#...anyways. am i forgiven yet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

syluses · 2 months ago

Text

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

#sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #love and deepspace smut #lads #lads smut #sylus x reader smut #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus qin #hybrid #syluses #‧₊ 🍰.┊𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 #i feel like i hate this #but at the same time…#hard to hate sylus knot idk

8K notes · View notes

lkblackham · 2 months ago

Text

You know

Every time I say I'm going to Do A Thing, I wind up somehow NOT Doing That Thing. It's like a curse.

Anyway, I told myself I would finish the next pages for No Time To Apologize and then I wrote a little short story about Atash and Emmrich reuniting after this exchange (thanks so much AGAIN to @draco-illius-noctis for the lovely letter, I will never get over it (clearly)) and then decided I'd add a li'l illustration.

Which then turned out to be not so li'l. But that's just how it goes sometimes. You find enjoyment in something and you stay up until 3 am working on it. And that's actually very okay.

Story is under the cut, and over here on AO3. It might be the most sickeningly, cloyingly, tooth-rotting sweet thing I've ever made. I have no regrets.

A Little Homecoming

Atash was waiting in front of the eluvian.

She had been waiting since she had woken up, about an hour ago. Maybe two hours. Two and half. Honestly, she'd stopped keeping track. Lucanis had tried to cajole her into coming back to the kitchen for her breakfast, but she would not be cajoled. Not by food, at least. She had been forced to make a few running trips to the privy and back. But bladders were not to be trifled with, and she would be mortified if she accidentally wet herself in front of her husband.

Because that's who she was waiting for: Emmrich. Her (technically not yet in the eyes of the law but still) husband. After a whole month, the Mourn Watch had finally decided they were done with him and Manfred, and they could return home. To her.

To them.

Atash ran her hands over her belly, a nervous habit she had been developing over the past few weeks. It was like she had to keep checking the kid was still in there. The midwife had told her she was about four and a half months along - she hadn’t even known she was pregnant until she was about three months in. As it was, the bump was just now becoming visible, but not in the most ‘obviously with child’ way. If she slouched, she just looked like she’d eaten too many pies. Not exactly “glowing”.

How would Emmrich react, she wondered? The last time he had seen her, he had literally just found out she was pregnant. They had been trapped in a tomb somewhere in the deeper levels of the Necropolis at the time, so stress had been high, but he had been ecstatic. And terrified. Maybe a little nauseated. Just as she had been. And then he had been forced to stay behind to help the Mourn Watch clean up the mess and she had been forced to return to the Lighthouse on her own, because damn it she was leader of the Veilguard and pregnant on top of that, so staying down in the Necropolis with Emmrich was completely out of the question.

Yeah, she still hadn't quite forgiven Vorgoth and Myrna for that. Or Brunhilde Ziegenfuss, the wayward necromancer who had been the whole reason they had been trapped in that tomb. The minute Atash gave birth and could walk properly again, that bitch was in for it.

But not now. Now, Atash was waiting. Now, today, finally, FINALLY, Emmrich and Manfred were coming home. He had said so in his last letter, which had been uncharacteristically sloppy and stuffed into a torn envelope - as if he had written and mailed it off in a great hurry, on his way out the door to the Crossroads.

"I will be there before the noon bell." That was what he had scrawled haphazardly on the paper. "I will not spend one more minute than I have to bereft of your company. I will not lose one more second with our child. I AM COMING HOME. And there is absolutely NOTHING anyone in the Mourn Watch can do about it. I'll gladly subject myself to a tribunal if I must. But I will not leave you again. I REFUSE."

Atash still had that letter, tucked into her sash. She had been taking it out and rereading it, to be certain she had it right and didn't just dream it up out of longing.

The surface of the mirror rippled. Atash's heart leapt into her throat.

An arm appeared, shining with layers of gold bangles. Then a shoulder, clad in a beautiful old green and red coat. Then, a face - the most lovely face she had ever seen, with sharp cheekbones and a regally hooked nose and deep, warm hazel eyes that glimmered in the eluvian light.

Emmrich stepped out onto the dais, followed closely by Manfred. He looked disheveled - which, for him, meant he hadn't bothered with his collar pin that morning and his hair had been hurriedly combed into a slightly messier version of his usual coiffure.

She hardly cared. He looked as he always did, which to Atash's eyes was absolutely fucking perfect.

He immediately caught sight of her, and before anything could be said, he practically leapt down the steps and caught her up in a tight hug, burying his face in her neck. Atash clutched him to her body, nose in his hair, nearly brought to tears by the overwhelming scent of him - sage and green moss and something floral she could never place - so sorely missed all these weeks apart.

A tiny, distant voice in her head pointed out how much like her terrible romance serials this all was. She threw it away without a second thought. *Fuck that*, she thought, *I earned this. WE earned this.*

“Darling.” Emmrich sighed against her skin. “Mein Schatz, Mein Liebling, dearest most beloved Atash. I will never leave you again. Not as long as I draw breath, or for whatever comes afterwards.”

