed on you, a quiet intensity in his gaze.

Lifting your head off the bed, you noticed his prolonged stare. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you asked hesitantly, “Everything okay?”

Azriel snapped out of his reverie, his scarred finger tracing the twine of the pastry box absentmindedly. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied shortly, a touch of awkwardness in his voice. “Dinner?”

At his offer, you sprang up from the bed with eagerness. “Yes! I’m starving,” you exclaimed, your voice edged with a playful whine.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a soft, fleeting smile, the sound of a light laugh escaping him. As he started towards the door, you stumbled over your own feet, trying to kick off your boots in a rush. You fell into him, face-first against his chest, his warm laughter rumbling through you and making your stomach flutter. “Careful,” he chuckled, steadying you with a gentle hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pushing back slightly, your hands pressing against the hard muscle of his chest. You glanced up, your chin hovering mere inches from where your fingers rested.

Azriel’s gaze softened, his other hand still clutching the pastry box. With a slight nod, he led you out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards the kitchen. Normally, you and Nesta or Azriel would eat casually around the kitchen island, but tonight was different. Azriel walked past the kitchen doors, his pace quickening with a hint of excitement.

You paused in front of the kitchen, a confused look crossing your face. “Aren’t we eating?” you asked, glancing towards the familiar island.

Without stopping or turning back, Azriel urged, “Come on,” his tone carrying a trace of anticipation.

Puzzled but intrigued, you followed him, your stomach rumbling in sync with your growing curiosity. As you trailed behind him through the sunken living room and past the cozy library, you realized he was leading you towards the grand dining room. A room you had only seen used for formal family dinners hosted by Nesta.

Azriel reached the doorway, his imposing wings nearly filling the large frame. Turning to face you, his smile broadened, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, still trying to decipher his peculiar behavior. Azriel pushed open the door, stepping aside with a radiant, cheeky grin that made your heart skip a beat.

As you stepped through the doorway, Azriel trailing behind, your breath caught in your throat. In the center of the grand dining room, which typically housed a vast, imposing table fit for large gatherings and entertaining, stood a much smaller, more intimate table, set elegantly for two.

The table was adorned with an elegant lace tablecloth, its intricate patterns catching the flicker of candlelight. Candles were placed strategically around the room, their soft, golden glow dancing off the walls. The centerpiece was a lush arrangement of flowers, the key flowers being purple hyacinths—your favorites.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the exquisite spread laid out on the table, a feast of your favorite dishes, each more mouthwatering than the last. Golden roast chicken, perfectly seasoned with a medley of colorful, caramelized vegetables, parsnips, and baby potatoes crisping in the tray. A bowl next to it held bright, emerald-green steamed asparagus drizzled with a cream sauce, a favorite that Titania used to make for you as a child, you had recently learned. Sautéed mushrooms and wild rice pilaf made your mouth water, and a few freshly baked rolls, still warm from the oven, rested in a basket lined with a blue towel. 

You stood there, momentarily stunned by the sheer meticulous effort placed on each part of the room and table. You couldn’t conceive of any other food on the table that wasn’t one of your favorites, as though someone had crawled into your mind, into your childhood, and handpicked out the moments you held with reverie. Azriel came to stand next to a chair, pulling it out slightly as you approached.

“Az, this is—” you stammered. “How did you—?”

Azriel merely chuckled as you took your seat, sliding it in behind you, then crossing around, pouring a sparkling purple wine into a crystal-clear glass and passing it to you.

“This is,” the words couldn’t even come to your mouth as you took the glass, staring down at the food in front of you. “This is insane.”

Azriel poured himself a glass, swirling it lightly as he gazed across at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement as you tried to get your mouth to close from awe. He took a light sip from the cup, the first taste hitting his palate as his face scrunched up, eyebrows drawing together and then widening in surprise before narrowing into discomfort. He peered into the glass, mildly confused, and then slowly processed the unexpected saccharine assault on his taste buds, followed by a sharp exhale through his nose. “This is so sweet,” he said, shoulders and wings rising in an involuntary shudder.

You looked down into your own glass, the sweet aroma of blackberries filling your nostrils as you took a tentative sip. You were greeted with an intense burst of blackberry flavor, as if a handful of the plumpest berries had been freshly crushed, the taste rich and succulent with small hints of dark chocolate and vanilla coating your throat. You almost moaned in sensual delight. Your eyes shut as you melted into your chair. You finally managed to moan out, “This is delicious.”

Your eyes fluttered open to see Azriel swirling the wine in his glass, peering into it with his mouth pulled up in a sneer as though a fly had landed in it. “Oh come on,” you said, taking another sip.

Azriel’s eyes flicked back to you, his sneer growing more exaggerated. “You actually like this stuff?”

“What about it don’t you like?” you asked, your tone slightly accusatory.

“It tastes like pure sugar,” he responded flatly.

“No, it doesn’t! It tastes like blackberries.”

“Blackberries that have been coated in sugar.” He glanced into it again, “There’s probably one blackberry for three cups of sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your chair as you took another delectable sip, eyes shutting again as you felt the warmth of the wine trickle down your throat. You hadn’t had this kind of wine since—

Your eyes shot back open as Azriel tried another sip, the same reaction flying from him. “How did you know I liked blackberry wine?”

