#she thinks she's being completely passive and unreadable

[morelikeravenbore]

Game-updated Aurélie is BACK (mostly) but very unimpressed that she's lost all her pretty princess outfits and hairstyles 🩵✨💅

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 18 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: A dinner that shall forever be known as the Battle of Passive Aggression. Word Count: 4319 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sass.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Happy Thanksgiving to all my Northerners (Canadians) out there!

Valeana had readied herself to be nervous and overly shy under Aemond’s stare that evening. However, the moment she saw him perched next to Maris Baratheon, of all people, that quickly changed. There was a distinct ringing in her head that made it difficult for her to hear others as they introduced themselves. She found it particularly hard to say anything coherent to Samantha, who had recognized her in name only. 

Her green eyes bored into Aemond’s scarred face and the position of his body. Arm draped on the back of the settee, behind Maris, with his body poised in her direction. It was way too familiar. Too intimate.

Then Shyla acknowledged her, and when the confirmation came out that Maris was indeed here because of Aemond, Valeana couldn’t help herself. 

“Invited you?” It came out like bile after drinking something vile and putrid. She had meant to think that, but it came out nonetheless.

“I did,” Aemond had said, baring his scared cheek at her. 

It took every ounce of strength in her to keep her face unreadable, but her flickering eyes between the two likely betrayed her thoughts. Maris seemed to pick up on the contentiousness that radiated off of her, because the Baratheon was quick to respond.

“Does that surprise you, Lady Valeana?” Her brows furrowed in challenge.

The Celtigar pursed her lips before giving Maris an fraudulently innocent smile,  “Only by a little. I was not aware Prince Aemond had friends.”

If any of the Hightowers were aware of this silent but deadly battle between ladies, they did a very good job at pretending nothing was going on. Aegon, however, was enraptured; his eyes darted between the two, and then finally to his brother when Aemond started to speak.

“Hm, a reasonable assumption, Lady Valeana. Though, I merely am conservative on who I call friend nowadays. One cannot always be certain of another's intentions in court. And…Lady Maris’ presence has been such a delight that I did not wish to part with her this evening, so I had no choice but to invite her.” 

The way he looked at her and she at him made Valeana’s fingers curl so savagely into the fabric of her skirt, she was sure that her nails were tearing through the thread. The strength of keeping her face straight was all put on her jaw, which clenched at her teeth so severely it started to get sore. A slow rumble of a growl was vibrating in her throat, though it was completely unnoticeable to anyone but her. Perhaps it was her Lannister blood, because all she wanted to do was lunge at Maris like a lioness hunting a doe the moment Lady Sam made her comment about sweetness and love matches. 

It was Aegon’s hand wrapped itself around her bicep that stopped her from moving forward, and then it was Otto’s declaration of dinner being served that brought her back to reality. 

Valeana barely registered Shyla as she fluttered to Daeron’s side, away from them and towards the table. Her eyes bore into Maris’ back, where Aemond’s hand found purchase. 

“I have an idea,” Aegon whispered conspiratorially to Valeana as they followed the Greens over to the large dinner table. “Follow my league.”

Her mouth popped open to ask what he was doing, but she felt his arm snake around her waist and guided her around the table. The circular table was large, but with the additional three to the party, the chairs were closer together. Otto took claim of the largest chair at the far left, between Ormund on his left, and Lady Sam on his right. From her, sat Lyonel (a bit too close to Samantha, Valeana noticed), Daeron, Garmund, and beside him is where Aemond was pulling a chair out for Maris. 

“Trust me,” Aegon whispered from behind as he guided her into the chair and tucked her in before moving to her right side. Shyla sat to his right beside him, leaving her directly across from Daeron, which might have been by her design. 

When Valeana’s eyes swept over the table, she had realized that everyone had sat down save for Aemond, and the chair next to her was the only one available. She was bitterly reminded of her first evening back, where she was forced to sit in front of him. 

At the moment, she did not know which was worse. 

Aemond stiffly sunk into the seat next to her, and the proximity of the chairs seemed far more tighter now for it. At the very least he remained in her peripheral, so she didn’t have to worry about accidentally catching his eye, but that was a different case for Maris. She was just within sight that she would have no choice but to regard Valeana too when she addressed Aemond. 

Shyla was quick to begin conversation the moment food was placed on the table and served to the guests. Of course, her line of questioning was all about Daeron, and the prince was eager to provide answers for it. What it was like to grow up in Oldtown, what Tessarion was like, what were his hobbies, etc. Occasionally, an anecdote was provided by the nephews, and the four boys would fall into a reverie about past escapades. 

Aegon leaned into Valeana’s ear, “Arrogant prick.”

Val eyed him, a secretive smile placed behind her napkin as she whispered back “Just like his brothers.”

Aegon also smiled, but rolled his eyes and brought his goblet to his lips. 

“It is a shame Gwayne could not join us,” Ormund said through bites of his food. 

“He had prior engagements,” Otto explained, eyes cast to his food. “He rather spend his first night in the city with a bunch of drunken knights, pretending to prepare for a tourney that does not start for sinnight.” 

Samantha chuckles, “Good uncle, please. He sees his family every day, and just simply wishes to be among like minded men.” 

Valeana spotted the smirk on the corner of Aegon’s lip, switching at his attempt to hold it back. 

Otto merely scoffed at this. 

“Will you be competing in the tourney too, Prince Daeron?” Shyla asked immediately, once again shifting attention to the youngest prince. 

“Of course!” Daeron beamed, “Should they participate, it would be an honour to compete alongside and against my brothers.”

The attention was put onto the two elder princes, who both pursed their lips in response. 

“I have not yet decided,” Aegon replied first, then looked over at the other, “But Aemond has shown eagerness towards it, haven’t you, brother?”

“And what gave you that impression, Aegon?” Aemond asked with a turn to his brother, though Valeana kept her body’s position to the right so she could not see him when he did. 

“Well, you dragged me out of my quarters demanding that I train with you in preparations for the tourney, did you not?”

Shyla craned her neck to look around Aegon and Val to see Aemond, “Is that what that whole business was about that other day in the training yard?”

“What business?” Maris tilted her head at Aemond. 

“Aegon and Aemond were sparring viciously in the training yard,” Shyla giggled, “For a second I thought they were going to maim each other.”

Daeron laughed, “I wish I witnessed that. I did not think you a fighter, Aegon.”

Aegon’s head whipped in his direction, “I am just as fearsome as Aemond. In fact, I bested him that day, did I not, Lady Valeana?” 

Valeana was leaning back in her chair with her fork twirling in her fingers when she was acknowledged. Aegon held her gaze for a moment after the question was directed at her, and then she moved her eyes around the table before landing on Aemond. 

“He did.”

Aegon beamed back at Daeron, brows raised in victory, “See?”

“I would hardly count that as a fair victory,” Aemond responded as he leaned back in his chair and mimicked the position of the woman at his right. “I was distracted.”

“Mm,” Aegon hums as he swallows his drink, “Quite the distraction, though, I might say.”

Valeana shot him a look. That day was a horrible reminder of a bitter truth that she was still trying to swallow. 

“I do not give a shit about her. I never have, and the Seven knows I never will.”

Sometimes in these last few days, she wondered if that were true. He’s made it clear in very blunt, obvious ways, such as their painful discussion when she had tried to make amends with him near the stables. But then he would go around and volunteer to bring her safely back to her apartments, out of concern for her virtue at the hands of his brother and the untrustworthy guards. Then he would touch her and kiss her skin, and leave her with bruises before pulling away from her as if he realized she was a pig in a dress all along. 

Val chanced a glance at Maris, who thankfully wasn’t looking in her direction when she did. Maris… another odd, annoying development. Is that genuine, or was he playing at something? Why would he, if he wanted nothing to do with Valeana? 

Maris tilted her head at Aemond and the moment she did, Val turned away before she was caught staring. 

“What could have possibly gotten you that distracted?” Her tone had a lace of amusement, and from the corner of Val’s eye she could see the Baratheon’s hand reach out and land on his elbow.

Aemond had to turn his head fully in Maris’ direction to answer her, but before he could, it was Aegon who did in his stead. 

“Only the most beautiful distraction of all the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Valeana’s mouth popped open and her eyes flashed widely at Aegon as he took her free hand in his grasp and brought it to his lips. Her face flushed rouge, and a pit of something settled in her gut. Fear? Embarrassment? Shyness? It felt a bit like a moth fluttering around the glass of a lamplight. 

Aegon kept her eye for a moment. His own mischievous and playful, but when he shifted to the presence behind her, it darkened. Valeana remained frozen in her place, save for her eyes that flickered away from the prince and focused on the older man at her far right. Otto Hightower was looking directly at her, brows shadowed over his eyes, hand cradling his glass goblet in front of him, but not quite reaching his lips. 

He stared at her as if she were the cause of this. Of everything. Every damn misstep and inconvenience in court. And perhaps she was. No, she knew she was. She was dangling herself like a piece of raw meat between two snarling dragons.

The staring contest in which Aegon held with Aemond lasted mere seconds, but it felt like a hundred year war. Oh, Aemond would loath to admit how much Aegon knew him. How easily he could get possessive over things that he believed belonged to him. A trait that likely stems from him being the middle child, Aemond was always expected to be given leftovers and to share. Whereas both Aegon and Heleana were often given everything freely, as both the oldest and the only daughter. Daeron, of course, was the shining example of a spoiled youngest sibling. The first to claim, and the last to own. 

Aegon knew well enough that Aemond longed for Valeana the moment she left King’s Landing a decade ago. He had a visible shift in his personality since then; more sullen, more phlegmatic, more self serious, and he smiled considerably less. However, Aemond swallowed his regrets and gave a stiff upper lip to it all, even after his lashings. But, the fact of the matter is, Valeana was the most important person in his life at the time. Aemond tried to hide it as best he could, always keeping his companion hidden from his brother and nephews as much as he was able. They teased him relentlessly due to Valeana’s blatant affections for him, forcing Aemond to keep his friendship in the shadows, but it was still painfully obvious. So, Aegon would tease Valeana when he could, knowing it would rile up Aemond, though he would not be able to defend her out of fear of catching the blows as well. It was like mocking starved pit hounds through the bars of a cage, only the cage was of Aemond’s own making.

Oh, how things never change. The title was different, but the story was the same. Aemond’s pride still prevented him from acting upon his evident possessiveness, but those bars of his shuddered against his snarling, evident by the flared nostrils and upper lip curling. 

Time spun back to life when Lady Sam cooed and shared a look with Lyonel, then her husband quickly after. She jutted her bottom lip at him with a hand clutching her step son’s arm, shaking it gently. Completely oblivious to the affection his wife had with his son, Ormund tilted his head lovingly at his wife’s reaction. 

“This is so sweet. Both princes are completely smitten already. Love is in the air in King’s Landing, is it not, husband?”

Aegon wretched his eyes from Aemond, and gently placed Valeana’s hand back down, but did not let it go. Briefly, he caught sight of Maris with a stitch in her brow over the exchange, giving him some satisfaction that this also affected the other woman, if only that it would please her fair-haired opponent. 

“Now it is just your turn, Daeron,” Lyonel laughed, giving a playful punch to the younger prince’s arm. 

Daeron chuckled good naturedly, “Perhaps my love story has already begun, eh?” 

Beside him, Aegon could hear Shyla give a soft squeak as she stiffened straight in her seat. He gave her a brief glance, pleased to find her still enraptured by his stupid brother, and that she had completely dismissed Aegon’s earlier affections towards her sister. Aegon was now free to unleash as much chaos as he’d like without the threatening presence of the youngest Celtigar daughter and her unsettling aura. 

Passing Shyla, Aegon caught his grandsire’s eye, which instantly wiped the smile from his face. Otto’s glower was filled with a hundred words of scolding for ruining what should have been a fine dinner with family. The silent berate went ignored, however, for Aegon’s prize was far more valuable than the approval of the Lord Hand.

 He was aware that his grandfather was the one responsible for his mother’s urgency for Aegon to marry Helaena, despite the two of them and the King himself having no desire for the match. Whilst Aegon wasn’t the brightest of the Targaryens, he still lived in court long enough to understand how it works. It also helped that he was made aware at a young age that his existence was a weapon to usurp the Throne for the Hightowers, and one of the paths to that was to marry his sister and sire more pure, direct heirs. 

But Aegon did not want to be king. He wanted–

“Could you imagine?” Garmund spoke excitedly, “Three royal weddings at once?” 

“Heavens, the food alone would deplete the royal treasury,” Ormund chuckled. 

Valeana cleared her throat, “I would not get ahead of ourselves. The Conclave hasn’t even started.”

“I agree, Lady Valeana,” Otto spoke at last, “It is early still, and no formal declarations have been made. The Crone may have other plans by the end of the event.” 

Aemond’s eye was burning a hole in Aegon’s hand, which still had not declawed itself from Valeana’s. What was this, this sudden display of affection? They waltzed in the dark, and now, all of a sudden, Aegon was essentially announcing their courtship. Was this part of her game, or his? 

Or theirs? 

Aemond’s eye widened at the revelation. Now his mind was a tempest of moments of the time past since the arrival of the Celtigars; everything he has bared witnessed that others have not. The moments between her and Aegon began to pile up in his head, along with Floris’ warning about her step sister. Aemond came to one only conclusion: They were both in on this. Valeana with her petty revenge, and Aegon’s unsatiated hunger to remind Aemond that he is lesser to him. While Valeana’s motivations were valid in its childishness, he could not help but wonder what Aegon’s were. It could not simply be for the enjoyment of watching Aemond be miserable, there had to be another reason. 

Once again, Aemond glanced back at Aegon’s hand clasping hers, and it brought him back to the moans he heard beyond his brother’s door that night. He took a steady breath through his flared nostrils, and slowly lifted his chin until his eye was forcibly piercing into Valeana’s profile. Lips pouted neutrally, eyes casted over her plate, and body poised away from him, all keeping up an impartial visage. Would his Valeana really stoop so low as to literally sleep with his brother in order to get back at him? Or at the very least, allow Aegon’s hands on her in ways that Aemond dared not think of? Then again, his Valeana would not have drank herself into a stupor and allowed him to ravish her tits in the dark like some common harlot. 

No, this was not his Valeana at all… That girl died long ago, and before him was the girl set out to avenge her death. He had no one else to blame but himself, but he also was not the same Aemond as before. That Aemond died as well, though he couldn’t pinpoint when and where that happened. Perhaps it was that day as well. But either way, the final nail in the coffin was when his eye was plucked out of his socket by the tip of his nephew’s dagger. That was when he truly lost himself.

Sound rushed to his ears when at last Valeana pulled her hand away from Aegon’s to reach for her goblet and take a sip. The conversation that was being had somehow delved into small talk about this and that. The warm weather they were having, the nobles from the Reach that would be arriving soon after the Hightowers, Cannibal’s unsettling presence that has caused smallfolk quite the stir, and Daeron’s assurance that he and Tessarion could probably take him. Aemond was too preoccupied with his stewing to make a comment about how ludicrous that was.

Finally the pot reached a boil, and Aemond simply could not help himself. 

“I believe tonight can benefit with some music,” He sat back in his chair, his food almost largely forgotten. He turned to Maris and smiled before he looked over at his grandfather, “Don’t you agree, Lord Hand?”

Otto raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely sure what Aemond was trying to achieve, “It would, but alas, we are fresh out of bards.”

“But we are not,” Aemond’s words bristled the woman to his right. “We are in the presence of great talent right now.”

Daeron, irritatingly guffawed and waved at him, “Please, brother. I am a fair lutist at best, but that is flattering to say.” 

“I was referring to the Celtigar sisters, brother,” it took a great deal of power for him to rein in the ire from his tone, and the desire to call him a buffoon was on the tip of his tongue. “The Sirens of Claw Isle, they are called, and we are in the presence of two of them.” 

“Oh, that is right, of course,” Samantha perked in her seat excitedly. “How could I forget – My father remembers you three singing as children when he visited here many years ago. He likened it to being lured into the sea by mermaids.” 

Daeron’s eyebrow raised, “Is that so? Well, now I must hear a song or two, so that it will put me and my silly lute to shame.” 

Maris softly scoffed and sarcastically remarked, “Please, do not exaggerate, I fear it will raise my expectations too high.”

Valeana slowly turned towards Aegon, hoping that he could recognize the plea in her wide eyes. She knew immediately what Aemond was doing as soon as he had mentioned music – he means to put her in an uncomfortable position, a humiliating one where she must again explain why she no longer sings, a fact she is not proud of. Along with her embroidery skills, her voice was the only thing she had liked about herself, and time and shadow robbed her of it. 

Aegon merely raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, clearly not reading her mind. Some partner in crime he was. 

So her eyes flickered over to her only other ally at the table: her sister. Her large doe brown eyes found Valeana’s after prying them off of Daeron for once. With a skill that really only women knew, Shyla read her mind in an instant. 

Unfortunately for Valeana, Shyla had her own solution to the problem. 

“My mother taught me it is unseemly to brag, but,” Shyla beamed brightly at her sister. “We are quite good together. Even if Floris is not here, Valeana and I make great harmony.” 

“I was under the impression Lady Valeana has retired her voice,” Otto’s inclusion of the truth causes Valeana’s cheeks to redden, and she bows her head and opens her mouth to confirm his statement. 

But Shyla continued. 

“She says that, but she is modest. She sings all the time in her room. My sister is a good lutist and harpist, of course, but she also writes the songs we sing at Claw Isle, and practices them on her own time to make sure they sound right.” 

“You write, Lady Valeana?” Maris’ question forced the elder Celtigar to turn in her direction, nearly catching Aemond’s profile in her line of sight. She felt she was getting whiplash, though she wasn’t entirely ungrateful for Maris’ change of subject. Anything to cease the possibility of her singing in public. 

“Mm, I do, yes,” Val cleared her throat when her voice sounded too tentative and small. “Creatively; mostly songs, and bards tales.” 

“My lady is full of talents,” Aegon spoke finally, hand moving now to rest on the back of her chair. “Singer, songwriter, seamstress. Almost all the good ‘s’ words.” 

Valeana hit his thigh with the back of her hand discreetly under the table. 

“Lady Maris is an accomplished writer as well,” Aemond added, “She was just telling me earlier about her progress on the book she is writing. I am eager to read it once she is finished.”

Maris glowed under his praise, “That is lovely for you to say, my Prince.”

“Do you write creatively too, Lady Maris?” Samantha asked before taking small bites of what remains on her plate. 

Maris shakes her head, “No, and I mean no offense to Lady Valeana, but I find creative writing to be… a bit frivolous, and not very productive of my time. I much prefer fact over fiction. My current work, as Aemond mentioned, is a book about medicinal uses of plants and flowers.” 

Pretentious cunt, Valeana bit her lip before her thoughts became reality. 

“I was just speaking with Prince Aemond earlier today about the common bush flower, Hydrangea, and how in large doses can be toxic, but it’s roots–” 

“Hydrangea,” Valeana corrected her. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Apologies, Lady Maris. Your pronunciation is incorrect. It’s Hy-drain-juh, not hy-dran-gee-ah.” 

“Hm,” Maris shook her head. “No, no, it isn’t. It is hy-dran-gee-ah.”

Valeana smiled condescendingly, and nodded after taking a large gulp of the rest of her wine before motioning Aegon to fill her cup for her. Which he obliged without hesitation. “It isn’t, and I would know because they are in abundance on Claw Isle. It’s widely considered to be our national flower, and everyone pronounces it as hy-drain-juh.” 