“I'd tell you to never make promises like that,” she murmured into his hair, “but I think I might actually just hold you to that this time.”

As if to emphasize her point - or perhaps just to remind them of their presence - she felt a terrific kick from the baby, much bigger than any she had ever had thus far, enough to elicit a small, involuntary “oof!” from her.

Emmrich jolted back, startled. Atash laughed, somewhat breathless (the kid had kicked her right in the bladder again). “Looks like I'm not the only one who's excited to see you.”

He took a small step back, looking down at her stomach - at the small, round bump that hadn't been there when they'd last seen each other. His face filled with a tenderness, a worry and joy, that defied mere words. He tentatively laid his hand on the bump, as if afraid his touch might hurt the fragile little life growing inside her.

Atash gently took both his hands and placed them on her belly, laying her hands over his.

“They're small.” she said softly. “The midwife said she wasn’t sure how big the baby will get, but they probably won’t be the same size as a full-blooded Qunari.”

“That's alright,” Emmrich spoke barely above a trembling whisper, voice filled with awe. “They're healthy. You're healthy. That's… that's all that matters.”

The baby moved under his hand, as if responding to his voice. His breath caught in his throat. He leaned forward, chin trembling, marveling at the tiny little life he had helped create moving under his fingers.

Atash felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “The midwife also said the baby can hear us, a little bit. I've been trying to learn lullabies to sing at night, but… well.” she managed a rueful chuckle. “I think I'm scaring the poor kid more than anything.” She raised a hand to the crown of Emmrich's head, running her fingers through his hair. “It's good you're here now. You can take up lullaby duties.”

He laughed, voice cracking a little. “What makes you think I'll fare any better in that regard?”

“I've heard you humming around the Lighthouse. You've been holding out on me and I intend to rectify that, Messere Volkarin.”

Manfred’s head poked into view over Emmrich's hands, goggle lenses whirling around as they always did when he was excited. “Rook!” He hissed jovially. “Bay-bee?”

Atash laughed. “How could I forget about you? Here-” she took his large gloved hand and placed it right by Emmrich's on her stomach. “Can you feel anything?”

“No!” Manfred looked dismayed. Or as dismayed as a skeleton could look. “I can't! Is oh-kay?”

“Oh, dear Manfred.” Emmrich regained some of his composure, patting his ward’s hand. “The baby is alright. You simply can't feel them, being only bone.”

“Awww.” Manfred's eyes seemed to sag a little in their sockets.

“Awww.” Atash wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in for a bony hug. “I know you probably can't feel this either, but I'm just so glad you're here”

“I like hugs.” Manfred said into her shoulder, patting her back. “Feel good in here.” He lightly poked the spot between her shoulder blades, right over her heartbeat.

Atash's valiant efforts to contain her raging hormones finally failed, the tears escaping her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, fuck it.” She hugged him even more tightly, fully giving in to the weeping. “That’s adorable.”

“I know.” Manfred said modestly, patting her on the back again.

“Good. You should know that.” she sobbed. “Don't let anyone tell you different.”

“Oh, darling…,” Emmrich embraced her again, transferring her sobbing form from poor Manfred's now-soaked lapel to his shoulder. “You’ve had such a rough go of it, haven't you?”

“I-it’s okay.” She sniffed. “I'm fine, I just….” She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder. “I missed you. Both of you. So much.”

“And we missed you, dearest. Terribly. Every day. Every hour.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Taash’s voice pierced through their little bubble, bringing them both back to reality. “You're crying again? I thought you'd dried yourself out yesterday when you saw that dog that was too damn small.”

Their language was rough, but there was an obvious note of teasing in their voice.

“That dog WAS too damn small.” Atash sobbed into Emmrich's coat. “They fit in my hand. I could've squished them. THAT'S TOO DAMN SMALL, TAASH.”

“Oh dear,” Emmrich chuckled, rubbing sympathetic circles on her back.

“Emmrich.” Lucanis appeared at Taash's side, still wearing his heavily stained cook’s apron. “You came back just in time. I've been trying to get her to eat. She hasn't had anything since dinner last night.”

Emmrich's hand stilled on Atash's back.

“Rook,” he said, quietly, “is this true?”

She sighed, hiccuping a little as her weeping calmed down. “Emmrich, I can skip one meal-”

“Absolutely not.” Emmrich's voice had gone full Disapproving Professor. He drew back from Atash, hands on her shoulders, looking her square in the eye. “Atash, it was one thing when you were on your own, forgetting meals and barely sleeping-”

(Taash had the grace to look at least a little abashed when Atash threw them a withering glance over her shoulder. They had been sending cute little ‘updates’ to Emmrich that involved distinctly unflattering drawings of Atash napping in random spots around the Lighthouse.)