Azriel seemed to pause in stillness as he gulped down his drink. “Lucky guess?” he offered.

You shook your head, leaning forward. “You were spying on me,” you said, eyes narrowing.

Azriel’s own eyes went hollow as he considered the best way out of this situation. “I wasn’t intending to.”

You laughed lightly, “So your shadows just followed me around on their own accord?”

At that, you felt the cool breeze around your ankle as one shadow skirted past you. “To be fair,” Azriel offered, “they are fond of you.”

Your gaze turned into a glare as Azriel tried to dig himself out. He placed his glass on the table, leaning his elbows onto it, eyes lined with sincerity. “Look, it was right after you left, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So how long were you watching me?” you asked, slightly more forcefully.

Azriel’s palms faced upward. “Only until it seemed you and Kai were getting more serious.” He paused. You scanned his face for any sign of deception but found none. Only pure sincerity. “Once you seemed like you had someone to rely on, I stopped.”

You leaned back, calming yourself again. In truth, you weren’t too upset that it seemed Azriel had been pining after you much longer than you had thought. Not to mention that knowing there was someone watching over you who wasn’t your mate allowed you to breathe a bit of a sigh of relief. You picked up the glass, swirling it so the sweet wine scent hit your nose again, breathing it in deeply.

“So you’ve seen me drunk?” you asked, taking another sip, eyes heavy as you cocked a brow at Azriel.

Azriel chewed his lower lip, trying to contain a slight smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps,” he offered back.

You quickly tried to sift through your memories, wondering about the things you had said or done that might now cause some embarrassment. “You’re giggly when you’re drunk,” Azriel remarked, a playful glint in his eye.

You set your glass down on the table, leaning forward as he carved a piece of chicken for you, placing it on your plate. The warm juices from the pan flowed onto the dish, tantalizing your senses. “And what are you like?” you inquired, arching a brow.

Azriel let out a breathy laugh as he served himself. You grabbed the tongs, dishing asparagus onto both your plates. “I haven’t gotten drunk in a long time.”

You handed over the tray to him as he passed you the rolls. “How long is a long time?”

Azriel pondered for a moment, setting the pan back down on the table. “Half a century?” he responded, sounding like he was questioning his own memory.

You picked up your fork, eyeing him with a smirk. “Sometimes I forget you’re ancient,” you quipped, taking a bite of the chicken. The savory sauce melted in your mouth, making you moan with delight.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It stops being important once you turn one hundred.”

You opened your eyes again, taking another greedy bite. “That’s what someone who’s too old and boring to get drunk would say,” you teased.

“I got my days of heavy drinking out of the way before I took on one of the most important roles in the Night Court,” he countered, leaning back. “It’s not exactly a good look to be falling all over yourself in front of those in power.”

You scoffed, “Cassian seems to have no problem with it.” It’s true, Cassian seized every opportunity to get absolutely sloshed at formal events, often challenging other warriors to drinking contests.

“Let’s not use Cassian as our standard for formality,” Azriel replied with a chuckle. “But when I used to get drunk, I’m told I got rather chatty.”

You almost choked on your food. “Chatty?” you questioned, wide-eyed.

Azriel flicked his eyes at you from under his brows as he took a bite. “Is that surprising?”

You shrugged, chewing a bit more carefully this time. “Chatty with everyone? Or just the people you know?”

Azriel leaned back in the chair, his wings casually lounged behind him. “According to Rhys and Mor, everyone.”

The thought of Azriel being the life of the conversation somewhere in a bar in Velaris, chatting it up with strangers, almost made you laugh out loud. “I’m sure you were fun at parties,” you offered, swallowing down your bite with another glass of wine.

“I would say I still am,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You think fun is brooding in the corner?”

“You’ve only ever seen me at Night Court events,” he countered.

“But you’re a party animal at the tavern?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “Maybe that’s why you don’t like sweet wines,” you teased, leaning over the table. “You’re too old to enjoy something so youthful. You’d rather have a dry glass of white wine or some liquor that burns like firestarter.”

Azriel scoffed at you. “Am I going to regret doing all this for you?” he joked back.

You smiled at him sweetly, looking back down at your plate. “No,” you replied, a touch quieter and sincere. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Azriel’s face lit up slightly at your response. “I just thought you deserved a nice night,” he said.

You gestured to the table, “You really got all my favorites, even the ones I haven’t told you about or eaten in front of you.”

Azriel glanced toward the ceiling. “I’ll admit, the House did provide me with some insight on things you ask for late at night.”

You followed his gaze up, whispering in a hiss, “Those moments were supposed to be secret.”

Azriel laughed, “That and Titania helped fill me in on the rest.”

You ran your finger around the rim of your glass, heart and belly slowly filling with a feeling of deep adoration and joy. “This is really nice,” you finally whispered.

Azriel reached a scarred hand across the table to you, taking yours. “You deserve to enjoy the things you love,” he offered, his voice filled with quiet sincerity.