Maris gave a lofty chuckle, “Then I am pained to tell you this, Lady Valeana, but it seems like everyone on Claw Isle has been mispronouncing your ‘national flower’.” 

Everyone in that room might as well not exist, and frankly, Valeana did not care if there were more in attendance to this asinine debate that Maris insisted on having, instead of simply admitting she was wrong. The audience would make it all the more satisfying. 

 Val’s eyes narrowed at the shrew, then she leaned forward with her hands braced on the table.  

“Hydrangea is a Valyrian word, because it is a flower that came from Old Valyria, and was introduced to Westeros when my ancestors settled here, a century before the Conquest. It exists here, because my forefathers brought it here. Hydrangea means cup or vessel, because the seed capsules resemble cups,” With a flourish of her hand in Maris’ direction, she swiftly grabbed her now full cup with the other, as if for emphasis. “Though, you are an Andal, so I do not expect you to know much of the history and flora of Old Valyria, much less the pronunciation of our words. Perhaps that is something you should include in your book, Lady Maris. Se pār kostā tāemītsos ziry bē aōha gundja.” (And then you can stick it up your ass) She raised her glass in mock cheers and brought it to her lips.

But before the liquid touched her tongue, her green eyes flickered over to Aemond. She instead drank up that. Lips parted, pupil blown wide, and chest barely containing his deep steady breaths. If she looked south, she would have seen his fingers splayed on his thigh, flexing stiffly near the tent in his breeches. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN SNEAKPEAK “Lord Bartimos spoke to me earlier,” He broke the silence at last with a tilt of his head to try to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She was staring out the window, where Seasmoke flew in the distance, baying into the sea to express his loneliness. When she only acknowledged him with an uninterested hum, he continued. “He had an interesting proposal regarding Jacaerys.” At the mention of her son’s name, Rhaenyra tore her eyes from the window, and acknowledged her husband’s presence. She hadn’t the capacity to show any more interest than a simple, “What about him?”

Notes: Hydrangeas are actually originally from Japan, but the name is Greek. Since Valyrian is based off of ancient Greek and Latin, I thought it would be fairly believable if I just ~pretended~ the flower is from there, or at least that region of the world. What Val says is true though, it does mean cup, or rather "water vessel", because of the seed shape. Also taking a moment to say that some words are not translated in Valyrian yet. It's an incomplete language, so in the future, when it's spoken, the words that do not have a Valyrian translation (and there are many) I will be using an ancient Greek or Latin placeholder for it.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[crack-whore-who-fuckedup-already]

Be My Witness {7}

Part 7 - Actions

Word Count: 6361

Fem!Reader, intimate!platonic Reader x Angel, Reader x Stolas, (eventual) intimate!platonic Reader x Alastor

!!!Trigger Warnings!!!- voyeurism, a weeeee bit of fluffy foreplay, Val being a passive aggressive dICK, thats abt it for this one..

Authors Note- heyoo i wrote this and the next chapter together as one and realized the vibes were drASTically different... so i decided to split them up for readers sake,,, ur welcome

{[Masterlist]}

SONG: I Belong To You by Muse

Stolas paced in his study, absentmindedly fidgeting his hands behind his back. He awaited Y/n's arrival, and after how things had been left last time he saw her, he was determined to clear the air. He repeated in his mind the words he intended to say to her, wanting to be as clear and concise as he could with the little time they had.

She had warned him that it was going to be a quick visit today, as she was scheduled to work in the evening. He promised that he only wished to speak to her about something that had been on his mind for a while and that he would make it brief.

So he waited anxiously, distracting his mind with carefully rehearsed words. And when she finally pushed through the door and into the room, his feathers fluffed in delight.

He bound to her side and took her hands eagerly.

“Hello,” he cooed, suddenly shy to have her standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” she smiled back.

He pecked her on the forehead, a gentle kiss to welcome her back. Her hand rested on his chest, filling him with warmth.

When he pulled away, he wasted no time tugging her further into the room. 

Evening light shone through the wall of stained glass, and illuminated the grand staircase as he guided her up. She stepped into the glow and sighed contently as it heated her skin. She couldn't recall seeing natural light this bright and warm since she'd gotten to Hell.

It was details like these that reminded the doe, Stolas was no common demon. The amount of magic he had in his possession, just at the tip of his fingers? Y/n didn't think she could possibly fully comprehend that kind of power. 

In the nook of the stairwell landing, was a luxurious set of furniture, all purple, all accented with gold. The center sofa looked soft, and was shaped like a shell. Y/n sat down happily, leaving space for her prince, who joined her gladly.

Stolas went to speak, but she beat him to it. 

“I want to apologize for how I left you the other day. It was…” she fingered the velvet beneath her legs, embarrassed by her previous actions. “Rude of me.”

“Nonsense. You were upset, it's-” he exhaled deeply with an affirming nod. “It's completely understandable.”

He watched her fiddle with the fabric before he took her hand gingerly, holding it in his with great admiration.

“That is sort of what I wished to speak to you about.” He paused to gather his words. “You are my friend, Y/n. And I would be honored if you considered me the same.” She looked at him, her face unreadable. “Would you?” 

Her features softened, that same sad smile spreading across her lips. But she nodded confidently, giving his hand a squeeze. “Of course, my prince.”

“Good,” he breathed, a wave of tension leaving him. But only for so long, their conversation only just beginning. He mustered his strength for what he was about to say. “I hope your feelings are not easily swayed because… Well… I'd like to stop paying for your time.”

Y/n went still, and Stolas’ heart sank as her ears pressed back ever so slowly against her head. If her ears didn't show it, her face did, seeming to get lost deep in a thought that made her eyebrows furrow deeply and her lips pressed downward in an disquieted frown. She looked away from him.

Stolas knew there was no turning back now. 

“I think so highly of you, Y/n. I hate to imagine that this could all go away if… if there was no money involved. But, I'd really like to see what could become of us if, at the end of the day, we weren't bound by-... by,” he searched for the words, hating how they all sounded in his mind. “By a business transaction.”

He closed his eyes tightly, feeling doltish, almost insulting. He didn't see the way her ears pricked up ever so slightly at the added explanation.

“I understand, though. If that's asking too much.” He looked at her after a moment, his big eyes glowing earnestly. “I just want to be there for you, love. And I can't help but feel like something is stopping that from happening.”

She stood slowly, her hand leaving his. He watched her stiffly stride towards the windows, a hand combing through her hair as she looked out over the city. After a tense minute, she turned around again. 

“The issue is my boss, Stolas,” she said hesitantly. “He's not going to like hearing this.” Her heart skipped a beat with another panic inducing thought. Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper, her arms wrapping around herself tightly. “He's going to think I did something. Something to push you away and fuck it all up.”

Stolas stood, determined to make things right. He went to her side, taking her by the shoulders. For once, he knew just what to say.

“I'll break the news to him myself. I'll say, with the marriage approaching, I simply cannot continue entertaining… well…” he trailed off, embarrassed by the word that almost left his mouth. “And it's not technically a lie, then, is it? And you can keep coming here, you don't have to tell a soul. It will just be our little secret.” 

He was aware of how he sounded. Like a small child, bargaining for sweets after supper. If that's what it took to get what he wanted, so be it. Y/n is a sweet he would happily beg for.

His hands ran down her arms, plucking her hands from her side. He placed them on his chest lightly, covering them with his own. Stolas could feel how they lightly trembled against him and decided it simply wasn’t enough. So he pulled her in for a hug.

It helped, though it didn't quite seem like it at first. 

Her hands were still on his chest, gripping at his shirt. She hid her face in it before he could see the tears in her eyes, but he felt the shaking of her silent sobs none the less. 

“I thought you were going to say we had to stop seeing each other,” she cried, overcome with some sense of relief. 

Stolas squeezed her, holding tight. “Absolutely not,” he affirmed. “I would never ask that of you. How could I live with myself if I sent my only true happiness away.”

Y/n pulled away to look at him, her eyes full of tenderness. A subtle smile graced her lips.

“I adore you.” Her voice was low but confident, making his chest thrum with happiness. 

Stolas spoke before thinking, something he didn't do often. But in this moment, with such vulnerability between the two, he let his heart speak for him.

“I love you, Y/n.” 

Her smile faltered, stunned by the new revelation. Her expression twitched as her breath caught. And when her brain finally kicked back into action and processed what he had said, so did her lungs, sputtering excitedly with air.

Those ten seconds -where the words rang in their ears, and nerves arose in his throat- were the single most terrifying yet rewarding ten seconds of his life. 

As soon as her shock wore off, she closed any and all space between them. Her arms flung around him, pulling him down to meet her lips swiftly. 

Her kiss was deep, and immensely passionate. With every passing second, she tugged him nearer and nearer, refusing them the breath their bodies signaled for. And he welcomed it, moving against her with the very same fervor.

Slowly but surely, the kiss subsided. Their ragged breathing evened out, and their movements turned more deliberate than desperate. 

Stolas was first to pull away, though he kept her firm against his body. His hands were spread across her back, thumbs giving soft strokes of reassurance, letting her know he wasn't going anywhere.

Y/n inhaled deeply, forcing much needed air back into her system. When she felt steady enough, her eyes opened, finding his already on her. 

“And I love you, Stolas.”

She wouldn't deny how dangerous this was getting; she couldn't bring herself to care. Being a sex worker in a place like Hell doesn't make for the most romantic, or even amicable customers. She had never gotten this intimate with any of her clientele. Romance was never an option before, and now that it was, she couldn't just let it pass her by, no matter how risky. 

So she didn't. 

Y/n left for work soon enough. After their confessions to each other, they had trouble keeping their eyes off one another, along with their hands. But he still made sure she left with enough time to make her shift.

Then he sat to write out a letter to Y/n's boss.

It seems Stolas could truly have quite a way with words when he wanted to. Surely he must've said something right if Val wasn't pummeling her with fists over the matter. 

That's what Y/n let herself believe, anyway.

But really, if it weren't for Val's new partners whispering words of influence in his ear, he would have ripped Y/n a new one, then ripped her to shreds. 

It was one request, one simple request not to lose this good thing they had. And she went and fumbled the bag just before going into the final month of renovations for the tower. Val didn't care how eloquently worded the prince's letter was, or how much the final closing check was, he hated to see his best source of income disappear.

“I'm gonna fucking kill her. I'm going to tear her limbs from her fucking body, fuckin’ glue her back together, then do it all over again,” he growled, before dissolving into a fit of curses.

The television demon stood back, watching Val with an arched brow and crossed arms. He gathered that this was going to be the new norm. It was a calculated risk. One which he told Velvette from the beginning he'd deal with the consequences of. She had her reasons to doubt of course, but Vox knew how to play Val's dirty little game. And he played it well. 

“Why take it out on her when she's just going to keep disobeying you?” His hands tugged Val's winged robe into place over his chest, smoothing them down with a subtly sultry hand. “Hit her where it really hurts.”

His screen split with a flash, the image of a street corner security camera appearing next to Vox’s bored face. Y/n stood stiffly, surveying the road and sidewalk around her. Her fists were clenched, looking nearly ready to throw hands at whoever dared approached her. But then her eyes caught something off camera and she softened. Her first unclenched and she raised a hand in greeting as another lanky figure rushed onto the corner towards her. 

Angel Dust.

He slammed into her, four arms wrapping her up in an excited hug. He swung her around quickly before setting her down again. They held each other at arms length while they exchanged a few brief words, smiling all the while. Then they were off, walking briskly down the street, hand in hand.

“Or better yet, make him do all the work for you,” Vox said passively. 

Valentino hummed, a devilish smirk taking over his lips. Now they were speaking the same language.

The security footage flicked off the screen.

“I'll talk to Vel about helping finish the tower. There might be conditions, as you know, but, I think she can be persuaded. Besides, with how much revenue that special little pill is bound to bring in, you'll want to keep Y/n intact to keep supplying. You wouldn't want to lose customers right as we're making it big, would you?” He poked at his chest. 

Val huffed lightly, resistant to fully accept Vox's suggestions. But he knew they were good ideas. So he nodded with a reluctant smile.

The very next day, big changes were announced. With a pointed glare and some under the breath comment about financial tightness, Val announced that both Angel and Y/n would be moving into the tower. He added half heartedly that he could offer better protection and benefits that way as well but with a knowing look to each other, the doe and the spider knew better than to believe that. 

Y/n dreaded moving, and she knew Angel wasn't feeling too hot about it either. But they knew this day had been coming for a long while. They settled for being grateful that they were making the move together. So they packed up the apartment where they had shared so many memories, and made themselves at home in the nearly completed tower. 

Their rooms were right next to each other, sharing a wall and a connected balcony which overlooked an impressive, enclosed courtyard. 

Val’s residence was somewhere several floors above them. They didn't bother committing it to memory, knowing they'd come to know the way soon enough. 

Lo and behold, their first few nights in the tower, Angel was holed up with Val. Y/n would stay up into the night waiting to hear the click of his door opening and closing to tell her he was back. 

Having separate rooms to each other was an adjustment in itself. Eventually she gave up anxiously pacing in her room and would just go to his and wait for him there. And when he came back with the same grimace she so often came home with, she pulled him into her and settled them on the bed, just as he did with her. 

She figured the first couple days was just Val trying to establish a new routine or blow off steam. But then weeks passed. And when Angel started getting agitated with Y/n, pulling away and giving her unprompted attitude, she knew something had to be wrong. 

It quickly became evident, thanks to the random and angrily fixed glares, that Val was trying to make some kind of point about Stolas ending their exchange. And he was using Angel to do it. She didn't know exactly what Val was saying or doing to him in the privacy of his room but she had a pretty good idea. 

She couldn't think of any other reason why Angel's attitude would suddenly turn on her.

She told Stolas of her concerns about the whole ordeal, nearly having a panic attack over the phone about it. He assured her that they would be more careful, more structured and mindful of their meetups. That they would draw less attention to themselves when together. Which essentially meant they would spend less time together. It would have to suffice, for what's done is done and there was no going back. The best they could do was damage control. Maybe in the future things could go back to normal and they could spend every other evening together like they used to. 

Wishful thinking.

In the meantime, she sat Angel down, refusing to let Val get between them. She talked him through the full details of the situation for the very first time, explaining that Stolas had an obligation to be married which was why he couldn't continue the payments. But that they had genuine feelings for each other and that she couldn't simply stop seeing him so easily. 

Angel tried his best to understand. He reminded himself that Y/n was just trying to survive, same as him. He couldn't hold it against her if she had managed to find herself a slice of heaven all the way down here in Hell.

Still, he berated her choices.

“Feelings for a blue-blood? Really?”

“It's not like I meant for it to happen…”

“And you don't mind that he's getting married?”

“He never minded that I'm a prostitute.” She shrugged. “I mean, we all have responsibilities to fulfill, right?”

A moment of thought.

“Then that would make you his mistress, huh? That's kinda hot, I guess,” he started with a hint of amusement before he turned solemn. “I hope you know what you're doing, sugar.” He pulled his robe tighter around him. “Val isn't…well he ain't happy, I can tell you that much.” 

Outside of how he was treating Angel, Val was definitely on some kind of power trip off the publicity of working with Vox and Velvette. He had finally found an in with the petite media demon, pitching an idea for a sex drug made with Y/n's blood. Love Potion is the working name, tacky as it is. But with the new tests and trials, Val was regularly taking four pints from her now. Manageable, she supposed. It left her more woozy than normal but still, better than six. 

Despite her appointments consistently draining her both physically and energetically, and her paranoid concern for Angel, she always managed to muster enough strength to go see her prince. And when she couldn't, she was generally pretty good at giving him a heads up.

Stolas didn't miss how often she was coming to him exhausted and sore. More so than usual. At some point, he suggested that she needn't push herself to come see him. That she should prioritize rest and sleep.

She didn't know how to tell him that sleep only does so much when your life force is constantly being sucked out of you. She appreciated his thought and effort anyway, smiling and nodding before curling up into him.

The thought of explaining to either of her boys the reason for her excessive fatigue was exhausting in itself. Just thinking the words to herself felt foolish, let alone speaking them aloud.

I have toxic blood that, if ingested, can get you high out of your goddamn mind…

Yeah, no. It was just easier to keep to herself. Some mysterious illness was way more believable anyway.

Besides, she was anxious to see how Angel might react to the blood drives. And if that made her uncomfortable, she trembled at the thought of what the demonic prince would do when he found out.

If he found out.

After a couple of weeks in the tower and no ease up on Val's scrutiny, she started to worry that there would be no real time left to see Stolas anymore. Her schedule kept filling up more and more as the weeks went on. She thought she'd have a bit of a break when the tower got finished but then business opened immediately and she suddenly didn't have a smidgen of downtime.

It saddened them both. They hadn't realized just how much time her boss had set aside for her to be with the prince. And now that it had officially ended in Val's mind, he had other jobs to fill her time with.

One night, after a particularly trying week, she wanted nothing more than to see her prince. After a late night shift, she spared no time and called a cab, headed for the palace.

Y/n pushed through the front doors of the mansion, calling out for Stolas as she cleared the doorway. She was met with silence, which wasn't unusual for the palace. And it's not like he was expecting her, as this was one of the rare times she hadn't taken the time to give him a heads up before coming over. 

So she made her way through the quiet palace, her footsteps echoing in each room. With it being so late, there was only a servant or two left working, cleaning some odd end fixtures and furniture. She smiled shyly as she passed them. They had to have known who she was, and how close she and the prince were, after all this time. They bowed lightly in acknowledgement when she passed. 

Finally, Y/n made it to the private quarters. She checked his study quickly. The room was dark, telling her he wasn't there. So she moved on to his bedroom. 

As she approached, she noticed the low light coming from the other side of the closed door, soft flickering of a candle pulsing through the small stained glass window above her head.

She hesitated. Maybe Stolas had already gone to sleep and he didn't want to be disturbed. 

Then she figured, if that were the case, the servants would have told her as much. 

So she entered, quiet so as to not startle him.

A fresh new candle was lit on the desk just by the door. It was the first thing she saw as she stepped in, followed by the bed frame. The light only did so much, barely just reaching the mattress, the rest of the room still cast in reddish shadows.

Stolas’ leg hung off the side, his taloned foot brushing the floor lightly. The blankets were crumpled, though from what she could see, they weren't covering him. Her instincts took over and she moved fully into the room, intent on tucking him in. She left the door cracked open, forgotten.

Clearing the post of the bed, Stolas came fully into view.

And what a sight he was.

He was completely naked, his robe strewn on the bed just beside him. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut, head thrown back against his pillows. One hand was on the mattress, gripping the sheet intensely. The other was in his lap, palming himself desperately. The closer Y/n got, the more clear his ragged breaths and soft moans filled her ears.

With the blankets tossed off of him, the images in her mind of how he might look were all gone in an instant, replaced with delicious reality. 

There was nothing much left to imagine. Nothing except how he might feel inside her…

She leaned against the post, getting lost in thought while watching him. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about it. Of course, it's sort of her job to think about things like that. But Stolas wasn't a client anymore. These thoughts were one hundred percent organic. Not influenced by the need to complete a job but by intimate curiosity. That factor alone turned her on like nothing else. 

And if that wasn't arousing enough, the way her name slipped off his tongue certainly was. 

It scared her at first, thinking she had been caught intruding. This was a private moment she probably wasn't meant to be seeing after all. Maybe her job had made her too insensitive to these kinds of things.