“- but you cannot do that now. Not anymore. I do realise,” he said, catching her about to argue, “that this is your body and I would never be so crass as to assume I had any right to tell you what to do with it. But….” He paused. Took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, it was with plaintive appeal. “I know what your mother taught you, about using your body to help others. But… as long as you carry our child, this is no longer just your body, dearest. How you care for yourself, is how you care for them.” he sighed. “I… I know you're healthy, and they're healthy. But… you skipped meals so often, in the past, and now…”

Atash was aware of the uncomfortable shifting behind her, as Taash and Lucanis found themselves bearing witness to a very personal conversation.

Guilt twisted in her gut. This was a man who remembered, all too vividly, how it felt to be poor and hungry. Not just hungry - starving. That was not something you ever forgot. There was no way, in this life or the next, that he would ever allow his wife or unborn child to be subjected to even a fraction of that suffering. Not if he could do anything about it.

Even if he might be going a little bit far with it right now. He had literally just come back from a month away - he could be forgiven for doing a little overcorrecting.

She bumped his forehead gently with hers.

“Okay, Emmrich. You're right.” she kissed the crook of his nose. “Let's go eat.”

He let out a breath, squeezing her shoulders. “Thank you, darling.”

Arm in arm, they followed Lucanis and Taash to the kitchen, Manfred bouncing along behind them.

76 notes · View notes

thelov3lybookworm · 8 months ago

Text

Am I Forgiven?

Summary: one chance is all he gets

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2650

Warnings: tinyy bit of angst, keir, rhysie poo being nosy. language ig? let me know if theres more i need to add here hehe 🫶🏻

A/n: based on this request by @nightless <3333 hope you like this pookie and please forgive me for taking over a year almost to post this 😭😭😭

(i feel like i kinda went off track but i tried to stick to the plot and my mind took the steering and was like. 'hmm this new route looks cool' im sorry lmaoo)

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n felt her eyebrows rise, glancing at the back of Keir’s head. She had thought the high lord would try to sweeten his offer, maybe start slow. But he apparently was in a no bullshit mood, and Y/n was not complaining. The quicker the ordeal was over, the quicker she could go back to her back and forth with the General.

Y/n was only here to help protect Keir, maybe even intimidate the high lord, though she knew that would only really happen in Keir’s dreams. That meant Y/n didn’t need to pay attention to whatever big words the two males threw at each other, and so she let her eyes wander.

Morrigan, Keir’s daughter, definitely got her looks from her father, but no one would point that out loud, not wanting to get into anyone's bad graces.

The shadowsinger was one of the most beautiful people Y/n had seen. Pity that he was so cold and closed off from everyone.

If he had been even a little less cold, Y/n would have had him in her bed long ago.

It was a good thing she didn’t really like pretty males.

She liked her males built, rough, and roguish.

Which, fortunately for her, her mate was exactly that.

Unfortunately for her, he was the Lord of Bloodshed, the General of the night court’s armies.

Cassian.

The thought brought a sly smirk on her face as she met the hazel eyes of the illyrian, who already looked ready to pounce over the table to get to her.

Y/n turned her attention back to the high lord before he could see the same urges in her eyes. She had mostly tuned everyone out, so when she heard the words muttered by Rhysand, shock jolted her entire body.

"So your darkbringers will fight when need be, and in exchange, you get to visit velaris. We’re settled then."

Y/n glanced at Keir, wide eyed, who simply offered a nod to the high lord before stalking out. Y/n had no choice but to follow, but she did shoot a last look at Cassian, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

She knew how hard it must’ve been to receive such news, considering he called the place home and considering how much the elite members of the high lords inner circle hated hewn city and its people, Y/n would not blame him if he lost his mind in the cavernous meeting chamber.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Keir had led Y/n and Bastian to a smaller room, ordering the two to get the darkbringer army ready and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, to increase their training time and try and test every single one of the soldiers to make sure they were giving their best. And after half an hour of unceasing droning about the upcoming war, he told them to leave, mumbling something about freedom and velaris under his breath as the two generals escaped the empty yet full room, hurrying to get away before Keir decided he needed to ramble more.

The moment they were far enough away, Bastian let loose a breath, stepping off to the side and leaning against the wall. Y/n followed, standing toe to toe with him as she focused her eyes on the rock formations next to his head.

"How soon do you think the war will be upon us?"

Y/n took a deep breath, meeting the onyx eyes that always seemed to know her a little too well. "I don’t know. But it will be soon, I’m sure."

He was quiet for a moment. "When are you going to tell him, Y/n?"

Y/n turned away from him, letting her eyes survey the nearby brothels and shops, full of drinking and revelling patrons.

"Y/n?"

She sighed. "I don’t know, Bas. I feel like he knows already, but then he leaves every time. Every visit, I wonder if he will stop running in circles and finally talk to me about it, but then all he does is flirt all night and then vanish when I start to feel like we might be getting somewhere. I don’t know what to think anymore."

Bas hummed, rubbing his brow. "Maybe just talk to him? Tell him to get his shit together. After all, you do love ordering the soldiers around. Maybe he needs to get a taste of that to stop being a child."

Y/n rolled her eyes then, shaking her head. "Good night, Bas."