Azriel shared with you that, unlike what you might have considered, he actually prepared all the dishes himself. He prepped the meal early in the morning with the help of Nuala and Cerridwen at the River House and then took the hour he had misled you into going to the bakery to set everything up. He really had thought of everything.

As you settled back in your chair, the plate nearly licked clean, you let out a sigh of gratification. Azriel, who had indeed brought out some nasty liquor you refused to try despite his imploring, swirled his glass across from you. His eyes lit up suddenly as he jumped from the table. “I almost forgot!”

You straightened slightly as he brought out the white box from the bakery, setting it in front of you to open. You glanced up at him, smiling. “You made me get my own dessert?” you teased.

“Oh yeah, I’m so sorry,” he replied sarcastically. “How foolish of me to ask you to do one thing so I could do all of this for you.” He gestured around the room with a dramatic flourish.

You smiled back as you undid the twine, peeking in at two delicately crafted tarts. The rhubarb, lemon, and berry compote glistened up at you, the crust perfectly crisped. Your mouth fell open again as Azriel looked down at you, joy in his eyes. You peered back up at him, “These are the tarts that Elain made when I first came here,” you said, breathless.

Azriel shrugged, “Not the exact ones. But they’re as close as I could get to the real thing without cluing Elain in.” In fairness, Elain couldn’t keep a secret, and for something of this nature, which included romance and food, she would have spilled every detail the second Azriel told her.

You found your hand seeking Azriel’s as you marveled at the beautiful little desserts, eyes welling up with emotion. This entire dinner was a three-course journey through your life, from childhood to now, all prepared for you, all a reflection of who you were and the things you had experienced. You felt a tear start to fall, but Azriel caught it, tilting your head up to face him, his own eyes filled with a sincerity and care you don’t know if anyone had ever had for you before. “Thank you,” you whispered lightly.

Azriel leaned down, his lips meeting yours, the oils from the chicken mingling with the sweet wine on your own lips. While you could taste the fiery hint of his drink, you didn’t pull away, lost in the soft caress of his lips as his thumb drew a lazy line down your face, his other hand coming to cup the other side. The kiss held no intensity other than pure adoration, care, and unbridled joy. When he pulled back, Azriel smiled down at you again, and you giggled lightly when he reached into the box, pulling out one of the tarts with his hands and taking a crumbling bite from it.

“Hey!” you protested, laughing as he chewed. “That’s mine!”

Azriel shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Consider it a toll for the perfect evening.”

To my readers, I'm hot, bothered, and need to be put back into my enclosure. We about to get wild: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes

[belit0]

What if Indra and Madara have a wife that really loves her kids, she also yells at him when he's been too mean and defends her kids with her life😭 I hope Indra doesn't throw hands😭💀

Noooo, Indra may be a terrible yandere, but he knows better than to be a woman-beating coward!🙏🙏🙏

I love all requests involving the Uchiha as fathers, please keep sending me them!! It's beautiful to see them in environments that don't involve war and destruction, and being fatherly love figures😭❣️

Indra

- He loves (Y/N) with all his little heart will allow, but getting involved with the way he handles the upbringing of his children is a big NO. He will use an iron fist to forge kids who know how to stand up for themselves if necessary, and if she has anything to say about it, they will fight. Papa Indra is a great and fearsome figure of respect to whom no argument is countered and orders are obeyed (for his children, (Y/N) fearlessly ignore this).

- His wife will be present at all training, and will try to reduce Otsutsuki's severity altogether. If she expected him to be gentle because it is about his own children, she is wrong. It will drive her crazy when she sees her little ones flying through the air because daddy is too tough, and she scolds him in front of them.

- Indra is deeply insulted by how (Y/N) tries to diminish his authority before the kids, and they engage in a quarrel that lasts for weeks. Eventually, they come to an agreement, where she doesn't mess with his ways, but he is a little less severe. When the infants turn 10, he can treat them as he pleases, but not until that age.

- He focuses on an infant-friendly regimen, which even for (Y/N) is still too demanding, and on many occasions he has to put up with her nagging and watching her drag the children away from him in her arms.

- She is so overprotective, her own kids are the ones who return with him to the training ground after escaping their mother's watchful eye, and ask him to continue with their activities. Indra smiles proudly and restrains himself, as he appreciates his sons also want to spend time with him.

- He's not the best father, but he tries.

Madara

- He can't be hard on them, he adores them so much he can't even scold them when they deserve it. In fact, Madara is the permissive father his children ask for everything first because they know he will say yes, afterwards going to confront their mother with daddy's confirmation in advance to argue their case.

- He refuses to be the one training them. He considers himself a very tough and pushy person with the workouts he prefers to give, and could never treat his little ones that way. He ends up asking Izuna to take over, and (Y/N) scolding the young Uchiha when he gets too hard on them.

- The few times he had to scold one of them for making a mess, he did it guiltily. In his children he sees the souls of those brothers he lost as a child, and he can't be mean to them. He lets them do whatever they want, and if Mom comes back to find a mess at home because Dad didn't set limits, Madara will be reprimanded along with his children as if they were all the same age.