But the way it fell out of his mouth -so needy, so wanting-, it made her pause, her core throbbing with excitement.

A look to his face confirmed that he hadn't seen her yet, all four of his eyes still tightly closed.

Her name came again, this time followed by a shuddering sigh. His movement picked up, hand gripping his member more sternly. His head tipped back even further at the adjustment. 

All of a sudden his head lifted, eyes blinking open to watch as he worked himself over the edge. Y/n went to make herself known then, realizing she had stared for far too long already. But his eyes caught hers before she could speak. 

With an owlish screech and a flurry of feathers, Stolas shot upright and scrambled for something to cover himself with. He ended up with a pillow, holding it snugly over himself.

Y/n spun around. To give him some semblance of privacy, yes, but also to hide her deep set blush. She could feel her whole body flooding with heat. It started in her stomach and fluttered to her cheeks. Even her tail twitched, sweeping back and forth quickly with bashful excitement before she willed it to stop. 

Her ears flicked and switched, listening for him behind her. He was quiet, save for his breathing which he was starting to regain control over after being so startled. 

She started, her back to him still.

“I'm so sorry, my prince. I should have-... I didn't mean to intrude. I can leave-”

“Y/n?” 

One ear flicked back, trying to decipher his tone. Confusion is what she gathered.

“Yes, my prince,” she confirmed.

He cleared his throat.

“I-I wasn't expecting you.”

She harshly stifled her amusement at his flabbergasted remark.

“I know, my prince. I apologize. It was a last minute decision.” His lack of response made her skin crawl. Not even an exhale from him. Her gut told her to get out. “I should go. I'll see you some other time, Stola-”

His hand caught her waist before she could take a step. Gentle fingers grazed her hip as he silently asked her to wait.

“You weren't supposed to hear-...” he whispered, cutting himself off. His hand was suddenly gone. “Please, forgive me.”

Y/n was taken aback.

“Forgive you?”

“To use your name like that, to disrespect the image of you in such a way,” he labored to get the words out, exposing his lustful thoughts in the process. Y/n turned, perplexed by the guilt in his voice. She ignored his nakedness, too focused on the remorse in his eyes. “It's foul of me.”

“I,” she blinked, dumbfounded by his self reprimand. “I don't understand.”

“I know, I'm so terribly sorry. It was lecherous and obscene, and I won't let it happen again.”

“No, Stolas,” she corrected softly. “I just mean- Why are you so repulsed with yourself? Unless…” Insecurity very suddenly twinged in her chest. “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

“No!” He paused, surprised at how quickly his reaction came. He had spoken before he thought again, something that only seemed to happen with the sinner doe. His demeanor softened. “No, of course I do, love. I only thought… with your work… I don't want to burden you any further.”

As if Y/n couldn't fall anymore in love with him. His thoughtfulness towards her, the way he always considers how she might feel. She had never been so sure she wanted sex with someone in her life -or death.

But a wave of sadness struck her. Sad that Stolas seemed to think she wouldn't reciprocate.

She carefully took one of his hands, pulling it away from its tight grip on the pillow. She placed it delicately on her chest.

“After all the time we've spent together, you really think I wouldn't want to be more intimate with you, my prince?” 

Stolas was at a loss. For days, weeks now he had been suppressing his carnal desires, his urges to pin her to the bed and do unspeakable things to her. To make her scream his name and hear the sounds she makes when she-... How easily she excited his mind and senses.

But he could hear his father, the Goetias, Stella, all of them sneering at him for his weakness, his unimpressive strength of will.

Stolas swallowed thickly and forced himself back to the present moment.

Y/n’s heart pounded under his hand, nearly as heavily as his own. He almost pulled away, but her face was steady as she stared at him. He nodded subtly, acknowledging the point she was making while trying to move past his trepidation.

With one hand still gripping the pillow over his groin, his other moved from her chest to the side of her face, holding her cheek with affection. A smile broke out on her lips, soothing his nerves immensely.

He took a steadying breath.

“Will you… join me? In-in bed, I mean,” he stuttered, a shy grin creeping onto his face. “I've missed you terribly.”

Y/n didn't hesitate to nod, her eyes beaming at his request. With a shimmy, her shirt was off, followed soon by her pants. It wasn't quite what he meant by her joining him, but if that's how she was most comfortable, he wouldn't dare stop her. Stolas looked away quickly, the brief flash of her in her lacy underwear enough to make him hard all over again. 

But Y/n didn't allow him to withdraw. Her hands caught him. One on his arm, tugging him lightly back. The other found his cheek, turning him to face her again.

“I want you to look at me, Stolas,” she said low but sternly, almost a command. It made him twitch with excitement.

He obeyed, slowly letting his eyes dance over her body and absorb every detail he could. Her spots and stripes, her curves. Even the way her stomach moved as she breathed, he watched and admired. 

After several long moments of him taking her in, Y/n slinked onto the bed. Her knees sunk into the mattress and he helped steady her as she pulled herself up next to him. She smiled at him sweetly before bringing him in for a kiss. It was quick and innocent enough, but it left her with an aroused glint in her eyes as she pulled away. 

Another excited twitch from Stolas.

Y/n fell back onto the bed with a long sigh and a content smile, her limbs stretching out extravagantly. When she curled back up into herself comfortably, Stolas lay himself beside her, pillow still in place.

They looked at each other. She could tell by the sheepish look on his face, he still wasn't entirely convinced she wanted this. 

But she did. She was sure of it. 

Y/n took his hand again and hummed at its warmth. She brushed his knuckles against her lips, kissing each one along the way. Then she proceeded up his arm until she reached his neck, her body slowly pressing against his as she did. Her hips held the pillow to him now, his other hand having worked its way under and around her waist, subtly drawing her closer. 

She pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes, pleased to see his thrilled anticipation. Y/n maintained his gaze as she guided the hand she had just kissed down towards her bum. He gripped it quick and firm, giving her an exploratory squeeze. The same playful smile spread across both their lips at his eagerness.

But then Y/n got that mischievous look on her face and her hand grabbed suggestively at the pillow between them, posing a silent question. 

Stolas’ smile faded a bit. Not because he was scared or uncomfortable. But because the reality of the situation was catching up with him fully for the first time. He was simply taking in all that he could, while he could. He didn't ever want to forget this moment, the sight of her in front of him. He knew there was still plenty more to come, but this, the moment between being friends and being more? That was something you only experience once with a person. He wouldn’t dare speed through it like some overexcited, ungrateful teen.

Overexcited, maybe. Certainly not ungrateful.

Stolas blushed then, realizing that no matter what he did, nor how much time he took, he still likely wouldn't be able to escape the undoubtable naivete his movements would convey. Y/n knew he had never been intimate with anyone, sure. They had had that conversation long ago, but knowing and experiencing are two different things. He only hoped he didn't disappoint her somehow.

He finally nodded, small but resolute, then watched for her reaction as she pulled the pillow away. 

As soon as he was exposed, he twitched immediately, unable to help himself. He brushed lightly against her stomach due to their proximity, and sent a shock of arousal through him. He was relieved to see a sly grin on her face. Her hand let go of the pillow quickly and grabbed his hip, holding him in perfect view for her. 

He twitched again. 

Hand moving to the small of his back, she pulled him to her suddenly, her hips pressing snuggly up against his. He couldn't contain the satisfied hoot that escaped him.

Y/n's lips found his neck again, softly kissing in between words.

“Tell me what you want, my prince.”

“Just-just tell you?”

“Anything and everything. Use those fancy words of yours, and don't leave out a single detail.”

He didn't have to be told twice.

Stolas had a big imagination and the colorful vocabulary to describe it. Y/n fulfilled every wish she could manage, chaotic and fast paced as it was. The second he got one thought out, he'd spring into the next, trilling at every other arousing idea. Y/n found it entertaining and endearing how quickly he fluttered from scenario to scenario. She liked switching things up with him, knowing his first experience with it all was with her.

And when they finally decided to call it a night, after much exploration and experimentation, Stolas was sure to wrap her up, blanket her with kisses, and whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she fell asleep.

It became their new favorite routine.

It wasn't something that happened every time they saw each other, but when they did, they knew it was going to be an event. Stolas had quite the stamina and he wasn't one for quickies, liking to take his time to feel every little sensation, hear every little sound. And after how generous she had been for his very first time, he could think of nothing that would bring him greater pleasure than returning the favor.

But if ever there was a time where he was in the mood and Y/n wasn't, he had no issues backing off. He wanted her company more than he wanted or needed sex with her. It seems Stolas never fully conflated her with sexual intimacy. Another reason the doe loved the owl so much.

Stolas got so good at reading her body language, he knew the second he laid his eyes on her what the outcome of the night would be. He was happy to play host either which way. Whether it was a night of rest and relaxation, or whether it's passion play for hours on end, he was just happy to be back by her side. Their limited time together made for quite intense sessions when they did get around to it. The stress of their personal lives fed into their desperation, their need to feel each other again. 

And with this exciting new chapter in his life, Stolas had almost forgotten about his quickly approaching wedding, only a few short months away now. It was only when he had to deny Y/n coming over for the first time did the weight of his responsibilities come crashing back to him.

Her voice crackled through the phone, asking if something was the matter.

“No, no,” he rushed quietly, eyeing the Goetias in the other room carefully. “Everything is just, fine.” 

“Well, that was convincing,” she deadpanned.

Stolas turned away, his voice going low.

“Stella is here.”

“Oh.”

Y/n didn't need any more than that. She was well aware of the demon Stolas was soon to call a wife. 

A handful of times, Y/n tried to talk to him about the whole sticky and complicated reality of their situation. About their relationship and how that would look after his marriage. He never had a solid answer for her and she couldn't be bothered to pester him for one. They both knew the trouble they were getting themselves into by not discussing it, and they both assumed the risks.

“I'll speak to you soon, love. I promise.” 

The phone clicked as the call ended.

She hoped Stolas would be okay at the end of the day.

But Y/n had bigger things to worry about now. She had done it again and gotten herself lost in the fantasy and romance of it all, losing sight of reality. Well, it was coming quickly to bite her in the ass.

There was a quick knock at her door before Angel popped his head into her room.

“Boss wants to see us downstairs.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes.

Downstairs: the porn studio.

She snapped her book closed, setting it down with an affectionate pat. Another enthralling story the prince insists she read up on. It made her smile despite her suffocating surroundings.

As she approached Angel in the doorway, she noticed the worried crease in his brow, making hers furrow as well.

He started down the hallway, her hot on his heels.

“Everything okay?”

Angel looked at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“What did you do, Y/n?”

The accusation in his voice stopped her in her tracks. The disappointed use of her name didn't help, either. “What do you mean?”

Angel didn't say anything, just waited for her to file into the lift with him before hitting the button for the main floor. Her stomach sank with the elevator.

They got to the main studio doors and Angel tugged her back from opening them right away. He turned to her and, ignoring the puzzled look on her face, took her chin and raised a little red pill to her lips.

She immediately recognized it.

She pulled out of his grasp sharply.

She knew it was only a matter of time before he came across it. She wondered though if he had bought it off the street, or if Val had given him some directly. She wasn't sure which was the better possibility.

“Trust me, sugar. You're going to want to take this.”

His eyes were hard with unease as they flicked anxiously to the doors then back at her. He raised the pill pointedly, his eyes almost pleading with her to take it.

With one last nervous look to the door, she snatched it out of his hand and swallowed it quickly. He swiftly popped one as well. Then his hand found her shoulder, being as reassuring as he could to her, as well as himself.

“See you on the other side, yeah?”

She nodded curtly before they entered the studio together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previous < Chapter 7 > Next

{[Masterlist]}

A/N: GOD this chapter is a mind fuck im soooo sorry yall UGH. I think next chapter is the last one before this little subplot is finished up with! and that means!! finally to the Hazbin plot!!

[bonesandthebees]

Guess who’s awake again. It’s me. And I just want to repeat how good you are at foreshadowing and setting up the pieces. Like Jack pushing Tommy had been building for a while as this quiet annoyance and snidy remarks, but I didn’t realise what was going to happen until [In the corner of his eye, Wilbur noticed Jack lean over to whisper something in Niki’s ear. She nodded once, her face unreadable.]. This was the point where everything clicked into place and I had to pause to come scream in you inbox. Because this is the moment the plan forms in their heads, before that they were just kinda hoping Tommy’s lungs would kill him in that passive, “I’m not going to kill him, but I’m also not going out of my way to save his life, let alone risk my own while doing it” kinda way.

And it’s so obvious what they��re about to do and Wilbur is completely blindsided by it because he’s been so focused on Tommy the entire time that he either missed all the signs or didn’t care to interpret them. And it’s just, the narrative has been quietly building towards this for quiet some time, but I didn’t realise this was how it was going to end until the last ask I sent before chapter 27 when your “Niki will remember that” line suddenly snapped into place with actual canon. But it was always going to end this way. It’s the only way it could have ended.

Also, congratulations, Bee! You are now 4/4 on getting very close to killing major characters, but having everything turn out okayish in the end. And reading Wilbur’s breakdown was so much fun even though I’d already figured out what was going to happen. Just another thing to show what an amazing writer you are. It didn’t feel too drawn out if you knew, but it’s still long enough to make it plausible and let it have that emotional weight.

I’m skipping over the Priest and Schlatt, but I’ll get to those in the proper analysis. Just know that when Schlatt showed up I realised that we had only had 2/3 of the major scene and it hit me like a train. I really did get everything I wanted out of this chapter. Also, you managed to make me feel bad for Schlatt for 0.5 before I remember that he is an asshole who still could have tried. So good job.

I’ll probably write the analysis in my notes like I did with Stars and send them in in batches. So you’ll probably get those in a few days, because I’m about to dissect this entire chapter like a surgeon.

-🌲

aaa thank you spruce!! god yeah I've been building up to jack murdering tommy for a WHILE. it's been something I just wanted to leave in the background to brew, reminding the readers that yeah, jack and niki have held this grudge for a while. it never went away. and sure they weren't actively planning to murder him, but if the opportunity arose they were certainly going to take it.

niki will remember that :) yeah that was funny to me

and yes wilbur doesn't notice because he's so focused on so many other things! it's incredibly obvious to us as the readers but he just doesn't realize. not to mention, despite knowing that tommy did it to jack first and knowing how pissed both he and niki are about it, and knowing that niki and jack have the same kind of friendship he and tommy have, he never REALLY thought that niki would do something like that. jack? maybe yeah. but niki? his niki? his closest friend besides tommy? it just wasn't something he ever seriously considered. she wouldn't hurt him like that. she's niki.

god you're right I really do nearly/do kill a major character at the end of every long fic of mine. oops. didn't mean for that to be a theme.

I'm so glad you enjoyed that though. the main reason for tommy's brush with death was more about wilbur being forced to confront and make a decision both about his own faith and tommy's. he forcibly pulls tommy away from his goddess, while also finally shouting everything he's wanted to shout at his own goddess. he's truly done after this.

HA YEAH you think things are over and then boom schlatt appears and you realize oh yeah bee said there were 3 scenes she was excited for :) I'm very glad you got the conflicting feelings of feeling bad for him for a second before remembering what a dick he is

i'm soooo excited to hear all your thoughts spruce

[legends-live-in-memories]

Why Now?

AYO its ya girl back with more biodad!bruce wayne. I bring you all day 4! I highly recommending reading this after day 1 cuz it takes place right after it.

Maribat Masterlist   AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Day 1

Word count: 1.2k words

Summary:

She was… she was so beautiful. Bruce could only wish she was truly his.

But why now? Why keep it a secret for years?

The aftermath of 'First Impressions' from Bruce's perspective.

BD!Bruce Wayne Month Day 4- Bonding

without further ado:

Bruce had always thought that his crusade for justice would leave him lonely, removed from the world, protecting it from the shadows. Taking on the fate of the world, his focus primarily condensed to just his city, did not create opportunities to form meaningful connections. Yet he made them anyway. Finding camaraderie in the Justice League and family in his children. Yes, his children. His very stupid children whom he loves very much. Who were keeling over themselves laughing at him.

All except his youngest son. He was caught between staring at Bruce, glaring at his brothers, and glaring at the new guests. Ignoring them, Bruce focused his attention back on Sabine. He remembered her well and he thought, hoped, that he would never see her again. She was a part of his past that he wasn’t proud of but she was here, claiming to have brought him his ten-year-old child, and all Bruce had wished for in that moment was for the women he slept with to stop hiding his children from him. If he had a nickel for every time that happened… he would have two nickels. Not a lot, but it was weird and depressing that it had happened twice now.

He wasn’t even planning on denying any paternity. There was no need, no want to do so. He would take in the little girl in a heartbeat if that was what Sabine wished. How could he not? Her pout was the same as Damian’s and she had his mother’s button nose. Her eyes were as blue as his father’s and as his own but her glare— when she could not understand why his idiot children were suddenly doing their best hyena impressions— was entirely her mother’s. She was… she was so beautiful. Bruce could only wish she was truly his.

But why now? Why keep it a secret for years? Bruce stared at the two of them, having flashbacks to two years ago, to his introduction to his youngest son and could only think of the worst.

Something must have happened. She must have been in danger for Sabine to have brought her to him. But what?

“Why are you really here, Sabine?” He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to prepare. “Certainly not just for a friendly visit.”

“Actually there is no ulterior motive.” Her voice was as cool as ever. Her passive expression that used to piss him off, her posture unreadable, drove him up a wall. He both missed and resented it. “We don’t need your help with anything. I just believed Marinette needed an opportunity to meet her father.”

Marinette. His baby’s name was Marinette. It was perfect.

“But why now?” At this point his sons’ laughter had died down and they were paying close attention to the exchange.

“She deserves to know who her father is and she’s old enough to understand why you can’t be in her life.” Her tone left no room for questions, as if the notion that he wouldn’t— couldn’t— be a part of his own daughter’s upbringing was set in stone. His blood was starting to run hot at that. He had been deprived of raising his children not once but twice, missing important milestones and not being able to form a bond he so desperately yearned for. It’s one thing to take in children, ones who already had been taught with a set of worldviews for the first few years, and had to combat with different ideals. It was a completely different thing, however, to be there from birth, to hold them, to coddle them, and to raise them and watch them become their own individuals.

“And who decided I can’t be in her life?” His frustration was well hidden but it still tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Don’t kid yourself,” she scoffed. “You and I both know she has no place in Batman’s crusade.”

The silence was damning. He didn’t say anything to that. What could he say? He never wished this life for his children but everyone he had taken in had fallen victim to his mission. He didn’t want to think about whether or not the young girl before him could keep up. She probably could; knowing her mother, she was probably well-trained and highly skilled. But Gotham was cruel, it was brutal and vile and wouldn’t hesitate to remind anyone of their own mortality and Bruce never wanted to bury one of his children again. His mind made up, he reached for his cowl and pulled it down.

Face and heart bare, he kneeled before his daughter. She looked at him with the same scrutiny she had since she greeted him.

“Hello, Marinette,” he said. He saw out of his periphery his boys drop from their perch. They made no step closer, but that was fine. This was between him and the child in front of him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, father.” Her smile was brilliant and if he wasn’t already set in his convictions, he would be now. He’s known her for ten minutes and he never wanted that smile to disappear.