He laughed, then clasped her shoulder as she began walking away, halting her in her tracks. "Jokes aside, I mean it, Y/n. you should talk to him."

Y/n blinked at him, then nodded uncertainly. And with a last squeeze, Bas walked away, humming his favourite off key tune.

Maybe he was right. She needed to talk to Cassian.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Cassian’s pov.

Cassian was not someone who squirmed. Sure, when he liked someone and wanted to impress them, he’d be jumping off the walls. But he had never felt uncomfortable under his brother’s gazes, let alone Rhysand's gaze.

Azriel was supposed to be the intimidating one, the one who looked at people and saw right through them. But the way Rhysand stared at Cassian, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, Cassian wondered if he was trying to stare into Cassian’s soul.

Or maybe trying to get through his mental walls to find out the answer to the question he very clearly had.

When Cassian was tired of being stared at like a medicinal herb specimen while he scanned the crowd in Hewn City, he finally snapped. "What?"

"What’s the deal between you and the General of the Darkbringers?"

Instantly, Cassian felt his blood cooling.

"Is there supposed to be a deal?"

Rhysand scoffed. "Not really, but the way you two act around each other suggests otherwise."

Cassian narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed to a far corner in the throne room where a couple had started kissing. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The high lord snorted. "Yeah sure, I believe you."

Cassian remained quiet, and before long, Rhysand was opening his mouth again. As expected.

"You know, I was wondering if she has something going on with her right hand man. What was his name? Blaise? B-"

"Bastian." Cassian half snarled, his gaze swinging to the knowing eyes of his brother, and he realised that this was his plot all along. He’d been poking Cassian about mindless matters the whole evening, and to add to the annoyance of the general, Rhysand had hit where it hurt the most.

Cassian had seen the two, Y/n and Bastian, interact. And while they probably merely shared camaraderie, it irked Cassian to no end that another male got to talk to his mate so freely and get no repercussions for it, while Cassian had to skirt around everything he wanted to say to that magnificent female, having to settle to flirting when he wanted to tear open his chest and present her with the organ that kept him alive.

"So, I’ll ask again. What’s the deal between you two?"

Cassian released a frustrated sigh, then turned his gaze to the wide double doors, knowing his eyes showed his longing more than he wanted them to.

"She…"

But then she walked in, and his breath caught at the way her eyes instantly met his, as if she had come here solely for the purpose of finding him. And as he watched her stalk to him, her posture impeccable and confidence unwavering, not even sparing a glance to the people as they stepped out of her way the moment they spied her march up to the thrones the rulers occupied without care, he knew he was right.

She stopped only once her boots hit the first step leading up the dais where the high lord and lady sat, brows high. She bowed her head, eyes looking up at them.

"My lord, my lady. Would you mind if I steal away your general for a few moments?"

If possible, Rhysand’s brows rose even higher, glancing once at Cassian before shaking his head. "We wouldn’t mind at all."

Y/n shot Cassian a look, which promptly made him move to follow, but he also could not help but be worried.

She looks like she’s gonna cut off my balls.

The further away he moved from his brother and his high lady, the deeper in the crowd, it got harder to focus on worrying about his assets over the sound of the loud, seductive lilt of the orchestra that blared from the corner.

Once again, he felt Rhysand tap on his mental shields.

‘What?’

‘Is she your mate?’

Cassian stilled for a moment, then kept moving before he lost sight of Y/n’s back.

‘Yes.’

Rhys was silent for a moment, prompting Cassian to wonder whether he had left his mind when he spoke again.

‘Look, I will understand if you don’t want to accept the bond, but do not fuck this up. Reject her after the war is over. If she gets upset, everything will be ruined-’

‘Shut the fuck up. What makes you think I don’t want her?’

Another pause.

‘I thought if you hadn’t yet accepted the bond, you didn’t want to-’

Cassian shoved Rhysand out before he could rile him up even more, pulling his wings closer to himself as he finally escaped the throng of revellers and stepped out of the throne room.

He did not have it in himself to tell his brother that he was the reason Cassian had suppressed his urge to claim his mate right the moment the bond snapped.

He had been worried that Rhysand, despite how much he loved his family, was also the high lord, and he would do anything to keep the court safe, no matter how much he despised it. And if Y/n had accepted the bond already, there was a high chance Rhys would use her to win this war, as he already was planning to.

Cassian did not want to go against his brother, but neither did he want to let his mate be used.

Fingers snapped in Cassian’s face, making him jerk back, wide eyes scanning his surroundings, snagging on the jutting rock’s overhead, the cavernous ceiling, the scarce lighting, before finally focusing on the reason for his abrupt departure from the throne room.

She stared back at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you so distracted because you don’t want to talk to me?"

He blinked, swallowing.

How would he ever tell her that she was as far from the truth as she could get.

Instead, he offered her a smirk. "No sweetheart, I was wondering which wall I would like to take you against first."