- In one special situation, his children made a big disaster while (Y/N) was not at home. At that point he realized he should put his foot down because his children see him more as an accomplice than a figure of respect, and he goes a bit overboard with his scolding. His kids are slightly traumatized, and know not to push their luck when it comes to their father.

- He rarely yells at them, and beyond that particular time, he did so only one other time. In front of (Y/N), he berated his boys vehemently, and it was she who yelled at him at the time for being "too hard on my babies!" (as if she wasn't...). Madara chose to abide by the commander's orders and remain silent.

- Good father, with a lot of effort.

[joined-shores-art]

RWBY vs. Monster Hunter: Huntsmen, Hunters, Grimm and Monsters

Please beware of potential spoilers for Monster Hunter Wilds and RWBY Volume 8 in particular

While Monsters are part of nature like every other animal, Grimm are seen as a mindless threat to Remnant, contrast between regulation (coming from the Guild) and eradication (coming from the academies and Ozma/Ozpin specifically). The Guild maintains balance kept up by hunters, guildmarms, handlers, knights tasked to kill rogues and take care of illegal activity, several authority figures, while the four academies have the end goal of "saving" Remnant set by one person, Ozma, which is reinforced by teachers, students and graduates. Do keep in mind both the Guild and the concept of Huntsmen are fairly new to both worlds in their timelines and yet one is meant to last and coexists while the other is meant to succeed and end. The academies educate, the Guild is a workplace.

Quotes of respective mindsets:

Monster Hunter Wilds:

"Nature is– Life is a lot more resilient than we humans know." - Player Character

RWBY Vol1:

"That's why we're here. To make it better." - Ruby

In RWBY we've only seen people suffering consequences when they hurt/killed other people, nothing the like when a Grimm is unjustly killed. Monster Hunter Wilds puts extra emphasis that you as the player and Olivia each have a handler do the paperwork and authorize to kill only if it's unavoidable. However, there is no unjust killing of Grimm. Even without a formal license, there are no legal troubles. But kill an Aptonoth without the Guild allowing it, oh boy!

This entire ramble came to me after seeing the cutscene in Wilds where Nata, Player, Alma and Gemma honor Arkveld one last time after Player kills it. It's a quiet moment of respect but it's so meaningful in the long run. While in RWBY... (and please don't come at me if I'm wrong here) killing Grimm tends to be met with happy cheers. Until for one very notable time: the Hound. Until the mindless threat turned out to be evolving, speaking and suddenly there was a person inside all along.

Of course Ruby and Yang have a very different reason to be traumatized by the reveal than any other character in the show. We know there's likely more silver eyed people turned into Grimm roaming around Remnant, that leaves me to question– will Grimm be regulated? Because there's a chance there could be a human inside? When is a Grimm a "valid" being? These guys have been around even before Salem became who she is now, she didn't create them, the god of darkness did, she evolved them. In Wilds' storyline it's revealed Arkveld was created by the natives of Wyveria and acted as a destructive threat to its environment like Grimm do, it was still treated with respect and dignity, which is the reason why I focused on it here.

This entire thing is so interesting to me. It scratches my brain in very neat ways. The differences and similarities. I'm getting sappy but I put these franchises into WK for those reasons man.

[evanhereonearth]

Since I’ve gotten a few questions about my original books and where to find them, I figured I should do an introduction/master post, because I’ve a whole heap of things I do.

I’m a polymath, a pain in the ass, a massive pain

If you’ve enjoyed my Solavellan meta and want to support me, I would be honoured. I’ve just been totally cleaned out by a gruelling and traumatic immigration process (that is ongoing), and honestly *any* support is an enormous help in getting back on my feet so my life in my home can…finally begin.

I’m a fantasy author of over 25 novels across several subgenres, but all of my books have a romantic element or are romances. I’m also an award-winning Gaelic singer and songwriter who has represented Scotland internationally twice and been invited to perform for our parliament’s 25th anniversary celebration.

I’ve been at this a long time, and I keep kind of getting knocked backwards onto my arse and am pretty exhausted! Here’s my erm…life’s work below the jump!

Books

If you want to read my current series as I write it, check out my Patreon! I’m back on my Solavellan bullshit with it: if Lavellan met Solas somehow both as Solas and simultaneously as rebellion-era, peak traumatised Dread Wolf…and had to reconcile those experiences on the fly as her people’s oppressors subject her to impossible trials to steal what remains of their Indigenous magic? Aye, that’s Wilder.

You can follow along for £1 a month on Patreon. It’s going to get very spicy.

My most recent published series is a Solavellan-inspired romantasy trilogy (complete!) that I wrote over the last five years of absolute panic that we wouldn’t get a happy ending.

Complete trilogy!!!

Mutual pining

Souls bound across time and space

Big Dragon Age and Solavellan vibes

Banter!

“We shouldn’t” 👀

Low spice (honestly I kinda regret not making it spicier so might make some erm…bonus scenes at some point)

In KU/ebook and available in bespoke deluxe paperback from my own shopfront

Elven gods and mortals romance episodic series where the gods are being punished by a greater power for being assholes and can only find redemption by winning the heart of their mortal soulmates 😌

Queer-norm world!