“I know your mother said that you don’t need me,” he breathed out, more tenderly than he thought he was capable of, “but if you ever— and I mean ever — need me, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

He saw in her eyes that she didn’t fully understand his earnest but her head bobbled in agreement all the same. Sabine’s hand rested on her shoulder, drawing her into her side. He looked at her face and saw a compassion he hadn’t seen in years.

“We’ll be in contact,” was her closing remark. Not giving him a chance to respond, she steered the little girl away from him, back to the car. He rose to his full height, cowl still by his shoulders, hung down by the weight of his decision. His sons still haven’t said anything, leaving him to have this moment for himself. His gaze was transfixed on his daughter. The daughter he never got to know. He watched as she made it to the car, holding the door open but not getting in. From what he could see of her face, she was contemplating something. Before he could hazard a guess, she turned and ran to him, colliding into his legs with full force.

She was hugging him. Bruce’s arms came to rest on her shoulders then to pet at the back of her head. He couldn’t feel how soft her hair was with his glove in the way.  

“Goodbye, father,” her ocean eyes were shining up at him, his father’s kind smile etched into her features. “I hope to see you again someday.”

“Me too, Marinette.” He would never tire of saying his children’s names, hers was no different.

Then she was off, back to the seclusion of the car that didn’t hesitate to reverse out the way it came. Just like that, as silently as they arrived, they left.

“Well that was something,” Tim’s voice cut into the air. “Care to explain?”

No, not really.

“Later,” he said; hopefully never, he prayed. “Back to patrol, all of you.”

He was hoping, foolishly, that his sons would just accept this as just a moment in their lives, no explanations needed. But he knew he had to, he owed them answers.

But that was for later.

Later.

[foxglovethings]

Aether Or

The Porta Ciela’s library was charming but untouched before she came aboard. Someone had put a lot of love into the quaint space at the end of a long hall and then let it sit to collect dust, half its books completely unread (she’d had to cut some pages herself) and out of order, as if it were constructed in a fit of passion and then forgotten. It seemed fitting for the crew, Mary thought, or the captain at the very least.

Shelves of books lined the walls, a graveyard of paper and glue with a range of material that could only be described as manic. Academic books on thaumaturgy, conjury, philosophy, and regular old math stood side by side with the world’s worst written romance novels and meaningless, long-winded thought pieces from authors who never quite made their mark. Mary had read most of them. Even the ones she loudly considered completely worthless.

This place had been something of a refuge for her during her time on board the old Garlean vessel. Weeks? Months? The winged couch pressed against the back wall had been heaped with blankets and pillows to serve as a bed and study center both, and the squat wooden table sitting before it was covered in stacks of books, neglected cups of water, and a plate covered in sandwich crumbs. Circular lecterns she suspected were not real marble sat on either side of the room in similar states of disarray, as if thaumaturgic studies grew like rhizomes from their origin, their practicing wizard, their carefully but chaotically organized devourer of knowledge.

Mary sat in the center of this web with her feet up on the coffee table, arms crossed over her thick sweater front, grey-green eyes focused on some idea fixed beyond the walls of her quiet little sanctuary.

Amelie had a block on her aether. A bit of rust on her soul that kept the gears from grinding when they needed to. She’d met with doctors on board and been given nothing but a quiet apology that nothing could be done to augment aether use in a person who couldn’t use it at all, and Mary knew that much was true. 

It could have been stripped from her completely. Her fundamental being could have been altered or damaged beyond the point of repair, but that was different from someone who was born never knowing it at all. And when she struggled to use it, something struggled back. It wasn’t normal for a person to hurt themselves trying to use magic when they couldn’t. It wasn’t normal for anything to happen at all.

Most aether was aspected toward one of six elements, and all aspected aether swung toward one polarity or the other: Umbral and astral, passive and active. Some swung harder than others. Lightning teetered at the very end of the astral spectrum, the most active, and at its opposite end sat ice, the most passive. Most people, most active, walking, waking, thinking people, did not just float at either end of the spectrum. A thaumaturge learned to weave the two polarities into the ebb and flow of magical murder, but the give and take was a core aspect of the art. Even the most basic conjuror knew they couldn’t pin themselves to a single element.

She had a lot of theories based on almost nothing. Had the sorceress she met in Garlemald stripped her of a part of her soul? Had she eaten part of her soul and left it missing an entire, extremely useful chunk? Had she stuck a shard of ice right into the middle, slowing Amelie’s aether use to such a crawl it was barely there at all? Was she affixed with a drain, or a siphon, or a straw that sucked out any attempt she made and flung it into the air? What was making her bleed from the nose whenever she made the effort to try again?

An awful nagging feeling kept her arranging and rearranging her thoughts, like looking at a pile of untouched puzzle pieces and knowing in your gut there was one missing. New theories had come through the Order of Nald’Thal in the past year from some Sharlayan scholar, not yet approved by the masters of the guild as anything fit to teach, and not part of her specific, delicate research. A deeper level of polar understanding; some shift in thought regarding the states of astral and umbral, and how the elements affected the world they lived in. If she wanted to get to the bottom of this, and if her theory was going to hold any weight, she’d need to get her hands on some of that material. Or reach out to someone who already had.

With a deep sigh and the rejoining of her focus and the reality around her, Mary pulled her feet from the coffee table and reached for a loose sheet of paper and a wet ink pen. It was time to write to Mordred.

[askdracomalfoyofficial]

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

The Mirror of Erised is an ancient, ornate mirror with clawed feet and a gold frame. It’s said that the Mirror shows the most desperate desire of a person’s heart, a vision that has been known to drive men mad. The writing engraved in the frame of the mirror was a forgotten foreign dead language but if one looks closely it says: ‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire.’ backwards.

It’s rumored that men have stood before it, wasted away not knowing if what they have seen was something real, or even possible. It’s as though the mirror had latched a hook around you, pulled you in and forced you to see what could be just beyond the mind's subconscious. But what would happen when a certain Slytherin stumbles upon this mirror, and what are the things that he may be shown?

The Mirror was supposed to be taken elsewhere after an incident with Harry Potter, but for some reason it was still around in third year, lingering like a ghost in the corner of a dark room. With how tempting the thing could be, you’d swear that it was whispering to you, pulling you in like you were in some sort of trance. That’s exactly what was happening with Draco Malfoy.

Third year was so much different compared to the last two, and it seemed as though things were just going to get even more interesting for this year. Though, he questioned how things would go within the next four years.

One lonely dark night while wandering the corridors, usually he wasn’t someone who went out of their dormitory passed curfew but there was just something itching at the surface that he wanted – perhaps needed to do. That’s when he felt the deep urge to head towards an abandoned wing of the castle, where nobody usually goes. With his wand raised, and a Lumos casted. He dipped into alcoves to hide from Filch and Mrs. Norris, but would continue on his way towards this ‘pull.’

That’s when he found it, as if it was whispering to him. Telling him to come, come see your desires that are hidden beneath where not even you, yourself could reach, even if you think you know what your true desires are. It was manipulating, a trance within a trance of its own. How strange of a magical artifact.

Slowly, he proceeded further into the empty room until he stood tall in front of the mirror. His platinum blonde hair brighter than his Lumos. “Nox.” He whispered, and the delicate glow faded from the tip of his wand before sliding it into the pocket of his robes. His molten gray eyes staring through the mirrors surface, staring back at himself mainly. Slowly reaching his hand up to glide his fingers along the golden ornate frame as the coldness seeped through the pads of his fingers while he secretly admired it.

Pulling his hand away, a brow arched. “What is my deepest desire?” He questioned. Though he swore he already knew the answer. It was power. He wanted power. He was already wealthy, that was something he didn’t need more of as he was completely set in life. Eyes closing, and he entered a meditative state as if to clear his head of anything that may mess up with what the mirror could show him, or what the mirror perhaps knew.

When his eyes slowly fluttered opened; nothing was there but just himself. There was no sign that he even desired this said ‘power.’ There was nothing in there about his future. Perhaps there was a flicker of something with not being the greatest Malfoy disappointment to his father but it didn’t linger very long. Instead, a female appeared, making his head quickly turn around to look over his shoulder to see if anyone had come in, but no one was there. When he turned back... there she was.

“You’re bloody kidding, right?” He spoke to the mirror as if it was a joke, because this certainly was not what he desired at all. Draco shook his head disapprovingly. “No. I refuse to accept that this is what I desire. You’re a phony. That’s what you are!” He raised his voice. For a student who was sneaking out of their dormitory to come stand before a mirror, yelling probably wasn’t a good idea. He just – he couldn’t accept what he was seeing.

Hermione Granger.

Mudblood.

The Brightest Witch Of Our Age.

Gryffindor know-it-all, swot.

There she was, standing before him the Mirror’s surface in a raven-colored dress with her hair slightly pinned back. Her skin glowed like a light had been casted over it showing her fairly sun-kissed tone. Her brunette curls seemed tamed, and for a moment Draco got curious of how her hair would feel falling through the spaces of his fingers.

He shook his head. No, no, no. This has to be all wrong or something.

Hermione in the mirror was moving, she seemed much like the one he knew. Innocent looking, someone who’d have her nose buried deep inside a book. Getting all the correct answers and topping him in all his bloody classes. She looked elegantly beautiful; it was terrifying to see her like that. Maybe he was dreaming, oh, he hoped that he was.

But there was a drafted breeze that shifted around in the room, blowing dust bunnies and dirt around on the floor leaving goosebumps to wake on his skin, and hairs to stand on ends at the back of his neck. Of course, that creepingly odd sensation that in a way told him that this may or may not be real. Though, he wanted to stay, and maybe that’s where he goes wrong.

She smiled at him. She bloody smiled at him, and how dare she even spread those filthy lips. How dare she even come about in the damn Mirror. No, how dare him for even coming here in the first place. Now, when and if he leaves. He’s just going to sit there and think about what the hell he’d just seen, and perhaps the way he treats her may even change and... no – no that cannot happen, will not. He refuses to let this be the case.

His mind was not his friend right now, it wasn’t helping in a situation such as this, at this time.

Draco got frustrated, ripping out his wand. “Lumos.” It lit, and the light casted over the shadows in the room, even made Hermione in the mirror fade away. He shook his head angerly and left the room all together. Leaving behind the Mirror of Erised. “What a bloody waste of time.” He grumbled to himself, quickly making his way through the corridors and back to the dungeons.

That night had come and gone the moment his head hit the pillow. Exhaustion sweeping over and covering over his body like a blanket full of comfort. Morning came, and the sun peaked through the windows just barely. Every student got dressed in their robes, including Draco himself. He didn’t wake up in a good mood, after what he had seen and dealt with last night it was something no one would understand; nor was it going to be something he even spoke to anyone about. It wasn’t anyone's business anyways.

“Hello Draco.” Pansy greeted once he took a seat at the Slytherin table. “Did you sleep well?” She asked, why did she even bother half the time anyways?

“It doesn’t look like he did, Pansy.” Goyle chimed in.

“Was I asking you? Is your name Draco?”

“No, obviously not. I answered because it doesn’t look as though Malfoy is in the talking mood, now does it? You aren’t very observant to these kinds of things, I'm not at all shocked.”

Pansy’s mouth gaped open, her eyes fleeted towards Draco as if he was going to stand up for her or something, waiting for him to defend her. Except he wasn’t even listening in on the conversation, nor was he even watching either of the bicker about him. Usually when it came to someone talking about him, his ears would get that tingly, buzzing feeling – either that or just gets that weird strange sensation inside that someone was talking about him. This time around though? He wasn’t at all moved.

They continued talking, and he drowned them out. Thinking back to last night when he snuck out, and went to the bloody forsaken room. His eyes wandered towards the Gryffindor table, in search for a certain bushy-haired brunette know-it-all witch, and for a moment he thought maybe she wasn’t there but just then she took a seat with Harry and Ron, smiling about with her eyebrows fairly loose. Her hair was slightly pinned back, much like how he had seen in the Mirror.

In the moment; she seemed so care-free, like a feather blowing in the gentle breeze. Twirling, and furrowing to its freedom. He must’ve been staring a little too long, because the next thing he knows, her eyes met his. His expression was stoic; unreadable – almost expressionless. Matter-of-fact, his heart had just dropped to the pit of his stomach. She just figured him out, all in one quick look and head on eye contact.

Their eyes remained locked. She looked almost passive aggressive, as if she was partially disgusted but also partially shocked that he was even looking at her in the first place. She was probably thinking that he was going to curse her for even looking at him, for holding that eye contact for little over a minute now. For a moment, he swore that her breath caught in her throat because her lips parted.

Her delicately soft pink lips formed a space between once was a pressed thin-line.

Draco broke it first. Turning his head away from her, and reverting his gaze back to Goyle and Pansy while they bickered.

“You never chew with your mouth closed.” She complained, (even though Goyle did chew with his mouth closed now thanks to Draco, of course).

“And you’re just always complaining about something.”

A gasp.

“You both are bloody annoying. You do know that right?” Draco finally said something, letting his eyes shift back and forth from the two. “Always on about something.”

They both shut up. It’s like they had been Imperio'd or something, because anything he says or does something they seem to either listen or just go along with it. It liked that; he liked the power he had and didn’t care. That’s what he thought – no that’s what he was sure he would’ve seen in that bloody mirror. Now that he can’t stop thinking about Her, he wanted to destroy the thing. Get rid of it.

But as of right now, his thoughts were just going to be consumed by what he’d seen in it. Hermione Granger, the little golden girl was what he desired,

And he hated it.

[jungleslang]

I feel like a lot people don't realize what a HUGE deal Az's POV was or what it revealed about him.

Remember when Mor said she could take off all her clothes and Az would not move even an inch because he doesn't think he deserves her? Azriel was literally in love with Mor for 500 years. 500 whole ass years. And he was completely content to just watch Mor from afar for the rest of his life, which is something Feyre herself even mentioned. He was okay with never saying anything to her about his feelings, never making a move, never trying to resolve the fucked up love triangle they were all in. He sat on the sidelines, bottled up his emotions, and let Cassian be the buffer. People love to call Elain passive, but Azriel was passive in his own way, too.

But look what happened in his POV chapter. Azriel definitely moved more than an inch with Elain. Azriel, who did nothing but pine from afar for 500 years was seriously about to kiss Elain. Mor herself says Az doesn't think he's worthy of making a move on anyone, but he certainly felt worthy enough to share a kiss with Elain. This suggests either that his negative opinion of himself doesn't matter as much when he's with Elain, or that he's starting to see himself as worthy enough for the things that he wants. Or that he just doesn't give a fuck anymore lol. All of which are huge and so important.

Also think about how when Rhys brings up the blood duel, Az is super quick to say that he could beat Lucien's ass, no problem. That is a VERY reckless thing to say. The blood duel is no laughing matter, it's a serious thing. This is especially reckless for Azriel. Because Az is not a reckless person. He's a spymaster, so he's used to waiting, watching, planning, and calculating. Az is always portrayed as cold and unreadable, and from that alone, we can see the control he exercises over himself and his emotions. But with Elain, that control is slipping. And this is also such a huge thing for Azriel.

People always say that Az and Elain together would be boring because they wouldn't challenge each other or bring out anything in each other. But now, we can see that that's false. We can see Elain becoming less passive in ACOSF, taking control of her life and making her feelings known. And we can see Azriel showing his emotions more, loosening that tight leash he keeps himself on, and gathering the courage to go after what he wants. Az even told Rhys that he couldn't order him to stay away from Elain. This man talked back to and was even thinking about disobeying his brother and High Lord, which is still a big thing even though he ended up listening to Rhys in the end.

Also, look at the level of pure desire Az has for Elain in his POV. There's also fact that he looks at her present every night before bed, and he got over his love of 500 years for her. Elain also got over the man she was going to marry. That indicates very strong feelings. But we really don't know exactly how or when these feelings developed. We've been getting small tidbits from Feyre and Nessian's POVs, yes, but we don't actually know that much about what their relationship is like, or what it is like through their own eyes. For the two of them to have developed such strong feelings for each other, a lot of shit had to have happened that we aren't aware of. They probably had so many moments that we haven't seen because we've been stuck in Feysand and Nessian's POVs. Like remember when Az mentioned all of the small touches they had previously shared in his POV? So how can anyone really say they wouldn't help each other grow when we've barely been given any glimpses into what they're actually like together? And when we're already seeing evidence of them growing right now.

I talked about how Az's POV indicates that he is changing for the better, but we also can't forget what it shows about Elain. It was ELAIN herself who initiated things with Az in his POV. She did so when she asked him to put the necklace on her, when pivoted into his touch, and when she said "yes." Elain, who everyone called passive, was the one to initiate. Elain is also always described as modest, so this was honestly a pretty bold move for her. The fact is that Azriel and Elain ARE bringing things out in each other that we haven't really seen before. To me, they are the opposite of being boring together, and I've personally never understood that arguememt anyway. But hey, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and that wasn't me trying to hate on anyone.

In my opinion, the fact Azriel and Elain have such strong feelings for each other right now also indicates that they're likely to be endgame. Because even if Az ends up with Gwyn or Elain ends up with Lucien, they MUST deal with this thing between them first. The mutual feelings that they both clearly have for each other has to be addressed. SJM is going to have to show Elriel together, sorting out these feelings, before she can make Elucien or Gwynriel endgame. I personally can't see that happening because I don't think there would be space. There's clearly a lot of feelings going on between Elain and Az that would take a lot for them to go away, and SJM herself said it's only one couple per book. But, I could be wrong and SJM could throw a curve ball at us.

As always, thank you for reading, and I would love to hear your thoughts 💙

[l4verq]

remnants (2)

ransom drysdale x reader

in which you have to protect ransom drysdale because he has the same face as steve rogers, your ex who’s gone back to peggy

pairing : ransom x reader

warnings : angst? mentions of guns

if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk in the comments💗

ʀᴇᴍɴᴀɴᴛꜱ

*not my gif*

-

ransom doesn’t remember the last time he was this dumbfounded.

his hands graze over the grainy picture of a andy barber who looks just like him.

down to the very mole on his left cheek, every feature seems to fit perfectly with his.

“we believe, these are all alternate versions of you,”sam glances at ransom, biting into a stale piece of bread, “steve, to be more precise.”

“so what? I’m a clone?” he huffs, cringing at his own words.

yoi look up from your plate and realise he’s looking at you for an answer.

“we don’t know but we do know they’re not from this timeline.” you pick at the canned beans with your fork.

you never really had an appetite on days like these.

“who? them?” he raises the stack of papers.

you nod, placing your fork down.

“thet all popped out of nowhere when everyone else came back after the blip. no one’s heard of them before.” bucky explains, picking up your fork and handing it back to you.

you grimace, glancing at the goopy mess on your plate.

“and what do you mean, timeline?” ransom questions, observing you and bucky.

you guys were close, that was evident enough from the way he’s been trying to get you to eat something.

but just how close were y-

“we don’t know.” sam gruffs, his throat parched from the dry, flaky bread.

ransom rolls his eyes, “what do you know?”

“that the only way you’re not going to end up like them is by staying with us.” bucky gestures towards the papers with his fork.

ransom slouches back in his chair, horrified at the thought of being in this dump for any longer.

he had to sleep on the couch, if you could call it one, last night and he’s pretty sure he saw some rats scurry by while washing his face earlier today.

and did he mention the clothes? he’s in a horribly mismatched shirt and sweatpants that feels like gravel on his skin.

his stomach growls but he’d rather starve than eat that soupy thing infront of him.