Y/n was no shadowsinger, but she was a darkbringer. That brought along night powers, faint wisps of dark sky swirling around her wings frantically that were generally utilised for hiding better as she raised an eyebrow at him, and despite her calm exterior, Cassian knew she was getting agitated by his continuous refusal to acknowledge the mating bond.

He suspected that would no longer be the case very soon if the anger also glimmering in her eyes was any indication.

Also the tiny, foreign emotions taking root in his chest that came from the other side of the bond, because no matter how hard the two tried to block the pathway connecting their souls, it was as if the mother refused to let it be shut completely.

"Cassian, I am tired."

He swallowed again. "Well, that’s nice. Maybe I can give you a massage afterwards, oils and all. Maybe a bath together-"

"Do you feel it too?"

His mouth snapped shut, and he wondered if not speaking would help him at all.

And then he caught a whiff of his scent from her skin, and that set somethin feral that had till now been bound in his chest loose.

"Why the fuck do you smell like Bastian?" He spat out the name, as if even having to move his facial muscles to speak the offending male’s name disgusted him to the core.

Which it did.

Y/n blinked, her brows raising. "Are you serious right now? I just asked you a question and you respond like a typical animalistic illyrian." She shook his head, and the smile that lifted the edges of her lips sent cold fingers skittering down Cassian’s spine, knowing he had messed up. "But you did answer me, didn’t you? Even if indirectly. Pathetic."

Y/n turned away from him, her wings splaying out in a furious stretch before wrapping back tightly against her back.

"Wait, Y/n."

She paused, glancing back at him, incredulous tilt to her lips as she surveyed him. "I have been waiting for quite a long time now, Cassian."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he released a frustrated exhale. "I know that Y/n, but I was doing it to keep you safe."

She barked out a harsh laugh. "Keep me safe?"

He nodded. "I didn’t want you to get caught in between Keir and Rhysand. And you know you would have if they’d realised what we shared sooner."

She was no longer grinning at him, the mocking expression having long melted off of her beautiful features. "And you could not have handled it better?" She took a step towards him, and despite her menacing shadows swirling around her, Cassian relaxed, happy she would stay for a few precious moments longer, even if it was just to yell at him.

"Cassian, I know you can feel my emotions too. You know how badly I wanted to talk to you and figure this out. You really could not have come to me and told me that we’d have to keep the bond under wraps instead of flirting with me and then leaving me waiting for you?"

Cassian dipped his head, shame burning through him. He had nothing to say, knowing she was right and nothing he uttered could possibly justify his actions.

If he really wanted to keep her safe, he would have left her alone. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was his mate. And he would have damned himself and everyone around him if he had to ignore his mate.

"Y/n, I- I’m sorry. I know I have wronged you, making you feel like I do not care, but please, give me one chance?"

Cassian watched as her eyes softened the tiniest bit, her shoulders slumping.

"Just tell me why you kept me hanging."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I was scared Rhys would try to use you, and I did not want you to think that I only… accepted the bond to get closer to you."

She stared at him, then dipped her head. "I guess that makes sense."

He watched her, uncertain. "I… does it?"

She shook her head, a smile slipping onto her lips. "I am still mad at you, so don’t go getting too happy. I am not letting you off easy, but…"

"But?" He pressed.

"I guess it’s for the best that we don't do anything now because I need to focus on the darkbringers and make sure they are trained. I’m sure you also have duties, whatever it is you do."

Cassian blinked. He could not believe she was being so gracious. He had thought she would be angrier.

"So… does that mean there is a chance I will be forgiven?"

She snorted, turning away. "One chance, a lot of grovelling. And maybe I will consider it."

She walked away, hips swaying lightly, but then paused, head turning to look at him.

"For the record, I’m sure these walls would be pretty uncomfortable against my back."

And then she was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

permanent taglist: @berryzxx @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

@illyriassweetheart

#cassian #cassian x you #cassian x reader #acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #night court #General of night court #lord of bloodshed #mating bond #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon

158 notes · View notes

throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

Note

I’ve been waiting for you to open your requests 😩I had to write my ideas down as to not forget them lol

But could you write a Rowaelin x Reader where Rowan accidentally calls Reader Aelin? and Reader gets upset and kind of jealous 😁

falling behind

Rowaelin x Reader

Summary: Rowan keeps calling you Aelin

Warnings: jealousy

A/N: thank you for the request!!

Rowan heard the door swing open, his magic singing to the breeze flowing in, the combined scents of his two favorite people.

“Aelin, could you take a look at -”

“Try again,” he heard your voice, not raised but sharp and short, a tone he wasn’t used to hearing directed at himself. No, that was usually saved for courtiers that pissed you off royally.

The door slammed shut, a muscle in his jaw ticked. He hated slammed doors and you knew that.

Aelin’s scent had been so strong, you must’ve just come from spending time with her. He’d figure out what was wrong later - no, later didn’t feel right. Later wasn’t good enough.