Book 1: m/f

Book 2: f/f

Book 3: enby/f

Book 4: m/f

In KU and ebook only; they’re just short lil guys

Complete trilogy!

Spell-induced climate change, one land magically draining the resources from another, and those dead set on righting the wrongs (or making it worse 😳)

Giant sapient bats

Giant cats and those who bond with them and ride them

A land cut off from the world by an ancient curse

Ace rep!!!

Profound friendships and trust

Available in ebook, hardcover, and paperback

Complete quartet!

Lots of snark

My earlier work but I’m still proud of it 🥹

Bi lead, f/f endgame

So many butts

Adorable demon hybrid lads who are very wholesome and also always naked

NANA THE BUNNY, best bunny

Available in ebook, hardcover, and paperback (and audio, narrated by the amazing Amber Benson of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame—she’s truly an absolute legend 😭!)

Look to the Sun and A Hall of Keys and No Doors are both available in ebook, paperback, hardcover, and audio. Also narrated by the amazing Amber Benson!

Two standalone YAs, both lightly paranormal

Non-binary autistic leads in both

Big themes of surviving and recovering from trauma

Sweet romance in each

Demi/grey ace rep in each

Will is obsessed with Solas just like me lmao

Target of banning in plenty of US states 🙃

Sam got nominated for a Nebula award 🥹

Available in ebook, paperback, hardcover, and audio (Sam is narrated by Allegra Verlezza, and Will by Vico Ortiz—yes, that Vico Ortiz!)

Seonag and the Seawolves: free to read at Reactor Mag!

A Gaelic reimagining of a Green Man tale with a sea-based protector and their wolf guardians. Set in South Uist!

Long listed for a Hugo award 🥹

The Quiet: A tale of a woman who bridges worlds to seek out her lost sister in the face of an ancient threat. Has selkies!

Perchance to Dream: An m/m tale of Sleeping Beauty if the legends didn’t get it quite right and neither Aurora nor Phillip wanted anything to do with one another, beginning from the wake-up kiss

The Quiet and Perchance to Dream are both available in ebook and KU!

***

Beyond this, I have a whole series of LitRPG under another name that I’m toying with outing myself about.

Music

I also have a wee EP of demos of my original Gaelic songs and one translation of Once Upon a Dream over on Bandcamp. It’s a pay-what-you-want dealio!

Art

You may have seen my lil Solavellan art going around! You can get it on a T-shirt in my shop, along with other wee bits and bobs I’ve painted.

And, of course, if you want to just read my Solavellan long fic, you can do that here. 💕

[silmarillisms]

I've realized that every problem I have with the Shadow and Bone book series stems from the fact that the author writes from a place of privilege, never acknowledges that privilege is privilege, and tries to pass off a highly privileged viewpoint on every situation as absolute truth within Grishaverse.

The Grisha don't know how lucky they are. They get to lord over all of us from the Little Palace, dressing in their fancy clothes and eating good food!

Says the person who has never had to spend every day of their life being forced to convince people in power that they are useful to society and deserve to exist, who live in constant fear that someday someone in a position of power might decide otherwise.

Why doesn't the Darkling just trust Alina? Why does he lie to her and keep her out of his confidence?

Says the person who has never been in a position of power where they were directly responsible for the lives of people beneath them. Says the person who did not spend their formative years being repeatedly traumatized by their only parental figure who taught them over and over that no one could be trusted. Says the person who has never liked someone but knows they need to keep them at arm's length because they seem to sympathize with people who, given half the chance, would fuck you over.

Why can't you just trust that Nikolai would be better than his father and that his rule would end Grisha persecution?

Says the person who has never had to fight for their rights against a corrupt system, who has never had to accept the fact that the system itself is stacked against them and the only hope they have is to break it entirely.

Why can't the Darkling accept that change happens slowly and incrementally over time? Why doesn't he understand that using violent revolution to enact change is wrong?

Says the person who has never existed in a place or time when the only hope for their people was violent revolution. Says the person who has never been part of an ostracized group, who has never been tired of waiting, of watching, of hoping. We don't pray for change. We make it happen.

Why can't Alina stop thinking about gaining personal power, by aligning herself with the Darkling or otherwise? Doesn't she know that it's wrong to seek power?

Says the person who has never in their life spent a day feeling powerless, feeling hopeless, feeling that they don't matter.

I don't have a problem with the universe of Shadow and Bone. I have a problem with the fact that Leigh Bardugo tries to force the audience to see it, and its characters, through a perspective that disrespects the characters she created, the social and political challenges that they face, and the way those things mirror the real struggles of marginalized groups of people - intentionally or otherwise.

[dtvhomeofhappiness]

If You Don't Mind (Brad × Janet × Frank)

Description: Brad is having a bad week, Janet and Frank comfort him.

Words: 1913

Tags: hurt/comfort, whump (I think?), angst, fluff, Brad being the best, Janet is responsible, Frank is an idiot, polycule, worst polycule in history, Frank has no clue how emotions work

Authors notes: guys this may be my first fanfic since I was like ten. Enjoy, please don't flame me too hard.