“it’s only for a few days, weeks at most. because of the blip, hydra’s suffered, they’re outresourced. the problem is, we are too.” you offer a sympathetic smile.

you kind of felt bad for him.

he sighs, “can we go shopping or something for clothes and food. actual edible food?”

“what can you get with,” sam dramatically digs into his pockets, pulling out a single bill, “five bucks?”

of course, he’d be stranded with three strangers, only five bucks to their names.

“aren’t the avengers supposed to be loaded?” ransom asks in disbelief.

“not everyone has a wealthy grandpa.”

-

“hey, what’s up?” sam walks in, a little too breezily.

you narrow your eyes as he awkwardly shifts around, looking for a place to sit.

the floor is covered with files and documents, you’d been rummaging around, searching for other safehouses set up by shield years ago.

“let me guess, you want to ask me how I’m doing?” you sigh, flipping over another file report from years ago.

he has a sheepish smile on his face as he picks up a file and starts flipping through.

“we’ve been at this for months now and this is the first time we’ve ever met one of them.” he trails off, hesitantly.

“and?”

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows.

you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes cause you hate to see the pity in them. hate that he knows you’re still hurting.

“just let us know if it gets too much.” he says, softly.

the stupid lump forms in your throat again and you busy yourself, picking up another file.

you flip to the first page, instantly recognising the familiar scrawlings.

cause you were used to seeing those on little notes Steve used to leave you.

you vaguely remember this mission, it was a grueling week of staying undercover as the new siblings in town until shield gave a green light on pursuing the subjects.

you’d never laughed so hard than when your new neighbour had caught you two making out, revolted by the act of incest she thought she’d just witnessed.

a gunshot outside alerts you, breaking your thoughts.

“relax, bucky’s teaching him how to use a gun.” sam chuckles, eyes still trained on the file.

“a gun? why?”

“precautionary measures.”

you furrow your brows, “for what?”

he shuts the file, giving you a look.

you realise why.

“no, he’s not coming with us. are you crazy?” you end up yelling.

joaquin had tipped you guys off about a run-down, abandoned hydra base that would hopefully answer some questions.

and there was no way you were letting them bring Ransom there.

“listen, if we leave him here, there’s no saying what might happen so we don’t have a choice.” he sighs, trying to reason.

“well, one of us can stay here, babysit him.”

he scoffs, “really? who?”

you hate to admit it but he was right.

ransom couldn’t stay here alone and no one would agree to staying behind to miss out on the action.

“well, I’ll go help.” you grit your teeth, storming out of the room.

a second shot goes off as you push the front door, greeted by the bright rays of the sun.

bucky’s passing the gun onto ransom who looks hesitant.

you know he’s never held one by the way his hand grips around it, a little too tight.

he aims at a can placed infront shakily, his posture awkwardly stiff.

you can’t help but walk over, holding out your hand.

he hands you the gun, muzzled pointed right at his legs.

you swiftly grab it, “first thing, don’t point this thing anywhere unless you want to shoot.”

bucky cocks his head in amuse.

you always flunked on training the new recruits back in shield and yet here you were, voluntarily helping ransom.

“your right hand, grip this here,” you guide ransom’s hand along the back strap, “your left hand, under it. Support it.”

he looks over at you, seemingly for approval.

and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

the familiarity of this catching you offguard yet again.

but it had been you in ransom’s place and steve in yours.

“it’s gonna be pretty loud.” you clear your throat, fixing his stance slightly.

a hesitant pull of the trigger, completely missing the can.

he scratches his head, adorning a sheepish smile which shouldn’t feel as endearing.

“wow, you’re really bad at this.” bucky exhales, earning a side eye from you.

“can’t I just hold a pepper spray or something?”

-

your eyes fall on the bag of transceivers, that you guys’d been heavily relying on these past couple of months.

however, beyond a minute they’d track you instantly. so every call made was timed under a minute.

“you know, you can call your family if you want.” you mumble, loading the car with boxes of tech sam needs lying around or else he swears red wing will “go hungry”.

he’s sitting in the passenger seat, legs out on the ground, hands in his pockets.

you bite back a passive agressive remark about how he could be helping you right now.

“no, that’s fine.” he mutters, an unreadable expression on his face.

based on the information you’d dug up on him, you knew their family wasn’t exactly close.

but if their son was being hunted down by crazed psychos hell bent on bringing chaos to the world, they surely had the right to know.

“our phones are untraceable, it’s safe if you keep it under a minute.” you reach out to grab one.

“s’okay, they won’t care.” he gruffs, shrugging his shoulders.

you breathe out an “oh”, internally smacking yourself for insisting.

an awkward silence follows as you resume loading the last box, shutting the trunk.

“who’s ready for a roadtrip?” sam gleams, palms raised.

you wrinkle your nose at the familiar smell of kerosene.

“do you guys have to do this everytime?” you roll your eyes, backing away from the scent.

ransom’s about to ask what when the house explodes up in flames right in front of him.

“what the fuck?” he jumps out of his seat, frantic eyes racing around.

but the fire stops as soon as it began, leaving a scorched framework of bricks and rubble behind.

“can’t find anything if you have nowhere to search.” bucky rattles an empty jar labelled corrosive.

san fist bumps him, smirking.

ransom’s starting to think you might be the sanest out of the three.

and that was saying a lot.

-

a/n : 🤨🧎🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ i need to stop cringing everytime i post smthing lol

tags : @readermia @inmate-marmalade @stephdavies95 @randomsevans @xoxabs88xox @thebadassbitchqueen @tcc-gizmachine @mypalbuck @natrushman3000

[beyondthetemples]

(( so out of curiosity . Can Dove actively detect someone blocking or attempting to keep her out of certain memories and such ? ))

{{ Ooh, this one's fun!

Dove ABSOLUTELY CAN sense when someone is hiding things from her! It's a passive receptive sense even, something she doesn't have to be connected to their mind specifically to sense. Especially if they're putting a lot of Mental Work into it, like dodging around saying something out loud or putting up barricades when she's reading their mind. She can detect lies in both forms, outright and by omission, though outright lies light up much louder alarms for her. Lies by omission just feel like they're thinking really hard.

If she's directly, specifically connected to someone's mind, she can feel it VIVIDLY. How it feels depends on their personality, their willpower, their mood, etc., but she'll definitely know if they're trying to block something from her.

Generally she tries to respect when someone doesn't want to tell her something, seeing it as a boundary she doesn't want to cross. Especially with people she loves and respects, she actively tries to avoid reading things she knows they don't want her to see.

Unless of course she's Extracting Intel from a villain's mind or something and Absolutely Needs to break through, in which case she still does it as gently as possible because she knows she can cause long-lasting damage if she's not Extremely Careful.

There's actually a scene in DDD (chapter 14) when Dove is reading Raven's mind the first time they train with her ability to read memories, and she senses where Raven's blocking her off.

I like the way I described what Dove sense and experiences, so I put some excerpts below.

Raven only nodded. Her expression was completely unreadable, a thick shield…

Dove wasn't sure how to interpret that. Even the empathy wasn't reliable; Raven held her thoughts and emotions tightly within herself and gave absolutely nothing away. Had she ever seen Raven close up so stiffly?

....

Slipping between thoughts, wading through memories, Dove explored Raven’s mind cautiously, to not disturb any more mental energies than absolutely necessary, like walking through a dark, forbidden hall and being careful her footsteps didn’t echo. The foggy and shrouded atmosphere of Raven’s mind loosed eager fascination within her. It was like stepping into a reflection of her own thoughts – or almost like it; Raven’s were darker, tenser… More controlled. She could feel the chariness as Raven filtered each fragment so thoroughly, so automatically it led Dove to wonder if she ever had a stray thought.

Glancing across the flow of mentality – Suddenly she felt more than saw a black wall that drew her attention away from the memories, formed like solid shadows and cemented with will… Deep fascination took hold of her and she led her mind just a bit closer–

A pulse of defensive power erupted and pressed against her for a startled confusing moment; she realized it must be a mental block and quickly turned away. Swam back into the memories, back to where Raven trusted her. Almost.

...

Dove was nearing things she had always kept closed off from anyone but her closest friends, and Raven could barely feel where she was. Dove’s motions through her mind were alarmingly smooth and undetectable enough to drive her to triple the already strict defenses around her deeper self.

“Raven, I-I think I’m nervous.”

“It’s the empathy,” Raven told her, not bothering to hide the fact that she wasn’t thrilled at having Dove sort through her mind.

[free-pancakes]

I'm curious, what are your headcanons of Levihan arguing? Like what would they argue about? What are the dynamics of the fight? Is one of them getting passive aggressive or completely ignoring the other? Then would they talk about it or just go back to normal and never bring it up again?

Considering that Isayama said Hange is the scariest character when angry I am really curious about this!

Generally, I imagine them constantly bickering over little things, like:

While walking outside, Levi puts his jacket on Hange because he notices her slightly shivering. But Hange refuses the jacket, insisting he’d be too cold without wearing it himself. Before Levi can argue, she snakes her arm around his shoulder and pulls him closer to her as they walk, and says, “If we stay close like this, we can keep each other warm!” He grumbles as his chivalrous act of lending her his jacket was shut down, but he knows that her idea was much better, especially because he’d get to hold her close as they walked.

Levi snatches Hange’s glasses off her occasionally to clean them off. One day Hange gets a bit annoyed with how often he kept doing this, and she says, “How annoyed would you feel if I constantly ripped the glasses off of your face every hour??” Levi: “I don’t need glasses, stupid.” Hange: “Theoretically, if you had glasses, you’d be as frustrated as I am right now!” Levi: “THEORETICALLY, my glasses would never get dirty.” Hange: Prove it, why don’t YOU wear my glasses for a day and we’ll see!” Levi: “FINE!” *puts on glasses and runs into a wall* Hange: *laughing, forgetting why she was upset in the first place* Levi: “HOW BLIND ARE YOU FOUR-EYES?”

Hange may be the scariest person to encounter when angry, but I think it would take a lot to actually make her truly angry. I can’t really imagine Levi doing anything that could get her upset to that extent because she has such a soft spot for him. But I like to think that Levi became a lot more overprotective of her after the battle at Shiganshina, and maybe his constant reminders to take care of herself would make Hange feel suffocated at some point, and then that would be the one time when Hange would blow a fuse because of him:

Levi would probably be on Hange constantly, telling her to go to bed when she’s been pulling too many all-nighters, reminding her to eat something once in awhile, offering to run a bath for her, tidying up her workspace. She absolutely loves Levi’s presence, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty, because Levi couldn’t just be Levi—he was trying to help compensate for her no longer having Moblit by her side. So the constant reminders became increasingly annoying as she felt more and more guilty, til she just explodes and asks him to leave her alone.

Levi would leave without a word with a blank, unreadable expression, as if nothing happened, and Hange wipes away her tears from her outburst and returns to her work as if nothing happened.

They bury themselves in work for the rest of the week without talking to each other except for the occasional nod in the hallway in passing.

Then one night, Hange decides to return to her quarters around 2am, earlier than usual. Levi’s just sitting there on the couch, with tea freshly made on the table in front of him. They don’t speak but just drink together quietly. Hange is not one to be dishonest about her thoughts and feelings if asked to share them, but Levi never asks. They both are aware of their flaws and reasoning leading up to this—Levi knew he was overcompensating and being a bit too much, but he was just worried for her. Hange knew she was overreacting, but she knew she was overworking herself and Levi was just trying to help her realize that. They both knew they just needed some space to breathe.

He looks at her, and pats his lap, and she lays down with her head on his lap, looking up at him. “I missed you, Levi,” she says. And he simply runs his hand through her hair and plays with it til she falls asleep.

They return to their normal bickering and spend all their time by each other’s side, but Levi nags a little less, and Hange tries to go to bed a little earlier every night.

thanks for the ask anon, I had to really think about this one!

[coldflame96]

Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

Summary: Before his second date with Tohru, Uotani and Hanajima stage a fashion intervention 

Rating: T

Also on AO3 and FF.net. 

Of all the people he'd expected to run into outside Shishou's dojo, it definitely wasn't Wave Girl and the yankee.

"Yo!" Uotani saluted, Hanajima silent beside her.

He furrowed his brow. "Tohru's not here."

"Yeah, we know."

"So why are you here?"

"For you."

....That never meant anything good. And he did not like the gleam in their eye.

Were they finally going to kill him…?

He made to bolt but felt two sets of arms loop through his own, halting him in place.

"O-oi! Let go!" He squirmed.

"Nah, you're coming with us."

"Coming with you where?" His voice cracked in annoyance. "And why can't you just ask like a normal person?"

"We knew you'd say no," Hanajima finally spoke, voice as monotone as ever. "And that would simply not be an acceptable answer."

Uotani's grip tightened as she started practically dragging him away. "Come on, Carrots, this'll be over quicker the less you struggle."

He twitched in irritation. He'd wanted to spend time with Tohru before Yuki got home.

"I'm sure Tohru-kun can spare you for a few hours. You do live together after all, do you not?"

Was this girl actually a mind reader? He never could tell.

He slumped in defeat. He wasn't gonna win this, was he? And it's not like he could fight a girl, let alone two of them. He wasn’t a scumbag.

"Can you atleast tell me where we're going?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A department store," he said flatly.

"Yep!" Uotani popped the p. "We're taking you shopping, Kyon!"

"For what?"

"You and Tohru-kun have a date tomorrow, do you not?" Hanajima cocked her head.

"Yeah, why?" And then he recoiled. "Don't tell me you two are planning on coming again."

"Sorry to disappoint, but you’re on your own this time," Uotani said sarcastically. "There's only so much of the goo-goo eyes I can take."

He blushed. "Don't say it like that." But then he furrowed his brow. "And what does that have to do with why we're at a department store?"

"My, he really is quite dense, isn't he?" Hanajima said.

He twitched in annoyance which only increased as Uotani gave him a scornful look. "Seriously, Carrots? You need clothes to wear on a date."

"I have clothes at home."

"Those don't count!"

"Why don't they?"

“Because after what you wore to the zoo, we don’t trust your decisions.”

He bristled. “What was wrong with what I was wearing?! We were outside and it was comfortable!"

“You looked like you just rolled out of bed. No effort at all. You’re lucky Tohru’s nice.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, "She doesn't care what I wear.”

"You think so?" Hanajima asked him skeptically, giving him an unreadable look.

Tohru didn’t care...did she? She had worn a dress but she was always wearing stuff like that. Should he have put more effort in? Did she actually hate how he looked? Did she put her two friends up to this because she didn’t wanna tell him herself?

"Well," Uotani clapped his shoulder, interrupting his spiral, "Let's get started. I have a shift in 2 hours."

"Great," he said unenthusiastically, as the two women steered him towards the men's aisle.

He sat on the nearby bench and listened as they rustled through hangers. This brought back memories. Last time he'd come to a clothes store was when they were buying that swimsuit for Tohru. His face heated a bit at the memory. She really had been cute in it. Just wish I’d gotten to tell her that..

"Kyon, what size are you?" Uotani called, breaking him out of his daydream.

"I dunno. Large, maybe?"

A pause. "How do you not know your own size?"

"I don't buy clothes. Look, just take a guess and pick something. I don't care."

She stood in front of him, menacing. "What kind of attitude is that when we're kindly taking the time out of our day to help you?!"

"I never asked you to!" He yelled back, outraged.

"Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks they’re too good to go clothes shopping!”

"How awful," Hanajima said unhelpfully.

"It's got nothing to do with that!" Up until a couple months ago, he never expected to need any. "I just don't really buy things," he settled on saying instead. "It's a pain."

"Isn’t your family like super rich though?"

He tsked. "That's got nothing to do with me.."

"How intriguing." Hanajima put a finger to her chin. "The Sohma family remains a mystery."

They were both silent for a minute before Uotani punched her fist. "Well, it's decided then!"

"What's decided?" He asked warily, even though he knew he was gonna regret it.

"This shopping trip is on us!" And he was right.

"I'm not some charity case," he said scornfully, "and you should be saving your money for yourself."

"We're not doing this out of pity, you idiot, we're doing it because we're your friends."

He blinked. That was the first time they'd referred to him as a friend and he was...kinda touched.

"Well, thanks, but no thanks. Like I said, I have clothes at home and Tohru doesn't really worry about things like that."

"Perhaps not," Hanajima agreed, "but don't you think she would be happy knowing you wanted to look nice for her? It's only the bare minimum of what she deserves."

……………...

Goddammit.

Uotani slapped his back and he jumped. "Yeah, don't think of it as buying yourself stuff. Think of it as a gift for Tohru."

He did wanna look good for her. He wanted to give her everything he could. She deserved the world.

"Fine, you win."

Uotani grinned. "Oh this is gonna be fun!" And then she started dragging him away.

He released his arm from her grip. "Look, if we're gonna do this, then I get the final say-so. It would be stupid for you to spend money on something I hate."

Uotani blinked. "Huh. That's weirdly thoughtful of you."

“What do you mean 'weirdly'?”

"Alright, let's narrow down colors.” She completely changed the subject.

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

“What's your favorite color?"

“I said don’t-” His annoyance was replaced with confusion. His favorite color? He’d never really thought about it… “Um...Orange…?"

She made an X with her hand. "Denied."

"Why?"

"Your hair is orange. It would clash."

He furrowed his brow. "But if they're both orange-"

"Hanajima, what do you think?" She asked the girl next to her, ignoring him again.

"Black," Hanajima said passively.

"Of course you would say that," he muttered.

"No wait, she's got a point." Uotani put her hands into a square, and peered through it. "Your hair is already bright so black would actually be a really good contrast." She set her hands down. "Do you like black, Kyon?"

He owned a few black things. "I...guess?"

"Okay, so black’s an option. We're getting somewhere. What other colors? How about blue?" Blue made him think of Yuki and he wrinkled his nose. He saw Uotani snort and then say, "Okay, no blue then. Shame. I think you'd look good in a navy. Or maybe a midnight."

She was being weirdly nice to him today and it made him uneasy. But this was for Tohru, right? Would Tohru like blue? She wore blue sometimes, so maybe she would.

"I guess…" he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, "a darker blue would be okay."

“That’s the spirit!” She slung an arm over his shoulders that he had to shrug off. Hanajima was already sifting through racks.

“What about this?” She held up what looked like a conservative turtleneck sweater.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you joking?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Uotani asked defensively. “It would make you look artsy.”

“I’m not ‘artsy’ and when have I ever worn anything like that?”

“Are you dumb? The point of this is to find things you wouldn’t wear normally. Because, y’know, you wanna actually look good for once”

They were really testing his patience. And he didn’t have a lot to begin with. “Are you dumb? It’s the middle of summer!” He fired back. “Plus, I hate collars. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”

“Shall we test that theory?” Hanajima asked, an evil look in her eye.

“Please don’t.”

Uotani looked like she just had a revelation. “Huh. So is that why you don’t wear a tie with your uniform? Because you hate collars?”

“I don’t really like anything around my neck.”

“Wow. And here I thought you were just going for the ‘cool delinquent’ look.”

“I’m not you.”

“Hah?!” She glared at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean? You wanna fight or somethin’?”

He wasn’t gonna rise to that bait. “I don’t fight girls and you’re just proving my point.”

“Arisa,” Hanajima called, “We’re running out of time.”

Uotani blinked. “Oh, right.” And then like nothing happened, she mumbled, “So no collars then. Got it.”

And then she picked up what looked like a shirt that could fit a child. “What about this?”

“Now you’re just screwing with me.”