He frowned at the papers in front of him. Military movements and plans, not needed til the end of the week. Rowan shoved them to the back of his desk, placing a heavy glass paperweight on top. He hated paperwork anyway,a nd you’d always come before it if he could help it. Right now was one of those times.

You found Fenrys first. He read the fury lining your features and dismissed the guard he was speaking to, and ushered you back towards one of your favorite secluded gardens, far away from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you sure you weren’t -” he hesitated at the end, with good reason.

“If you say overreacting I will throw something.”

He fixed you with a look. You sighed.

“It was the third time. This week. He always assumes it’s Aelin, that’s the problem.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I am,” the words slipped out before you could think better of them. It’s true, it always felt like there was something they had together and you wouldn’t be able to share with them.

“Have you communicated this?” Fenrys prompted.

“No,” you sounded a tad too petulant.

“I don’t know much about triads but that does seem important,” he said dryly. You wanted to smack him, mainly because he’s right. “Speaking of communicating,” Fenrys continued, “you can stop hiding Rowan.”

Fenrys disappeared before you could make good on your thoughts of violence.

Rowan, per usual, didn’t look even the smallest bit ashamed at being so damn nosy.

“That was a private conversation,” you said - accused. He shrugged. Asshole.

Turning your back, you took a few steadying breaths. He waited. “I’m assuming you heard everything.”

“Yes.” Footsteps. Rough hands gripping your shoulders, turning you gently. Green eyes meeting your own. “I’m sorry.”

Your lips parted, before slamming shut. You were surprised at the rare apology from him, although you thought it was well deserved.

“Just stop calling me Aelin.”

“I think it’s deeper than that, love.” His hand slid around your back to pull you closer, warmth enveloping you. A kiss to the top of your hea.

He wasn’t entirely forgiven, not yet, but you could lean into his warmth for now.

“We need ot talk,” you murmured, “the three of us.”

“I hope you don’t think you’re leaving,” his voice was teasing but his body tensed.

Your immediate “no” relaxed him.

“Communication is important,” you parroted Fenrys and Rowan had the good grace not to comment on it.

#throne of glass drabble #throne of glass imagine #rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader

257 notes · View notes

kkayyerr · 6 months ago

Note

Hiiiii!! I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if you could grace us with a little caregiver!rafe x little!reader angst to comfort? Maybe he said something he didn’t quite mean about reader? Kinda like a Sofia at the country club situation? Anyways, have a great day! No pressure!! Lots of love!

Stress reliever.

Summary: Male!little!reader overhears Rafe saying something hurtful about him and runs away from the country club.

Warnings: Age regression, Ruthie, angst, fluffy ending.

You entered the country club, excited to see your daddy. You haven’t seen Rafe in a while because he was busy, or at least it was what he had told you. You believed him because you knew that he was a man of business, so why would he lie about such things? When you entered the room, you saw him standing with a bunch of Kooks, talking about some stuff, and your face brightened with a smile as you were ready to jump right into his arms. Though your smile quickly faded when you heard what they were talking about.

„Never expected to see you with some little Pogue boy, Rafe. It’s kind of pathetic.”

Ruthie says, and Rafe’s face darkened for a second before he smiled back at her and rolled his eyes, probably trying to brush off the tension between his friends that her words had created. Everyone was silent for a moment, waiting for Rafe’s response.

„It was never that serious, Ruthie. Just wanted to try something new, alright? Something that’ll help me relax, and that boy is a nice stress reliever.”

Your eyes quickly teared up from his words. Is this actually all that you ever were for him? Some toy for him to relieve his stress and dumb later on? You muffled your sniffles, even though you weren’t sure that someone would be able to hear them in the room full of laughter. Your gaze was way too blurry for you to realize that Rafe was looking straight at you, and he wasn’t laughing.

Before he could say something, you turned around and stormed out of the country club, running along the beach.

How could you have been so stupid to actually believe his words and his empty promises?

You were angry at him, but even more at yourself for being so naive. You just wanted to be loved and taken care of, and now it got you nowhere. You didn’t hear Rafe shouting out for you, as your emotions got over, making you run even faster to escape that feeling of embarrassment and loneliness.

The sounds of their laughter haunted you down until you reached your limits and fell down to the hot sand, letting out your heavy breaths and sniffles.

A couple of minutes later, Rafe approached you. He was standing near you all that time, watching you, but he wasn’t invading your privacy. He wanted to give you some time to calm down, and when you did, he felt the need to start talking.

„Baby, can you give me a chance to explain myself?”

You didn’t turn around; it was way too hard for you to see his face right now. You knew that you would forgive him eventually, but it was hard to believe that your daddy was able to say such bad things about you.

You rubbed your eyes, wiping the tears away, before nodding. You wanted to hear his explanations; maybe he had something to say that would change your mind.

„I have no excuses. I am an idiot, and I don’t deserve such an angel by my side.”

It was surprising.

You never heard Rafe admitting his wrongs before, not even once. The fact that he had no excuses and was accepting his guilt made you interested. You turned around and looked up at him.