Brad maybe hated himself a little bit. He knew there were other people who hated themselves more (namely, Riff Raff), but he still hated himself. He had cheated on his girlfriend with a random man he had met, at the time, only a couple hours earlier.

After he had watched said random man nearly die, only for the random man to have not died and let Brad, his fiancé, Janet, and his old science teacher, Dr. Scott, stay as long as they needed. So Brad was back to the bedroom he had cheated on his wife in.

He knew she knew. It was hard not to see the glances he and Frank gave each other. Still, he hated it. He could like men, sure, but why this man? This toxic man that (sort of) forced him to cheat on his wife?

It had been a week, at that point. Everyone was alive again, albeit very traumatized, and Janet was supposed to negotiate with Riff Raff, Magenta, and Frank soon so that that whole "murder everyone with slightly positive feelings towards Frank" thing didn't happen again.

Brad layed in his bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a camera nearby, so he knew he couldn't do anything too embarrassing. So he just layed there in silence.

He wished he didn't hate himself. He saw how that affected Riff. He saw how that nearly got Columbia killed. But he couldn't help it. What wasn't there to hate?

He was nerdy, lanky, repeated things at nauseum, a cheater, and Bisexual. All of those things sounded pretty horrible to him. Besides, the one father figure he had had in his life, Dr. Scott, had practically disowned him since everything had happened.

So he stared at the ceiling, wondering, "Why would anybody like me?" Janet and Frank had Rocky, an objectively cooler version of Brad, Magenta had Columbia and Riff, people who hid their self loathing well (enough), and Dr. Scott had... himself.

There was a knock at the door, disrupting Brad from his self hatred spiral. The last time someone knocked on his door, Brad cheated on his fiancé. He held his breath, closing his eyes. Why did he feel like this? He didn't hate the last time. Maybe he hated that he didn't hate it.

"Brad, it's me," Came Janet's voice. However, the last time someone knocked on his door with Janet's voice, he cheated on her.

He let himself breathe for a moment. "Is it really you?" He asked, still keeping his eyes closed.

"Yes, it's really me," Janet said, coming into Brad's room and sitting on the edge of his bed. "Frank was complaining about how you wouldn't open the door for him." She gently put a hand on Brad's arm.

Brad flinched, opening his eyes. "He was knocking?" He asked, looking over at Janet.

"Yes." Janet sighed. "Then he tried to get Dr. Scott to help, but he said he was busy, then he tried to get Riff to pick the lock, but it wasn't locked to begin with, then he told me to come in and get you out." She rubbed his arm gently, like she had before all this had started.

Of course Dr. Scott had been busy. "Well tell him I don't want to see him." Brad looked back at the ceiling. It wasn't entirely true, but he also didn't want to have to speak with Frank about what had happened and have to deal with the emotions surrounding it.

"It's not just him. We're all worried about you, Brad. You're taking it the hardest out of all of us, and some people died."

Brad groaned, bringing his hands to his face. "Don't remind me..."

Janet paused. She always knew when something was wrong. "I can tell him to not mention what happened."

"I still don't want to see him," Brad said, peaking through his fingers at the ceiling.

Janet moved a little closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I could stay with you."

That was even worse. "No..." He covered his eyes again, feeling a deep tragedy in his soul that he couldn't put a finger on.

Janet moved even closer, laying her head on his chest. Brad tensed under her. "You can't stay here. It's unhealthy."

Brad didn't need to be told that. He knew it was unhealthy. But what would be worse was having to talk about it, especially with Frank.

Janet listened to his heartbeat, holding him tight, like she had before everything. "He came to me too, you know."

Brad let his hands fall away from his face. "What?"

"Frank. He dressed up as you, and he showed me things." She didn't look at him. He didn't look at her.

So, not only did Janet and Frank have Rocky, but they had each other, too? God, no wonder they wanted him out, to rub it in his face. No one could love him, not for long.

Janet looked up at him. "You're crying," she said, moving a hand to his cheek.

Brad hadn't even noticed. This was too much for him. He just wanted to be loved.

She rubbed her thumb over his cheek. "Poor thing..." She said, like how he saw her talk to Rocky.

She looked around for a moment, before leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'll be back in a minute, my love."

With that, her comforting warmth was gone, and Brad was left alone again. He couldn't stare at the ceiling. He rolled onto his side, his back facing the door. God, he was such a loser. Of course Janet and Frank had had sex. It was Janet and Frank.

Janet, the perfect, kind, beautiful goddess that she was, and Frank, the most beautiful man that had ever been birthed, were a match made in Heaven (or Hell, from Brad's perspective). Frank wouldn't be ridiculed by Janet's parents for being an orphan. Frank just needed to wear a suit and normal shoes, and Janet’s parents wouldn't say anything at all!

"Brad, darling." Think of the devil.

Brad put his arms around his own neck, trying to not look like as much of a loser as he was.

The bed creaked as Frank sat down. "You can't sleep through this. I know you're awake," Frank said.

Brad didn't want this right now. He wanted to wallow in his own thoughts, and not think about what had happened. He didn't want to see Frank's face, the one that had been bleeding face down in a pool only a few days earlier.