“Aww, c’mon, it could be like a crop top. You’re like a black belt or whatever, right?” She made to jab his side and he dodged. “You gotta have some muscle. If you show off some ab, you might get lucky.”

His face heated up. “Oi, stop saying things like that in public! You really have no shame at all, do you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Y’know for someone who apparently never goes shopping, you’re a real pain in the ass to buy clothes for.”

“Good,” he responded sarcastically, “Can I leave then?”

She grabbed his sleeve to keep him in place. “Yeah, no. But nice try though.”

“Nothing here is suitable,” Hanajima said matter of factly. “We should go to a different section. Perhaps the one over there?” And she pointed towards the right corner, where he saw an assortment of mannequins with crisp button-downs on display.

Uotani nodded. “Good call!” And then she tugged on his sleeve like he was an unruly child. “C’mon, Kyon, let’s go.”

He followed after in defeat. He could be pretending to do his homework with his girlfriend right now..

Uotani grabbed what looked like a black button down and held it up against him. “This could be nice.”

“I have a black shirt like that at home,” he said, hoping maybe that could get him out of this.

She curled her lip in disgust. “This isn’t black, Kyon, this is midnight blue.”

He furrowed his brow. “What the hell’s the difference? It looks black to me.”

“Ugh, you really don’t know anything about clothes, do you?”

“I told you I didn’t!”

“Disgraceful,” Hanajima said disdainfully from behind. “How shameless of you to get this color confused for black.”

Why is she acting like I insulted her, personally?

“I do feel insulted,” she responded.

He jolted. “Quit doing that!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After getting a bundle of clothes shoved in his arms and essentially pushed into a dressing room with a “Kyon, try this on”, he’s just been sitting in this stall for the past 10 or so minutes. It wasn’t ideal, but atleast it was peaceful. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d really bought clothes for himself like this. He would normally just pick it from the rack and leave.

He checked himself out in the mirror. It was...not bad, actually, but he couldn‘t admit that or he would never hear the end of it. That button down from earlier that they swore was blue (it looked black to him), a light gray V-neck and some tan pants (what’d they call it? Corduroy?) that were a bit tighter than he was used to, but not unbearable.

“Oi!” He heard Uotani call from outside obnoxiously. “Are you dead in there?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. He could just ignore her, but she would probably barge in here and drag him out and he wanted to keep whatever tiny bit of dignity he had left.

He slumped through the curtains. They both just stared at him, without saying anything, and it made him wanna crawl out of his skin. Uotani circled around him like he was a trophy on display and then started rolling up the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

She circled around him again, narrowing her eyes and then whistled. “Wow. We should’ve done this a long time ago. Hanajima, what do you think?”

“Indeed. I can almost see the appeal.”

He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well, glad I got your approval I guess-” and then his brain caught up. “Wait.” He glared at Hanajima. “What do you mean ‘almost’?”

She gave him a blank stare. “Which part was confusing?”

“What do you care anyway?” Uotani chimed in before he could retort, “It’s not like you’re dating us.”

“Thank God for that,” he muttered.

Uotani gave him a flat look, but thankfully, didn’t hit him. “Well, that outfit’s a winner. Let’s go find some more.”

What. “More?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, yeah, you can’t live with only one outfit, Kyon.”

He stood in front of her, blocking the way. “No way, I only agreed to the one. And besides, didn’t you say you had a shift? We’ve already been here for over an hour.”

She shrugged, easily walking by him. “True, but now that we’ve narrowed down what you’d actually wear, it should be easy enough to find things that are similar.”

He grimaced. “Look, I don’t need you to-”

“Will you stop fretting?” She cut him off. “Geez, you’re almost as bad as Tohru. Just let us do something nice for you.”

He didn’t wanna have to owe any favors to these people.

“We don’t have any ulterior motives if that’s what you’re wondering,” Hanajima said, in response to his thoughts.

“Seriously, stop doing that,” he groaned, “It’s creepy as hell.”

This was a losing battle. He sighed and just followed them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He heard whispering behind him and out of the corner of his eye, saw a group of girls all whispering and giggling to each other.

“C’mon, go talk to him,” he heard one whisper.

“No, I can’t,” he heard another one, “What if one of those girls is his girlfriend?”

He glowered at that. Why did people just assume things like that? It pissed him off.

“Oi,” he heard Uotani next to him, “Those hot girls over there are checking you out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, they’ve been there for like 5 minutes. So?” Since when has he ever cared about that?

She gave him a surprised look. Did she think he hadn’t noticed?

“Huh. You really don’t have eyes for anyone except Tohru, do you?” He thought that was obvious. “Hmm, well, that’s good. Atleast we don’t have to worry about you cheating.”

He bristled. “You have some nerve! I would never do that.”

“Correct,” Hanajima agreed, and then she got a sinister look. “Because if you did, terrible things might happen to you.”

He blanched. “I get it. Please stay away from me.”

He thought they would go their separate ways after that, but they insisted on walking him home.

“Why are you coming?”

“Hmm? What’s that tone?” Uotani started grabbing his face, squeezing it. “We just wanna make sure no one tries to kidnap that pretty face.”

He roughly pushed her arm away. “Get off me! And I don’t need two girls to protect me!”

“Then how about just allowing us to accompany you so that we might say hi to Tohru-kun?” Hanajima asked.

“I-” He sighed, “Whatever, do what you want I guess.”

It was when they came inside, he saw Tohru sitting at the table, doing what looked like homework.

“Oh! Kyo-kun!” She got up to grab his shirt around his waist. “Kunimitsu-san said you left a while ago so I was starting to get worried.” And then she seemed to notice the two other people behind him. “Uo-chan? Hana-chan? What’s going on?”

“Someone was trying to kidnap Kyon so we rescued him.”

Tohru paled. “Heh? Kidnap?”

“Don’t lie to her, you’re gonna freak her out.” And then he flatly said, “They hijacked me.”

“Who’s lying now?” Uotani made to chop him in the head, but he dodged. “We took your boyfriend on a little shopping trip.” And then she winked which made him reassess his ‘no hitting girls’ policy. “You’re welcome.”

Tohru just furrowed her brow in confusion which was really fucking adorable and he had to resist every urge in his body to not kiss her. Not in front of those two. “Um...shopping trip for what?”

“Well, our job is done!” She patted him on the back. Hard . “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hanajima actually smiled. “Have fun tomorrow, Tohru-kun.”

Tohru lit up, confusion over the shopping trip forgotten. “Oh, thank you!”

And just as suddenly as they had appeared in front of him earlier, they were gone, and he slumped. Those two were exhausting.

“Um, Kyo-kun?” He heard and saw that she looked a bit worried. “Did you guys...get along okay?”

Well, he made it back alive and intact so… “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh, good. What did you talk about?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much.” And then seeing his opportunity, he smirked. “They told me how you spilled on what a terrible boyfriend I am.”

“Heh?!” Her face went red as a firetruck and she started babbling, “I didn’t-I wouldn’t- um- please believe me I-”

She is so cute. He bent down to kiss her nose. “Calm down, I was kidding.”

She closed her mouth, but her face was still beet red. “You’re always teasing me,” she pouted.

“That’s because it’s easy,” he patted her head, “And you like it, don’t you?”

She averted her eyes out of embarrassment, which only made his own grin wider. She cleared her throat. “That’s a big shopping bag.”

“Hmm?” And then looked down at the bag he was still holding, full of a few different outfits that those two women had strongarmed him into. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“What’s in it?”

His first urge was to just show her since she asked, but something held him back. He had gone on that nightmare, allowed Uotani and Hanajima to treat him like their own personal toy...he wasn’t gonna let that go to waste. He was gonna milk it for all it was worth.

“Can’t tell you,” he said to her look of curiosity. “It’s a surprise.”

“Surprise, huh?” she mumbled to herself, and he braced himself when he saw the gleam in her eyes.

“Ha!” she shouted, as she swiped for the bag only to be met with air as he switched it to the other hand. Her look of confusion was precious.

He chuckled, “You didn’t actually think you were being sneaky, did you?”

She huffed in defeat and he would always cherish seeing this part of her. The childish part. “Will I get to see one day?”

“Yep. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she perked up. “Sounds exciting.” Her eyes widened as she looked at something behind him. “Oh my gosh, it’s 6 already? I gotta start dinner.”

“Did you want help?” he offered. Any time spent with her was worth it.

She grinned. “Nope! I think you would just be more of a distraction actually. I can handle it.”

He froze, feeling warm all of a sudden. A...distraction? Was she...hitting on him?

“Oi, you can’t just say things like that so casually.” It’s not good for my heart.

She cocked her head innocently. A little too innocently. “Huh? What do you mean?”

She was definitely baiting him...and he so badly wanted to go for it, but Shigure was probably in his room listening like the creep he was and Rat Boy would be home any second if he wasn’t already.

“Nevermind,” he sighed out, “I’m gonna go upstairs.”

“Oh, okay.” And then she pecked his cheek. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, his face still burning.

In the two years he’s known her, he would’ve never pegged her as such a flirt.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t into it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He assessed himself in the mirror critically. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he wasn’t bad-looking, but was this really the kind of look Tohru would be into? What if he went through that shopping trip of Hell just for her to tell him it never mattered?

A light knock on the door. “Kyo-kun, I’m heading downstairs,” came her sweet, muffled voice.

He sighed. Why was he acting like a scared little kid anyway? It wasn’t like this was their first date. And they’d already agreed to spend their lives together. He had nothing to worry about, not with her, even though there was a tiny part that kept reminding him he didn’t deserve her in the first place.

He opened the door to find the hallway blissfully empty. Shigure was probably at the main estate doing god knows what (and he really didn’t wanna know) and Yuki was at his girlfriend's place...or something. It really wasn’t his job to keep track of them.

He saw her standing by the front door and felt his breath leave him. She was wearing a dress he’d never seen before (was it new?); it was a light pink and modest, but her shoulders were completely exposed, the usual sleeves resting over her upper arms. His eyes wandered below the shoulders, noting how it curved around her chest and conformed to her waist, ending just above her knees, leaving most of her smooth, fair skin on display. Damn, she’s so-  

“Kyo-kun, are you alright?”

“That dress…” was all he managed to say. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh! Um- Uo-chan and Hana-chan got it for me as a birthday present.” Those two bought her this? Tohru looked away shyly. “Do you like it? I thought it might be too much but they were insistent and-”

He surged forward to kiss her to cut her off. He broke away quickly before it could get heated, and stroked her lips with his thumb. “You’re really beautiful.”

Her face went so red he thought she would combust and paired with that dress, it was so, so endearing and he was half-tempted to just say ‘fuck the date’ and keep her here while they were alone.

She pushed his face away gently, trying to hide her own. “D-Don’t look at me like that while being so nice. You’ll make me not want to leave.”

Oh really?

“Hmm?” he teased, “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she lied. But then she recovered, though her cheeks were still pink. “You look really handsome in this, Kyo-kun. Is this what you were doing with Uo-chan and Hana-chan?”

“Something like that.” And then he smirked. “What, are you saying I’m not handsome normally?”

“What? No, of course not! You always are! What I meant was-”

He set his fist on her hair gently. “It’s fine, dummy, I’m just teasing.” Hearing her confirm it with no hesitation did make something warm spark in his chest though.

She didn’t respond and when he looked down, he saw her eyes roving up his body. Very slowly. And that warm feeling turned into something hot.

“I suppose I’ll have to thank Uo-chan and Hana-chan later, won’t I?” she said, her voice low and breathy.

“I guess we both do.” He grabbed her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers lightly, watching as her dark eyes stayed fixated. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” she whispered and as he opened the door for her, allowing her to step in front of him, he was starting to think he owed those two women a favor after all.

Maybe he could give them flowers or something..

[imkylotrash]

Love Me With Your Worst Intentions

Pairing: Hardin Scott x reader

Request: May I please request something which is Hardin Scott x an insecure reader. I just think it would be really sweet but with a slight touch of sadness ya know? Anonymous

The note reads ‘Be back later. Don’t wait up’. A classic Hardin message that always makes your stomach do a flip. He has yet to tell you where he goes or who he sees. It’s not that he needs to inform you of his every move - you’re not trying to be his mother - but a general picture of where he is would be nice. Especially with the reputation he’s got. Now the logical part of you knows that he is deeply in love with you and wouldn’t see someone behind your back, but he’s also hurt you in the past. Whenever you thought about how the two of you started out, all your insecurities comes out. You’re aware of how pretty and thin the girls that he hooked up with were. You know that he never cared who he hurt or how. You know about that poor girl back in England whose life he tore apart because of some sick joke between him and his friends. It makes you worry if you’re good enough for him. Good enough for him to change and be the man you know he can be. 

“Landon, hey. Can I come over?” It’ll do you no good to wait for him alone. Your thoughts will get the better of you and you’ll make stupid scenarios in your head that probably aren’t true anyway. So who better to call than Landon who can always talk you down. He’s the only one who knows how you feel and how insecure standing next to Hardin makes you feel.

“Sure. You’re always welcome.” It takes you 20 minutes to grab your purse and head over to Landon. The two of you proceed to spend the night having a movie marathon that takes your mind completely of Hardin and what he might be doing. You’re always been insecure even when you were little and the other kids made fun of your accent or your clothes. Boys would tell you to lose weight and girls would make fun whenever you tried to put on makeup. And being with Hardin just made those feelings come back 10 times over. Never being sure how he feels about you and knowing his past conquests. 

“Stop!” You look over at Landon surprised by his outburst. 

“I can tell you’re thinking about him and clearly he’s not bothered about you right now, so he doesn’t deserve your thoughts.” Landon isn’t really Hardin’s biggest fan at the minute but doesn’t mean that he’s not right. Clearly, Hardin will rather be doing whatever he’s doing than spend time with you. So you clear your mind of him and focus and Landon and the movie. At 2am you decide it’s time to head back to the apartment. 

“I’ll see you Monday.” A brief hug is exchanged before you get in your car and drive back. You noticed that you have unread messages from Hardin but you don’t want to open them right now. It’ll just be him asking where you are. Instead you drive straight home preparing to face him and his anger. 

“I’m home,” you call out not even bothering to be quiet. You know he’s up waiting for you. 

“I texted you. Where the hell were you tonight?” At least he’s not drunk this time. Though painfully sober isn’t exactly much of an upgrade. 

“I went over to Landon’s house,” you reply moving towards the bathroom. You’re tired and don’t really feel like arguing tonight. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” 

“Oh, like you tell me where you go? Maybe I should just give you a note next time with some vague explanations to my whereabouts!” You have no idea where this courage is coming from. Normally you go completely quiet when he picks a fight. 

“You don’t need to know where I am all the time,” he dismisses you. 

“You’re right, I don’t. But then that’s mutual. I can go wherever I please, and you can’t say a word about it.” You know it’s wrong to agitate him because Hardin is the embodiment of the saying “don’t bring a knife to a gun fight” and you’re the poor sucker who brought a knife. When he’s like this, he will feed off of your insecurities and make you feel so low. 

“What’s your fucking problem? If this is how you’re going to be, I think I might just head on over to Molly instead.” He regrets it the minute he says it. You know he does, but his pride will never let him admit that. You see red. Molly is your biggest insecurity and he knows how she makes you feel. It’s all just too much for you. The comment pushes you over the edge. 

“My problem is you. My problem is that with the way you treat me, I should hate you!” You quickly cover your mouth with your hands as if that will keep him from hearing the hurtful words spilling out of you. 

“Then go!” You deflate. 

“You want me to go?” You’re whispering because you don’t really want to know the answer to your question. Your moment of bravery is gone and now all you can think about is how badly you need him to just hold you and tell you that there will never be anyone else. That nobody else compares to you. 

“Yes.” Three letters, one word, a thousand knives to your heart. Of course, he’s said this before without meaning it but your mind isn’t built for these games. 

“Fine.” You start grabbing random things to throw into the bag before heading for the door. You blink rapidly to get rid of the tears blocking your vision. It’s all just getting too much for you. 

“Don’t go.” 

“You told me to go. I’m just following orders.” It’s not even meant in a passive aggressive way because there’s no fight left in you right now. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. 

“I didn’t mean it. I was upset.” What’s caused this sudden change in behaviour is a mystery to you but all that matters is how calm he seems now. Not in the eerie way when he’s so angry he might start trashing the room, but in the calm way when he knows he pushed it too far and hurt you a little bit more than last time. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to me. You can’t talk about Molly and then ask me to leave.” Your hand is still on the doorknob but you’ve let go of your bag. 

“I know.” It’s the closest you’ll get to an apology from him - something you’ve learned the hard way. 

“You don’t get it, Hardin. I hate the idea of all the girls I am compared to when I’m with you. I hate how Molly is so stupid gorgeous and I’ll never be that pretty. Or confident. And I hate the fact that you make me feel unloved because I am madly in love with you!” After that whole monologue you find yourself out of breath and desperately trying to hold back the tears that will inevitable fall. It’s the first time you’ve aired your insecurities like that. He knows you’re not Molly’s biggest fan, but you’ve never really told him why. 

“I love you. When I see you all other girls fade away. You’re that beautiful. And just the thought of you not feeling that way is disgusting. It’s a waste to even try and compare you to anyone, because nobody comes close to you,” he admits hugging you tightly. And just like that the Hardin you love and adore is back. 

“I’m just so tired of feeling like I’m not enough for you.” 

“I’m the one who should be feeling like this, not you. In every universe you will always be too good for me. It’s not even a question. How I conned you into loving me will remain unanswered but I’m thankful every day. Even if I’m a complete and utter asshole to you.” 

“Kiss me, Hardin.” He complies immediately sliding his hand down to your lower back so he can pull you closer. You let your fingers run through his hair just the way he likes it. 

“I don’t ever want you to feel insecure in yourself or in your body. You are easily the fittest person I’ve ever been with and definitely the most amazing,” he whispers. He’s intertwined his fingers with yours and it’s a simple move but it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. After his declaration he carries you to the bedroom where he proceeds to prove to you three times just how much he adores your body. 

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[thelastpilot]

Tell Me So I Understand- Adrino Fic Request

This is one of my finished commissions for the amazing charity even @mlbforblm with a 4k fic commissioned under the request for ‘Adrien/Nino hurt comfort’. If you would like to comission something from me as well before this event concludes please go here to check out my slots! Please donate to this great cause and get a fic from yours truly.~~

----

The cool metal of the railing grounded him to the space, reminding him of where he was as he struggled to remain present. Nino took a deep breath, the frigid air making him shiver slightly. The balcony on which he hid was abandoned for the most part, one couple huddled together many yards away as they finished discussing something private. Neither of these people took any notice of him, the woman’s presumably lovely but insufficient dress for the cold forcing the pair to hurry back inside. They had likely been hoping for privacy, but it seemed only Nino’s turmoil was sufficient enough cause to stay in the bitter cold, ruminating.

He attempted to straighten his spine, standing tall as his hands pulled weakly at his tie, trying to let him breathe. He shuddered again as a cold breeze bit through his suit jacket, reminding him of its expensive weight paired with expensive shoes paired with expensive bullshit on this lifeless marble balcony-

He closed his eyes, forcing that spiraling thought down and trying to relax, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling at the tie.

It had been unbalanced for almost the entire event, Nino noticing too late that it was askew and silently panicking over how long it had been that way. It was a small infraction but… depending on who you asked,

So was he.