„I didn’t mean anything I said, baby. I just thought that my words might’ve stopped them from talking about you. It was a stupid idea, though. Those assholes would never shut their mouthes”

Your gaze softened, and you gave him a faint smile. He wasn’t forgiven yet, but you weren’t mad at him either. Rafe knew that it would take some time for you to sort things out in your little mind.

He took a few steps closer to you, and when you didn’t move away, he almost sighed with relief. He opened his arms, gesturing you for a hug, and you slowly approached him, hugging him tightly.

You nuzzled your head into his neck, calming yourself by feeling his arms around your body.

It surprised Rafe how quickly he relaxed in your arms. Your presence was surprisingly helpful, and he almost laughed thinking about how his words about you being his stress reliever weren’t a complete lie.

He poked both of your sides with his fingers a couple of times before you tilted your head back and let out some of your adorable giggles.

„Daddy, wha’ are you doin’?”

You asked, not trying to stop him or pull away. You loved his attention, and it would always bring you peace and comfort, no matter what he was doing.

Rafe smirked, poking you a couple of times more, before fully attacking your sides with his fingers.

„Proving my point.”

He said, starting to nibble on your neck while your giggles turned into laughter from him tickling both of your worst spots at the same time.

Thoughts of being angry with him slowly left your head, leaving your mind empty and peaceful.

„You are an actual Daddy’s stress reliever, kiddo.”

The next second, the beach filled with the sounds of your happy laughter.

Taglist: @aew-regression-cove @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr

#obx #rafe cameron x reader #daddy!rafe x little!reader #daddy!rafe cameron #age regression fic #little!reader #male!reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader

143 notes · View notes

kuronarnze · 4 months ago

Note

hii!! can i request and argument with karasu? but not fully angst like they make up in the end. the details of the argument can he up to u!

feel free to ignore, thanks!

a/n: hihi anon! thank you sososo much for requesting! I honestly love writing for karasu hehe :), anyways enjoy the story !

Karasu Tabito x Reader !

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

"Bridges, Not Walls"

The argument started over something small—something so insignificant that you weren’t even sure how it escalated into this. One second, Karasu was teasing you like he always did, and the next, frustration was bubbling up in your chest.

"You never take anything seriously!" you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Karasu’s smirk faltered, his usually relaxed posture stiffening. "What? Just because I don’t sit around sulking all day doesn’t mean I don’t care."

"That’s not what I said," you shot back, voice sharp. "But you act like everything’s a joke—even when it’s not!"

His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable before he scoffed, running a hand through his messy black hair. "So what, I should be all serious and brooding like Rin? That’s not me."

"That’s not what I want!" Your voice wavered slightly, but you held your ground. "I just... I just wish you’d stop brushing off my feelings like they don’t matter."

Silence.

For the first time, Karasu didn’t have a comeback. His jaw clenched, and his gaze flickered away for a moment before he sighed. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like that." His voice was softer now, missing its usual cocky edge. "I just—joking around is how I deal with things. I thought it’d make things easier, but I get it. I messed up."

Your arms loosened from their defensive stance, the frustration in your chest shifting into something more complicated.

"...You did," you admitted, voice quieter.

Karasu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t want you to think I don’t care—because I do. A lot." His golden eyes met yours, more serious than usual. "I’ll do better, okay?"

You hesitated, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But there was none—just quiet regret.

Finally, you exhaled, some of the tension easing. "You better."

Karasu’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming. "So… am I forgiven yet, or do I have to suffer a little longer?"

You rolled your eyes but felt the corners of your mouth betray you. "...Almost."

"Almost, huh?" He stepped closer, a teasing glint returning to his eyes. "Then what do I gotta do to get full forgiveness? Buy you food? Make you laugh? I could totally trip in front of everyone if that helps."

Despite yourself, you snorted. "You don’t have to humiliate yourself, Karasu."

He grinned. "But you’d forgive me faster if I did, right?"

You sighed, shaking your head, but the warmth between you had returned. "Just—don’t do it again, okay?"

Karasu gave you a lopsided smile, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Deal."

And just like that, the argument faded into something softer, the bridge between you still standing strong.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Thank you sososo much for requesting ! Thank you for reading! Feel free to request ! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

#bllk #blue lock #writers on tumblr #anime x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x yn #bllk x you #anime #anime and manga #tabito karasu x reader #karasu tabito x you #blue lock karasu #karasu tabito x reader #karasu x reader #karasu tabito #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you

78 notes · View notes

prettycalla · 1 month ago

Text

|| every time i fell ||

Pairing: Ralph Penbury/Reader

Summary: What started as a boring afternoon spent at a dressmaker’s shop soon became a lot more interesting after a chance encounter with a very eccentric gentleman.

Word count: 1.6k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, Ralph is his typical nuisance self, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.

(Me? Writing in past tense? Who is she. I have no excuse for writing this. The man has 3 minutes of screen time, and yet here I am. Anyway. The song Bruises by Chairlift is to blame for a lot of this fic - it has such a Ralph vibe.)