Frank was silent for a few more moments, before scoffing. "I know you want to see me. You always want to see me." When Brad didn't respond again, Frank grabbed his shoulder and forced him onto his back.

Brad stared at him with teary, bloodshot eyes. Frank flinched, removing his hands from his shoulders. Brad closed his eyes. Of course Frank didn't really want to see him. Frank only wanted to see if Brad was down for sex.

For a moment, there was nothing. No movement, no words, nothing. After a moment, however, Frank grabbed Brad's shoulders, forcing him to sit up. "You look horrible," Frank said, straighting Brad's shirt and bringing a hand to his cheek.

Brad could only nod. He felt horrible too.

Frank tisked, running his hand through Brad's hair. He grabbed Brad's glasses from the bedside table, putting them on Brad's face. "No one wants to see this."

Brad wiped his eyes, nodding.

Frank stared at him for a moment. "It really makes you look pathetic."

Brad nodded, still not looking at Frank.

"Stop it. Don't just nod along to everything I say."

Brad nod--

Frank grabbed his chin, forcing Brad to look at him. "I said stop."

Tears welled up in Brad's eyes. Frank still had a mark on his head from when he fell, and now Frank was yelling at him? Over covering up his own wound, Frank had decided to yell at Brad?

Frank's face softened. "Stop, no, don't cry." Frank took Brad's glasses off again, rubbing Brad's eyes for him.

Brad did not stop crying. In fact, he cried even more. Frank sighed, looking around. "Oh, Gods..." after a moment, he looked back at Brad. Brad was still crying.

For a moment, it seemed like Frank was going to leave good enough alone and go back to... whatever Frank did aside from having sex. But he didn't. Instead, after a beat, Frank gently wrapped his arms around Brad. It was awkward, and Frank was very boney.

Frank groaned, clearly uncomfortable. He patted Brad's back, though his movements were stiff. "There, there, stop crying, it's fine..."

Brad didn't care that it was awkward. Brad didn't care that Frank had clearly never comforted anyone ever before right then. Brad just cared that Frank was there, and that Frank was trying.

Brad put his face against Frank's shoulder, feeling the cool skin against his own. It calmed him a bit. It felt surprisingly nice, the awkward hug and all.

"Brad, I brought you your Xanax and some tea and-- oh. Hi Frank," Janet said as she walked back into the room.

Frank pushed Brad away. "Oh, thank Gods, Janet." Frank rushed over to Janet's side, leaving Brad sitting on the bed, holding no one. "He's gotten worse. I told him to stop nodding and he just started crying!"

Brad didn't have the energy to argue. He looked down at his hands, before laying back down.

"I told you I would get him out! He didn't want to see you!" Janet walked over to Brad, handing him the pill. "Take this, love."

"Of course he wanted to see me! Did you see how he was clinging to me?" Frank said, crossing his arms.

Brad sat there for a moment, pill in his hand. He looked between the pill, Frank, and Janet. He looked back at the pill, taking the tea from Janet and taking it.

"He's in an emotionally vulnerable state! Of course he's going to cling to you if you're the only person in the room," Janet said, walking back over to Frank.

"It's because he likes me. Between you and me, he would rather cling to me."

"Oh please. I'm his fiancé!"

"Well I've actually slept with him!"

"I've known him since highschool!"

"I've actually slept with him!"

Brad sipped his tea leisurely, watching the two fight. He looked down at the mug for a moment, feeling his mind start to clear. He put the mug on the bedside table, grabbing his glasses.

"You keep using that point because it's the only point you actually have."

"He defended me when they were about to kill me!"

"I defended you! It wasn't that big a deal!"

"Has he ever defended you?"

"Yes, in fact he has!"

"When you were about to die?"

"You are a special case, Frank."

Brad wrapped his arms around Frank and Janet, startling them both. He put his head on Janet's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, squeezing them both a little tighter.

Janet glanced at Frank. Frank glanced at Janet. For a moment, there was nothing, before they both returned the hug. Janet kissed Brad's head. "Of course, my love."

Frank followed suit, kissing Brad's neck instead. "Just don't do it again."

Janet glared at Frank, before looking back at Brad. "Ignore him."

Brad didn't mind either of them. He just wanted to stay in their arms as long as possible.