His urgent hands stilled as they gave up on the mess they had made, falling forward to grip the ice cold railing again.

 This was his first big event.

He had expected it to be taxing, he’d been bracing himself for it all month but he knew how much it meant to Adrien to do this together. Adrien himself had sworn off big galas and publicity junkets like this almost entirely after he turned 18, but every once in a while he’d put in an appearance at some big soiree and do his thing, if only for Gabriel.

This was the first event Adrien had planned to attend since the two of them had made their relationship public to the press. He had been so excited to attend it as a couple.

Now Nino had essentially abandoned him to the wave of rich folks with their petty shallow conversations and was on the verge of some kind of panic alone behind the first unlocked door he had found.

It had hit him out of nowhere… he hadn’t expected to be comfortable, fancy events were never really his thing and he had always felt out of place in formal spaces. However the more nervous he became the more he felt he was messing up every interaction he had. Despite Adrien’s best efforts they were routinely separated, and every time they were apart Nino would flounder along the edges of the party, hoping no one would talk to him. He was a pretty sociable guy but there were just so many people he didn’t know how to talk to. And in the end he had nothing to say.

When someone who probably had a mutli-million dollar net worth pointed out his tie was messed up it had really seemed like she was just being nice, wanting to let him know to save him the embarrassment, but it had just been the final straw. Now he was totally unpresentable, having made the problem worse as he routinely did.

 Nino slumped against the railing, letting his face fall in his hands as he tried his best to get a grip… the cold, emotionless marble all around him left him in peace, even if the sudden swell of party noise did not.

The glass door clicking shut sent a spike of nerves up his back and he quickly reached for his tie, resolved to just rip if off when he heard a chilling, familiar voice.

“I hope you realize that’s one of kind. If you just throw it over the edge, I won’t be replacing it.”

 Nino paused, taking a long, calculated breath. He couldn’t help the wash of anger that crept up on him in this vulnerable moment, but he used the freezing air around him to push it down, turning to regard the man who had found him.

 Gabriel Agreste did not seem to notice the cold, standing as firmly and distantly as Nino had always known him to be. He was wearing unusually dark colors, his tux looking more appropriate for mourning then it did for a large charity event, but perhaps that was just apart of his newest theme. The suits he had tailored made for himself and Adrien were similar, though thankfully not identical. He approached slowly, drinking methodically from a tall glass.

Nino took a moment to decide how he wanted to handle this, before deciding after a time to just slouch against the railing, allowing his irritation to show on his face.

“What do you need,” Nino muttered, unwilling to engage in the careful politeness they usually maintained. He couldn’t honestly say he had had a deliberately unpleasant experience with Gabriel in some time now, but at this moment… he just didn’t have the energy.

Gabriel didn’t answer, his professional eye glancing over him and sending another wash of anger through him, analyzing him like every other fucking person he had met tonight. It was a shock however when Gabriel stepped forward, coming towards him without another comment just yet, like he didn’t feel the need for one.

Nino tensed in confusion and discomfort as Gabriel set his glass down and abruptly reached for the mess he had made of his tie, ignoring the way Nino backed up against the railing to make as much distance as he could. All Nino managed at first was an uncomfortable huff, but Gabriel hadn’t asked permission and he didn’t ask for any to continue. The cold, emotionless man just started fixing it, ignoring Nino’s rampant confusion.

They were dead silent as Gabriel fixed his tie, the older man just resolving the issue without comment or explanation. By the time he was done the tie was affixed perfectly in its place, but it was clear the young man wearing it was extremely uncomfortable still.

They waited, Gabriel taking a step away and looking out over the railing, the distant view of Paris at night their only commentary for a while.

It was still. And it was cold.

And it was quiet.

 Nino didn’t move for a while, eventually shifting uncomfortably until he was looking out over the vista as well, a good five or six feet between them now.

Nino’s mind was racing over what to do, before a subtle shift interrupted his panicked thinking. He looked over just as Gabriel turned slightly to regard him.

“My son is looking for you.”

“Hm,” Nino replied, looking away. He fidgeted slightly, and said nothing else.

“He’s making a bit of a scene, people are starting to notice.”

Nino couldn’t contain his irritation at that, shooting Gabriel a dark look as he said, “Am I expected to apologize for that?”

“I would have thought you might,” Gabriel said coldly, looking away from him and out over the city. He paused for a beat before his tone shifted. “You accuse me of managing his image,” his voice fell into a near accusation, “You seem far more concerned with it than I am.”

“What does that mean,” Nino hissed at him, finally straightening and facing him fully, but Gabriel seemed unperturbed. He just continued to admire the view.

“It means if you weren’t so obsessed with how your presence affected his reputation you wouldn’t have ran away.” Gabriel turned slowly, fixing him in place with one cold, ice blue eye. “Hypocritical of you, seeing as my son largely holds it against me for asserting that same thing once.”

Nino didn’t manage to retort right away, a hot, angry feeling restricting his chest as he stared him down. He knew his hands were shaking, but as he grappled with the pit of anxiety that clawed through years’ worth of protective anger, he couldn’t know for sure why.

“Don’t act like you know me, you don’t know shit about me.”

“I know about people. It’s my business,” Gabriel stated firmly, looking off into the distance again as if Nino was barely there. “I’ve built a lot around understanding fundamental weaknesses in character. And if you think a man whose built his company around insecurities can’t identify one at a glance then you’re a fool.”

“So you’re a cold blooded monster. I get the picture.”

Nino half expected an evil chuckle or something else cliché from him at this point, but he was surprised to see the man pause and reach for his glass. When he finally spoke… his tone was cold, and bitter.

“I would have thought my son had already told you as much.”

Silence lapsed suddenly, Gabriel’s passive sentiment hanging between them as Nino tried to unpack what that meant. However, there was too much there, the older man continuing to drink silently.

Nino didn’t have anything to say, unsure of what to make of the cards Gabriel was playing. Was he aiming for pity? Like Nino should somehow feel bad about the relationship he had with his son? That didn’t seem right…

One hand drifted to his fixed tie, wondering what any of this was for.

“Do you have a point here Gabe? Or are you just adding vague upsetting dialogue to my breakdown tonight?” Nino pushed the words out firmly, knowing he had to stand his ground with this guy. His casual nickname annoyed him about as much as he had hoped, Gabriel suddenly looking stiff, but not addressing it.

“My point,” he finally spoke, “is that you’re as transparent as you can be. You’re insecure, you’re out of place. You don’t belong here and it makes you seem weak, anyone in that room can tell that much just from looking at you.” Gabriel turned, his expression completely unreadable. “You don’t think you deserve to be here with him.”

Nino didn’t flinch, clenching his fists tighter as he swallowed down all the dark, twisted crap he was feeling. He refused to waver, even if he was sinking he wasn’t going to let that show.

“Well isn’t that just everything you ever wanted,” Nino spat at him harshly, “isn’t it nice to know you were right.”

To his surprise, Gabriel was quiet.

Nino stood there, steadfast. Even if he didn’t know what to do with all the shit in his head, this was a threat he knew how to handle. But despite what he expected, Gabriel didn’t fire back. He waited, and finished his drink, setting it down with a quiet clink of glass against marble.

Gabriel straightened, standing as tall and as unbeatable as he always had. And yet he didn’t look him in the eye.

“I realized too late that what I think doesn’t matter.”

When he finally met Nino’s gaze, what he saw was a young man who was completely unprepared for what he was hearing. He still saw all those insecurities, woven into him and impacting every single thing he said and did. He had spotted them the first time they had met, seen them below the surface every day since. Nino didn’t even attempt to deny it, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Gabriel understood what he thought didn’t matter anymore.

“You’re a hypocrite, and a fool,” Gabriel finally surmised plainly, “You openly accept the same things my son held against me.  What I think of you doesn’t matter, what my son thinks of you does. Is that not what he always insisted?”

Nino waited… his steadfast posture loosening in his uncertainty, because- this wasn’t going… how he thought it would.

“… I didn’t think you really understood that.”

“It appears I wasn’t the only one.”

 Nino was dumbstruck, completely disarmed in less than a sentence. The frigid air between them kept them separated, like winter in Paris somehow understood there would always be this immeasurable gap between these two people. Somehow though they occupied the same space, revealing them both for a moment. And he didn’t understand what he saw.

A man who had lost a lot because of his own actions. Naively, perhaps, he had always assumed Gabriel was oblivious to that.

Gabriel Agreste began to step away, pacing around him and abandoning his glass to chill out on the marble railing alone. He was shoulder to shoulder with him when Nino finally spoke, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to stop.

“Wait- wait. Gabriel wh-,” he hesitated, conflicted about this but knowing he was exposed no matter what he did. He saw right through him.

Nino looked away from him and said, “What if you were right? What if… what if I’m not good enough?”

Gabriel paused, turning his face slightly to regard something, before looking back towards Nino. “I believe my son would have a lot to say on the subject.”

Nino frowned, confused for only a moment before Gabriel excused himself without ceremony or further comment. He stepped away and left him there, and it was only when Nino turned to follow his movement that he saw the illuminated doorway occupied by a still, silent silhouette.

Nino felt his heart falter before it sank deep into the pit of his stomach, the freezing cold of the night occurring to him for the first time in a while. It was inescapable now, chilling him to the bone as he watched Gabriel cross the space, passing by his son without feeling the need to address him. He just left them to survive one another, vanishing into the light and the sounds of the long-neglected venue.

It was quiet, the thrum of the party the only commentary. It faded and dulled as Adrien slowly closed the door, letting it shut without a sound and sealing them away in the private space.

Nino’s hands were shaking, and he knew perfectly why now; there was no anger left to compete for his confusion. He breath became uneven as Adrien stepped forward, coming towards him slowly but falling short with a sizable distance left between them.

The expression on his face was completely unreadable, set firmly in place as he stood there and said nothing. All Nino could hear now was his heart, and his breathing, the tempos erratic and out of sync.

“A-Adrien,” he finally managed, his hands anxiously fumbling with his cuffs. He let out a nervous laugh, unable to look away from his face. “L-look I don’t really know how much of that you heard, but I-,”

“I’ve been looking for you for half an hour,” Adrien spoke flatly, something just below the surface of his tone. “I called you a million times.”

Nino’s hand twitched towards his pocket, another uneasy laugh slipping out. “It must have died…,” he lied.

There was silence, for a while.

“I- I was-… Nino,” Adrien let his name out in a rush, like a gasp almost, and his unreadable expression cracked just a bit into endless guilt, “I came out here so ready to apologize and take you out of here, I was ready to say sorry for dragging you here and making such a big deal out of this even though I knew it made you uncomfortable. I knew you were having a horrible time I knew you hated it but I didn’t- I-,” he stopped again. Adrien looked away, staring down at the cold marble like he needed the distance, and to Nino’s horror he saw his shoulders shake as his hands balled into fists. “I thought you hated fancy parties, I thought you hated formal events. I thought you hated the people and the posturing and everything else I didn’t think-,” he stilled, and looked up. And the look on his face broke his heart.

“Nino is any of what you just said true? Please…,” and his voice cracked, “Please tell me you don’t really believe anything you just said…”

 The space between them felt like miles to him, Nino pouring over the details of Adrien’s face before he couldn’t stand it and he just looked away. His hands curled together without his permission and he didn’t know what to say… he didn’t even know if it was true.

Gabriel had put it in his head but they both knew he was right, everything Nino thought throughout the whole wretched night came back to this one idea. That everyone in the room knew who Adrien was, everyone wanted the gossip on his newest announcement. Everyone wanted to see who was so important that Adrien Agreste had stepped away from the spotlight.

Everyone wanted to see if he was worth it.

And he didn’t know the answer…

 His hands shook only once more, the cold only touching him for another, long, weighted moment. When suddenly he felt something warm and urgent and nearly angry push against his chest, forcing him three steps back.

He was backed up against the railing in a second as Adrien reached for his face, tilting his face and kissing him suddenly, so urgent and quick that it was only Adrien’s strength that kept them both from slipping. Nino let out a gasp of surprise but Adrien took it from him, him mind going blank as he kissed him again, only some corner of his mind registering the distant smash of glass as Gabriel’s abandoned drink tumbled away from them both a long ways down. He fell with it, in a way, only Adrien enough to keep him from breaking into pieces.

He fumbled for something to hold, loosely gripping at Adrien’s jacket as the contact went on, his fingers limp after a while, his thoughts unfocused.

He had no idea how long it went on for, but by the time they were done they were both panting unevenly. Adrien did not leave his space, planting his hands on either side of him on the railing to steady himself. Nino held on to him for much the same reason, his chin tucked into Adrien’s shoulder as they caught their breath.

“I-,” Adrien spoke unevenly, his voice heavy, “I have something… to say.”

“Are you going to say it like that? You can, if you want to,” Nino answered, his chuckle breathy as he struggled to ground himself.

“This is important,” was his only response to his joke, the man moving so that he could force him to look up, the two of them standing face to face.

Nino looked at him again, so close up now that he could see so much behind what he had interpreted as unreadable. It was angry, and guilty, and heartbroken; it was loving, and soft, and urgent, and desperate.

“I have something to say, and I want you to understand it. I- I need you to get this. And if you don’t, I’ll say it again.” His eyes drifted all over his face, holding himself in that intimate space.

“You’re the most important thing that has ever happened to me. The most… critical, and precious thing I have ever had. What you say, and what you think means everything to me, and that’s all. That’s it, I can survive everything else, I can put everything else aside Nino.” He looked him in the eyes, searching his face like he was desperate to be clear. “You are the only unquestionable thing to me, having you with me and knowing that I can be apart of your life is all that counts. I don’t care what they think!” he nearly shouted it, gesturing behind them to things Nino couldn’t even see anymore, only focused on his face. “I don’t care what he thinks, I care what you think, and what you believe. And if you can honestly try and tell me that you- you shouldn’t… that you can’t be- be seen with me I-…” he faltered, his head tilting down and shaking slightly like he didn’t understand. Nino tried to speak but Adrien continued, taking a deep breath and trying to steel himself. “I don’t get it, I don’t understand it. I can’t see it at all and that makes it so hard to come at because I just don’t see where you’re coming from. Please Nino,” he straightened up, looking at him again, “please explain it to me so I can understand. Tell me how it makes sense because I don’t understand. What did you mean when you said ‘What if I’m not good enough,’ what did that mean? Was that him? Was that him trying to get in your head?”

“No, no no no, I-,” Nino faltered, looking down so he could breath. Adrien’s hands were cold from the marble when he reached up to cup his face. When he tried to tilt his face up Nino resisted, moving a hand to hold on to his and leaning into it. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry-,”

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me so I can understand.”

“I don’t know!” Nino finally forced out, shutting his eyes and gripping his hand tighter. For a moment Adrien thought he was going to tear it away, but he just clung to him. “I don’t know, I’m just being stupid, I don’t know how I meant it. But every headlines saying it, every fucking tabloid post all the gossip Adrien its not like you couldn’t hear it,” he moved his other hand to pull a wad of Adrien’s jacket into a fist, hanging on. “I kept pretending like it wasn’t getting to me what was I supposed to say?” he continued wretchedly, finally looking up at his boyfriend and aware of the pain on his face. “How was I supposed to tell you that I didn’t get it either. That every crapshoot paparazzi asking who was so important and I just- I didn’t know. I just felt lucky that you loved me but I didn’t know the answer to all that shit, whose so important, I don’t know either. I don’t get it, I don’t get any of this! I don’t know where to stand or who to talk to or how to look,” he whispered, gesturing to his tie again though it hardly mattered anymore. As the words fell out of him he lost steam and urgency, leaning down until his forehead was against Adrien’s shoulder. His boyfriend responded immediately, holding him tightly.

“I’m sorry…,” Nino finally apologized anyways, keeping his eyes shut and trying to focus on only them. “I should have just told you I was way too far out of my comfort zone… I knew how much this meant to you and I blew it… I wanted people to see us together. But then everyone did and they were asking who I was, and I’m not any-,”

“Don’t,” Adrien cut him off, saying it so suddenly and firmly that Nino immediately fell quiet, pulling back to look up at him. “Don’t say that.”

When he pulled back to stand face to face with him again he saw all of the same things he had seen in him before, but among those feelings now he saw disbelief.

“Don’t talk to me like you’re no one, I can’t stand it Nino… I can’t. You just have no idea…,”

Nino hesitated, wanting to look away again, but not resisting when Adrien reached up to stop him. “No idea about what…,”

“No idea about you,” he answered, and the way he said it, the way he looked at him…

 It was like he was everything.

 When Adrien kissed him again Nino was instantly breathless, clinging to him as Adrien pushed him back. It was like he was trying to speak, taking Nino’s advice and trying to tell him everything he needed to say in a kiss.

His thumb slid over his cheek and Adrien kissed him again, and again, trying as many times as he could to get it all across. How do you tell someone that they’re everything to you? How do you tell someone who doubts and wavers that there are some things that are just fact… indisputable, undeniable facts?

I love you.

I know.

I love you.

I know…

  I love you… I love you.

I know... I know... I love you too.

[reinepadova]

To Be Seen

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“The person who removes a mountain, begins by carrying away small stones.”

Sweet, bright, and floral – words that encapsulate the enticing smell wafting up from a beautifully carved tea tray, with the decanted water flowing down into its grooves to a catch basin underneath. Two pinming tea cups, already warmed and rinsed – painted in a beautiful array of geometric patterns – are a matched set with the tea pitcher currently pouring the first infusion.

“Your tea, Miss.” A large gloved hand – dark and unassuming, except for the dull shimmer of a large jade ring at its thumb, and a shining topaz gem cut in a sharp diamond at the wrist – pushed the filled drink with practiced ease near a seated figure, whose garbs of soft greens, subtle blues, and hints of black, signify a distant relation to the deceased.

“Thank you,” the figure said, her hand reaching for a cup, her head tilted to the unadorned wall. Though her arms seem relaxed, her shoulders were stiff, while her legs were tucked sideways, like a force of habit. She made a fine picture of poise and sophistication from afar, but perfectly humble in her mourning up close.

The host hummed graciously, savoring his first sip, noting the elegance in her figure despite the rather defensive posture. Hmm. If she remains unmoving, pain shall spread on her lower back.

“This drink is made from an evergreen shrub, which grows abundant at Jueyun Karst,” he began, calm dignity resonating in his voice. “It is said to be a place where the adepti enjoy their seclusion, hence the people's reluctance to disturb it's grounds. As such, these leaves are very rare. Only skilled herb gatherers that inherited the wisdom – and the courage – to traverse these lands are able to obtain them.”

“I see,” she replied, an empty cup waiting for a second infusion. He obliged and continued.

“Notice it's yellow hue? It is an accidental discovery. The color of dried tea leaves is normally green, with a taste that range from bittersweet to nutty, or from floral to oceanic. Some, on the other hand, would go so far as to liken it to simple vegetation. 'Grassy', they would say. Hmm. Tea may not be their beverage of choice.”

“Fascinating,” his guest replied, even tone barely hiding polite disinterest. He quirked a slight brow but remained undeterred - he's had encounters with people more ornery in years past.

As curious as her passively hostile behavior towards him has been for the past few days, he shall not stoop low to the level of the ignorant – like those at the marketplace, who circulate hearsays that leave much to be desired. He's only grateful young Mei is spared, for he may start questioning the integrity of his people.

He turned auric eyes down to his cup, watching the idle swirl of the liquid within.

He may only know just the surface of her troubles – like the vague taste of anguish from the void of her dreams – but he's determined to release the pressure through the cracks of her facade, like flushing steam from a smoking mount.

He knows beneath a calm mountain, lies a dissonance that could erupt, painfully and forcefully, at any given moment.

“But years ago, it is said a farmer had forgotten to dry out a batch of these leaves. And a cloth, flung free from a drying line, landed from above, sealing the warm moisture on them shut for a full summer's day. To the farmer's delight, the taste of the finished tea turned light and mellow, and the so-called grassy flavor gone without consequence. This procedure  is now known as 'sealing yellow', the widely accepted finish for the tea we enjoy now.”

“How interesting.”

“Quite so.”

Hmm. Mayhaps the origins of tea may not be of interest?

Silence reigned heavily on the two tea companions, like too much burnt incense hanging in the air. A low cough from one tried to break through the discomfort, while the other remained resolutely silent.

“Would you prefer a different drink? We have other varieties that may be more palatable for your taste.”

The lady seem to snap out of thought, shaking her head insistently while eyeing the gloved hand that moved to remove her cup. “No. That's unnecessary. This will do. Thank you for your service,” she dismissed, gently but concisely, with an unconscious hand rubbing at her eyes.

“Is there nothing else I may assist in?” he asked, subdued, concern coloring his words. His uncharacteristically tilted head missed entirely by the lady's distraction.

“No,” came the tired reply, an undertone of exasperation escaping in the same breath.

“...nothing at all?”

She seem to take a deep breath, holding it for a minute, before letting it out in one, even sigh.

Not far from the one-sided conversation, peeking at the side of a privacy screen, the seventy-seventh director of Wangsheng looked on, a feline smile stretched across her face. She watched, with growing giddiness, at the most hilarious drama she'd ever witness in her waking years yet!

“Hu Tao-zhǔrèn? Should we not intervene?” Ferrylady whispered, glancing worriedly at the guest lounge herself. She wanted to help dispel such a morose atmosphere, as ironic as that is, for it is her duty for an honored guest, as well as to their noble consultant.

“Shhh~ Not now, Ferrylady. This is getting good.”

“But, madam, this has been going on for three days. Progress is no where to be found.”

“Exactly. This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to this place!”

"Madam. 'Exciting' is counterproductive to what we strive for in this business."

Ferrylady knew her young boss would have squealed if not for their absolute need for discretion.

No good thing comes from eavesdropping such a private exchange after all.

Hu Tao just hushed her again, silently crawling forward to get a better view. The shadow of the large vase their dear consultant insisted they buy the other day made for a good hiding spot. Something about its story being a distraction for the distraught passed through her mind.

“Miss Ferrylady?  H-Hu-zhǔrèn? Why are you crouching down there?”

The two snapped their attention to their new employee, who wore a very bemused expression while pulling at the collar of his stiff uniform.

“Shh! Meng, do you want the troubled souls in the parlor to catch your feet? Drop down behind us now and complete the formation. This is your first assignment~” Hu Tao murmured seriously, an unreadable twinkle reflecting in her eyes. Meng would have gasped out loud if he hadn't slapped his hands over his mouth.

He swiftly did as he was told, back brushing against the wall in the cramped space, before he swiveled worried eyes all around them. Ferrylady just sighed, familiar with their director's ways of keeping someone quiet.

“Now keep quiet for the next half hour you two. Act Two is about to begin~”

-{-}-

Stella mildly wondered if it would be child neglect to jump from the pier right outside the parlor, leaving Mei all alone. It's the only thing she could think of right now to prevent herself from strangling this, this – ugh! This persistent man!

She knows there is a custom of not speaking with customers, out of respect for old tradition – but this one seem to have missed the memo.

Before the day Mei's grandmother passed, the old woman had enough breath to tell her where she wished to have her wake, what she and Mei should wear, what their manners should be during mourning period, and other matters relating to Mei's future.

But despite her meticulous notetaking – her brushstrokes needed lots of work, she knows – Stella still felt unprepared for the kind of reception she received at the infamous Wangsheng ever since their return back at the Harbor.

After tucking in a sleepy Mei in her room, Stella went straight to the parlor, placing three of the Glaze Lilies in the simple pots she requested in advance, nestling them in between wreaths of white flowers surrounding the covered body.

When she finished burning the joss paper for a final offering, she jumped at the male voice directly from behind her. Whirling around, her heart skipped a beat, brows falling low at his short salutation.

The gentleman before her wore a suit that was subtle in opulence, and elegant in form – a large contrast to the uniform worn by the undertakers that assisted her and Mei before taking off to Qingce Village. She noted the thick rings that contrasted against his gloves – rings worn on the thumb, symbolizing the authority the wearer wields, as well as the arrogance boasting of wealth. Her brow had twitched.

“Good evening. May I ask why is the boss of Wangsheng seeing me?” she inquired, arms crossed. Its the only explanation for someone of importance to act like a host in the dark hall.

Despite the hammering beat in her chest, and the lost of color from her face, she stood tall with a firm stance – bracing herself in case this man mocks her for her ignorance. But when no sound of condescension came, she felt unsettled, and focused on his shining tie instead.

It's an unfortunate habit she has around these types she has yet to break, but a good enough technique to show they still have her attention. They usually have some sort of trinket on them – a silken pocket square, an heirloom brooch, or a collar clip – so its not difficult to direct her eye near their neck. 

She could have glanced up to a point near their ear, to give the illusion of eye contact - but she didn’t want to remember their face, she has no interest to know of it, to know of them. She has no plans of interacting with this person ever, if she could manage it.

But she was brought out of her thoughts by a sudden chuckle, a smooth and sonorous sound, like rumbling thunder in the distance. It was not taunting or haughty, like she had expected. It sounds like a relief of tension – like heavy rainfall after a long dry spell. Stella took a step back, surprised at her passing thought that it sounded attractive. “I am not the boss of this hallowed hall, much to the confusion of most. You are not the only one who assume so. I am merely one of its consultants. Wangsheng caters to all needs, no matter the status, affiliation, or ethnicity. Hence its forthright pursuit for various advisors in order to fulfill any request – for the benefit of the living, and those that have passed.

I myself do my best to be of assistance to any of our customers, when present.”

“That's, uh, nice?” Stella stuttered, utterly speechless. Not because the explanation lacked clarity – it’s actually worded very eloquently – but because this man, this consultant, was still talking to her, despite the lack of eye contact – a discourtesy these types would easily recognize. It was practically beaten into her head that it was a shameful habit, growing up – that no man would want to be her husband if she does not get over it.

Which motivated her more to never want marriage.

She could feel his eyes roving over her face, the path of their focus mostly resting on her cheeks –surprisingly, never straying down. “Indeed. And if I may say so, you seem to need a boost of energy. Or perhaps a good rest. We offer drinks that could assist you with either. If you allow it, I will prepare it to your liking.”

She tucked her head down, not knowing what to say. Not because she felt flattered or embarrassed by the attention of such an attractive-sounding individual.

But... the thing is –

She hates men.

She really, really hates men.

Growing up in a household that treated her more like a prize than a living being, she had no real choice on how to live her life. Powerful men of elevated backgrounds would strut before her, fluttering their clothes made from rare threads to show off their affluence, leering in greed and unwanted desire at her place behind a special dais – layers of gauzy silks the only physical protection she has from their disgusting gazes. But they were never thick enough for her to block out the absolutely dark intentions in their eyes, nor the reverberating hunger in their sleazy words. It made her skin crawl badly every time – feeling phantom insect's feet trail up and down her arms, creeping sludge up her throat, until it claw up to the sensitive skin of her scalp. No matter how much she bathes in scorching hot water after every encounter, skin scrubbed raw and red, she never manages to erase the feeling right away. Only in sleep could she hope to find peace.

If she even could.

They tell her that her feelings were irrelevant. Her treatment – expected. After all, everyone is led to believe she inherited attributes that show she has the blood of those that dwell in the heavens – in the upper universe that human beings could only dream to reach. And thus her body is seen as a sacred vessel, a carrier for future generations to come – perfect beings that would never suffer from mortal wounds, or mortal illnesses. The mother that shall birth the perfect world. You are one being that can propagate, and produce the most flawless humans the world has ever seen. Humans that would become the paragon for everyone else to aspire to! –

Stella scoffed mutely, unfolding her arms, before stepping back into place. That was what her foolish cousin had thought. Had believed. Had obsessed.

He was a brilliant scholar. A specialist of the unknown. And a zealous believer of their family's history and sacred roots. His fixation with perfection is a flaw in and of itself. A selfish desire that eventually led to everyone's death – especially one she held most dear – Selene. Her sister by name, if not by direct blood. The only relative that actually cared for her, that loved her, that protected her when no one else would.

Selene was the one that taught her how to sing – how to hone the beauty in her voice. She taught her how to fight – with a weapon used by an ancestor who fought her fate until the last of her breath. 

Selene taught a many great things, especially other skills that would have otherwise been useless if she was still in her own world – a world that pampered her like a sacred idol, with wings clipped short in a gilded cage.

The very memory of Selene dying in her arms serve as a reminder to never be selfish. To be mindful. To remember that even just one person's open hand is enough to live life for.

But, right now, with her muscles straining from holding her stiff position for so long, she is very much in a mindset to defy her own oath.

She really hates men.

But... she's trying not to. She has to not to – for Meilin's sake:

Most of the fishmongers at the harbor are men – Mei loves seafood.

Most of the chefs are men – Mei loves well-cooked food.

All of the guards are men – Mei trusts them to protect their house and harbor.

If not for Mei, Stella would have gone to live as a hermit by now, fishing or hunting for her own meals, cultivate her own harvests, or protect herself from foolish thieves.

For Mei, she will persevere. For Mei, she will try.

But –

She really hates men.

Specifically, this type of man.

Those greedy monsters cloaked in beauty and money. That speak well of culture and knowledge – both useless, and worthless. For it is a mere show of having been educated on knowledge the masses could not afford to have.

Her heart had not skipped a beat because she finds him attractive   – she still doesn’t know what he looks like. But from his clothes, his manners, his flowery words, she could only conclude one thing: this is the type of husband her family had wanted. The traditional type that wanted a traditional wife.

Out of all the typical traits that kind of wife should have: bearing many children, many perfect children, was the main goal. All the while she must always be silent, until spoken to. Be obedient without question. And wise enough to know her place  – while being the perfect trophy her husband could boast about.

Stella took deep, silent breaths, controlling her thoughts from making her jump to conclusions.

She had to tread carefully with any man in this world. The people at the market were nice enough so far. Respectful of deals, and follows through with their word. 

But, she's not blind to the staring – both the subtle, and the obvious. 

Her face, unfortunately, is one of the attributes she inherited from their family's progenitor, their beloved ancestor, and it's been described as appealing at worse, and magnificent at best. 

But she pays these no mind. Complements are empty words after all. Especially when they find out she can no longer produce children. That's alright. She has long accepted that any who show interest in her, will soon disregard it after they learn of her disability. Traditional men especially, will throw her away.

That's why – although she has her oath for Selene, and a promise for Gran-gran and Mei – she herself could never give an eternal vow to anyone. Not anymore.

Not after what she's done to herself.

But despite her cold aloofness day after day, night after night, this man remained persistent. Kept pestering to cater to her needs, when she made it perfectly clear the Ferrylady was doing a great job of taking care of her already. That he should focus on more important clientele than her.

Unfortunately, it's the sixth day now of Gran-gran's funeral, and she's still being served personally by the stubborn consultant with the alluring voice, who wouldn't stop inquiring if she was able to get a good night's sleep after clearly seeing she isn't. She knows the bags under her eyes are getting darker, and the whites of her eyes turning red with dryness.

It's times like this she misses those blissful sleep of white nothingness – the long morning nap, and the night she and Mei had to camp out before arriving at the harbor. The only explanation for them was the presence of that little guardian that wrapped around her snuggly like a giant tree in its branches – one made out of scales, and gems, and warmth. 

Ah. But it isn't a tree, is it? It was a dragon – or so Mei said. A legendary creature that is normally large and serpentine in form and built – either something that brings about disorder and chaos, or something that protects with might and force.

“Good thing Mr. Guardian is the protector type!” Mei had added brightly, even though Stella knew the little girl was extremely disheartened to see it disappear in the distance after escorting them to the edge of Liyue Harbor, fluffy tail flickering in a silent wave.

She will admit to miss its strange, yet comforting presence. The soothing calm she can feel as she stares at its amber eyes – whether out of vexation or gratitude. It would wrap around her like a thick blanket, enveloping her in a warmth she could feel in her bones, and in her heart.

Ah, well. Maybe she'll look to tame one of the strays around the area. See which ones are easy to domesticate. Maybe, one of them would have eyes as gold as Mr. Guardian. Maybe then she'll be able to cuddle up to something and get some much needed sleep.

-{-}-

As the lady continued to fantasize of respite, a lost look entering her eyes, Morax thought now is the right time for a change. Where diplomacy fails, action may succeed.

When her hand moved to subtly rest at her waist, trying to reach her back, and a pained look briefly passed over her expression, he acted – for the first time – without a second thought.

“You have not slept well after I left, have you?”

Morax murmured low, well aware of their audience in the background, but reached out to her nonetheless, touching the tip of her nose, hoping his action would trigger a memory, their memory, together.

He patiently waited for her indignant squeals and sputters to subside, staring steadily at her face until her angry gaze focused back on his.

She turned silent immediately, a great confusion painted her features. Her hand hovered close to his face – no doubt to slap him for his boldness.

The quiet this time was not uncomfortable – it felt very nostalgic, like the thrum of water drops on stone, or the hum of rocks being mined from the earth.

The kind of silence that defined their first meeting, letting her tug him free from her pack, and staring at him with open bewilderment – with awe-filled curiosity set deep in her exquisite eyes.

“...Mr. Guardian?” she uttered, like a secret, both hopeful and afraid. She withdrew her hand to cover her mouth, while her body sagged heavily on her chair. 

Sitting still was never a problem, but the want to comfort made his hand ache. He could only smile for now, to acknowledge the charming moniker, and to prevent from startling her further.

Blinking once, she took in his face. Blinking twice, she fisted her hand. 

She suddenly covered her eyes, rubbing them incessantly, as if his image burned her physically and she's trying to find relief. He gave in and reached out, holding them still – something he could not do before lest he hurt her with his claws.

When she focused back on him, eyes turning anxious, Morax slowly lifted a third infused cup, carefully wrapped her fingers around it, before slowly letting go. He rested his arms at his sides and turned entirely to her – hoping his body language was open enough for her to let down her guard, just as she always was while he was Exuvia. He noticed her sitting up straight against her chair, eyes asking questions upon questions mutely in the air.

A dull thud from behind them went unnoticed.

“Please. Have a drink. Let it soothe your nerves. 

The sea breeze outside will do much good for your head. Let me escort you to where the water meets the wall. And there, we might be afforded better privacy for your questions,” Morax softly besieged. He cut his gaze to the screen behind them, letting his focus rest on it for some time. Nearly silent sets of feet scurried away after a moment.

“Okay,” the lady consented, breaking through his concentration. When Morax gazed back, she took a long, slow sip, seeming to finally savor the tea he served, making him sit a little straighter in his seat. Her eyes softened slowly, and watered as recognition set in, which in turn made him tug at the corner of his lips in relief.

-{-}-

A knock was heard, before the slide of the door reached Meng's ears. “Yahooo. How is she? Have you revived Ferrylady yet?” 

“Uhm, I'm afraid not, ma'am. Maybe this is a good thing? It's better if she has her rest for the night,” Meng whispered back, blowing the lantern light out as his co-worker rested heavily on her bed.

The director and undertaker silently went out, walking away from the sleeping quarters as both thought back on the circumstances of the Ferrylady's fainting. “Yeah. Might as well~ Zhongli-xiānsheng certainly put her in quite a shock. I almost saw her spirit escape from her! Too bad it happened before we got to see what our consultant did to make our guest putty in his hands. Looks like that hermit strikes again! At least this time the lady seems like his age – physically I mean – and totally not like his stuffy personality. I like her~” Hu Tao sang, thinking of giving the lady a small discount on the incense she'll need to use tomorrow.

“W-would it really be alright to leave them alone?” Meng asked, nervously pulling at his gloves.

“Hmm? Any concerns I should know about? Oh! Is she one of those pretending to play 'hard to get', but actually wants to snatch Zhongli-xiānsheng for herself~?” Hu Tao asked, fluttering her eyes exaggeratedly.

“No, Hu-zhǔrèn! You got it entirely wrong.”

“Oh?”

Meng furrowed his brow, organizing his thoughts. “From what I heard, as well as my own experience in assisting her, she tends to avoid men. All men. Except maybe the kids and the grandpas. I saw her hand quake once when I accidentally brushed hands with her trying to move her potted plants for her.”

“I didn't think you had it in you. You sly dog~”

“No no no,  Hu-zhǔrèn! You misunderstand again!” Meng waved his arms frantically in front on him. “I mean... yes! I'll admit she's very beautiful. A-and she seems considerate, and kind. But she's a little, uhh, too beautiful? Even I know I'm not a good match for her. But her skittish behavior makes me feel like, like scum – like the lowest of the low,” he said dejectedly, shoulders falling. “She makes me feel guilty for even breathing in her space.”

Hu Tao hummed, a finger on her lips, before her brows quirked up in surprise at Meng’s suddenly spirited stance. “A few of the guys at the wharf noticed too, and speculated something must have happened to her. It's really sad to think of the possibilities. But we all talked about it, and agreed to do our best to be gentle in our interactions with her. No touch. Keep a good distance. And watch our words. We don’t want her to feel like we’re boars on the prowl.”

“Wow. Well done, Meng,” whistled Hu Tao, smiling wide.

“E-erm. Thank you?” Meng scratched at his head, face turning red in embarrassment.

“That's the longest I've heard you speak. Ever! I'm so proud of you~ You're not such a pitiful scaredy cat aftercall,” Hu Tao hooted in glee.

“W-what? M-madam...” Meng groaned, head falling down on his chest in dismay.

Hu Tao giggled softly, and changed her carefree stance. She gently patted him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Just kidding~ You really have to lighten up.

But, I didn't lie. What you're doing is very honorable. And even if you're too common for someone like her, I'm sure in time she'll notice and appreciate what you all are doing.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? Ugh. I still don't understand the director. I have so much to learn.

“Besiiides. If you guys are honorable already as ordinary citizens, what more someone of  Zhongli-xiānsheng's caliber?”

Meng nodded, smiling brightly. “You're absolutely right, ma'am. I should not have doubted his intentions.”

“Maybe by now, he's escorting her home. So let's have faith in our reliable consultant!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

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A/N: Just to clarify, Hu Tao meant Zhongli is such a devastating lady-killer. He just doesn’t know it. And yes, more eye-flirting with these two. Sighs. He has such pretty eyes. Updated again on 04/15/2021 because I’m my own biggest critic.

Gong fu style of serving tea is so mesmerizing to watch. I can see Zhongli do it every time.

Fun fact: In ancient China, yellow tea was indeed considered very rare. And since yellow is the traditional imperial color, only emperors are able to enjoy it. Unless they deem a guest fit to be served the tea - which is considered a high honor.

Zhongli’s rerun banner is coming up sooner than I thought. I should have known Genshin would have a mid-anniversary thing too. Or something like it. I panicked, caved in, and bought the Blessing of the Welkin. His mats are not readyyyy aiyaah

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