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Reaper Keep

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59921155 by Baby_Sweetpea Stiles Stilinski died on a Tuesday morning. There was nothing overly special about the day, or noteworthy either. There never was when when his first summer at 18, freshly graduated had begun. Pack meetings were plenty, with people he hardly knew. Scott was never around, and when he was it was only because he needed something from Stiles. So when he died he was alone, because Scott needed him to go find out why the Nemeton had been acting up. Or at least it was according to Deaton anyway. ____________   Stiles dies and unfortunately the world goes on without him, but what happens when he comes back a little different, bent on revenge and a hunt of the likes no one has seen before? Or at least, they think they’ve never seen before. Stiles will stop at nothing to figure out what the hell is wrong with him, what he is and how he ended up being released into a world where the preconceived “laws” of the universe once again meant nothing, and that there are layers to the supernatural world that not even Peter and Deucalion have answers to. New friends, new places, new powers. What’s an undead young man to do? Words: 1554, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M, Multi Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Ennis (Teen Wolf), Kali (Teen Wolf), Aiden (Teen Wolf), Ethan (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alan Deaton, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s) Relationships: Deucalion/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Deucalion/Stiles Stilinski, Ennis/Kali (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Creature Stiles Stilinski, Character Death, But it’s temporary, Minor Character Death, But only ones we like to see dead, Blood and Injury, Buried Alive, Claustrophobia, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Protective Peter Hale, Protective Deucalion, Good Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Good Peter Hale, The alpha pack doesn’t exist, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall Bashing (Teen Wolf), Untrustworthy Alan Deaton, Alan Deaton Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Timeline What Timeline, Alternate Timelines, Magical Stiles Stilinski, POV Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Top Peter Hale, Top Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Deucalion is Not Blind (Teen Wolf), Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Praise Kink, Scent Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Voice Kink, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author Regrets Everything, Good luck figuring out which of the two previous statements is true, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Murder, Murder Husbands, Brutal Murder, But it’s well deserved, Happy Ending, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf) Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59921155

[nashiriel]

Not the original asker, but I would love more adventures with bb!luke and his dragon! I love luke being able to claim the cannibal because he tried to take his eye out, because the cannibal clearly took it a lot better than aemond. I was a bit confused tho by what rhaenys meant about being cruel or kind in not saying laenor would have given luke seasmoke? And why she knew daemon wasn’t enough? sorry if that’s a stupid question because I really liked the chapter!

Thanks so much, anon! I’m really touched that you liked the fic enough to leave this ask and that you’d like more of that verse!

Obviously the premise is inherently a bit cracky, but yes, the Cannibal definitely had a more 😍 reaction to Luke’s willingness to resort to knife crimes at the first opportunity than Aemond! Grey Ghost owes his life to the Cannibal’s utter WTF reaction when he looked down and realised that he did indeed nearly suffer GBH at the hands of a chubby-faced little moppet. But I don’t imagine Aemond will be amused when he hears Rhaenyra waxing lyrical to a raging Alicent about just how her little darling won his own massive weapon of mass destruction.

In terms of Rhaenys:

Whilst Rhaenys’ suspicions about their parentage means she has some bitterness regarding Rhaenyra’s sons, she is well aware that Laenor loved them dearly.

So her not voicing that Laenor would have obviously sent Seasmoke rather than the dangerous Cannibal could be due to kindness (“I won’t puncture the wishful thinking of a grieving child that his dead father is still watching over him and loved him enough to send him the dragon he’d wanted his whole life”) or cruelty (“I won’t acknowledge to this grieving child that my son loved him so much that he would readily have given him his own dragon if he could”).

As for Daemon, a large part of Luke’s anger in that snippet is the dual trauma of unexpectedly losing his father whilst also being expected to accept Daemon as Laenor’s replacement with absolutely zero time to properly process the loss. Whilst he might otherwise have internalised his turmoil a bit more and settled down given time, the sudden connection to the Cannibal means that his emotions have a sudden outlet in a murderous dragon who is capable of squaring up to Caraxes.

So the normally insecure and meeker six-year-old Luke is suddenly not responding well when a man he barely knew before he unexpectedly married Luke’s mother and took his father’s place is telling him to calm down and control himself, forming a very dangerous feedback loop with the Cannibal. Hence Rhaenys recognising that someone else - like an authority figure Luke already knows - very much needs to step in.

He also mentally ties Laenor’s death to the other traumatic events of that night - getting it thrown in his face that Laenor might not actually be his father by someone Luke thought a friend, having that friend nearly brain Jace with a rock and losing the friendship through knifing his eye, having Aegon who Luke might previously have looked up to calling him a bastard in a hall full of people…

To Luke’s childish, grieving mind therefore, he lost Laenor partially because he might be a bastard, and he’s already aware that people questioned his status as a Targaryen because he didn’t have a dragon. Thus there’s the subconscious, irrational, guilt that if Luke had only been able to claim the Cannibal beforehand, things would never have gone so badly wrong and Laenor would still be with them.

Which is then also feeding into the Cannibal’s behaviour. He’s already the absolute worst dragon Luke could possibly have; it is very much the potentially centuries-old massive dragon currently calling the shots in that relationship, and because he has absolutely zero experience in having a rider or being around humans in general, he essentially regards Luke as an extension of himself and reacts to any attempt to take him away or even to merely get close to Luke as he would another dragon trying to steal his kill.

And while Luke may be a little frightened and frustrated by this…not only does he finally have an unquestioned symbol of Targaryen heritage in the dragon he longed for, but it’s a dragon so big and powerful that he won’t ever have to fear him dying like Laenor. He knows in his very bones that the Cannibal would rather burn the whole island to the ground than leave him, and for an unsettled, grieving child, that’s actually a very compelling notion. So that too is influencing the Cannibal’s apparent disregard of Luke’s commands, and one can really pity poor Rhaenys for the absolute mess she’s now taking on.