Masterlist || Taglist

If you were to make a list of everything that you would like to be doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon, spending it in a dressmaker's shop would be somewhere at the very bottom.

It was your great-aunt's idea. A letter had arrived, with an invitation to attend the Duke and Duchess of Such-and-Such's party to celebrate their Something-or-Other - you hadn't exactly been riveted by the details. In fact, it had sounded dreadfully boring, and you had made the mistake of saying as much within your great-aunt's earshot. As punishment - for it had to have been so - she had insisted that you must have something more fitting to wear. As if you weren't in possession of an entire wardrobe fit to bursting with variations of the exact same tea dress appropriate for such an affair.

Dear old aunty had an interesting habit of pretending that her hearing was playing up when people said things that she didn't like, and so here you found yourself, after much cajoling from your mother - who, quite frankly, would have done anything just to be rid of the overwhelming musk of lavender and mothballs that seemed to follow your great-aunt everywhere she went.

The woman in charge of the shop was a small older woman, who seemed to spend more time criticising your posture than she did anything else. You had endured an hour of this at the very least, when mercifully she was called away on some other business with another customer. Your great-aunt was busying herself with fabric swatches, carefully comparing the robin's egg blue chintz with the duck egg blue chintz, and so you were afforded a moment's peace.

You were considering how best to sit down and rest your legs without being stabbed by one of the many pins holding the toile draped around you, when a voice caught your attention from the other side of the fitting room curtain. It was a man's voice, clearly well-to-do in how he spoke.

"...must be here somewhere," he was saying, quietly, as if speaking to himself. He sounded rather distressed.

Carefully, you stepped down from the platform you had been perched on, creeping closer to the curtain in the hopes of hearing more. Surely you could be forgiven for eavesdropping when you were so terribly bored.

No sooner had you reached the curtain when it was pulled back rather suddenly to reveal the man on the other side.

"Victoria? Are you-"

He interrupted himself with an almighty shriek, immediately shutting his eyes when he saw you.

Rather than stepping back, as any sensible person would have done, he had instead spun around on the spot in a panic, pulling the curtain with him, so that he now stood inside the fitting room with you.

"O-Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" he said shrilly, voice muffled by the curtain clutched tightly in his hand. "I- I wasn't - I didn't mean to- That is to say- Have you seen my sister?”

In spite of your shock, you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"No, I haven't, I'm afraid," you replied. "Perhaps the lady who owns the shop would know?"

The man was still clinging to the fabric in his hand for dear life.

"I- I couldn't find her," he stammered. "So I thought perhaps- Well- I could-"

You fought back another peal of laughter. This poor man was truly absurd.

"You thought perhaps you could find your sister yourself?" you offered.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, exactly. I thought if I just went around each fitting room, I would be able to find her myself."

"And do you normally walk in on a woman without knocking?" you asked, your tone lightly teasing.

"Well, I don't see how I could," he replied, as if completely oblivious. "How does one knock a curtain?"

You adjusted the fabric draped around you as it began to slip from your shoulder. Perhaps you should ask the poor thing to turn around so you could at least get a better look at him, you thought to yourself. He was already on the wrong side of the curtain, how much more damage could it cause, really? Besides, as pleasant as he was to look at from behind, you would really rather get a better look at his face.

"Would you mind awfully if you turned around?" you asked. "I don't particularly enjoy making conversation with the back of a person's head."

He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear him swallow.

"Yes," he said after a time. "Yes, I suppose I could do that.”

Slowly, he released his grip on the curtain, taking his time as he turned around. A smile pulled at your lips when you saw that his eyes were squeezed shut. He really was rather handsome, even with such a ridiculous expression on his face. He wore an ivory suit, perfectly tailored and pressed, with a bow tie that sat slightly askew against his shirt collar. His hair was immaculately styled into finger waves, with the exception of one little curl that lay against his temple. Held tightly in one hand was a boating hat.

"You can open your eyes," you told him lightly.

He immediately shook his head.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly- You're hardly decent, madam," he replied earnestly.

You raised your eyebrows in exasperation. Oh, the cheek.

"I beg your pardon?" you said in a raised tone. "Madam?"

He shook his head again, harder this time, that one little curl growing looser with every movement.

"No, of course, how rude of me. You aren't a madam, surely," he said quickly, then stopped, as if another thought had occurred to him. "Actually, I only caught a glimpse of you, so perhaps- Well, you might-"

"I would surmise that I'm only a little older than you, sir!" you replied, nonplussed.

He pulled a face, clearly regretting his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if to amend his words, then thinking better of it.

"Perhaps you might open your eyes and see for yourself," you said.

It took a moment for him to move, then finally, he opened one eye slowly, as if afraid he might see something he shouldn't; then the other.

He immediately broke into a wide smile at the sight of you, the tips of his ears reddening.

"Oh," he all but breathed. "Oh, I do apologise for my earlier words, miss."

He gave a theatrical little bow, and you found yourself once again laughing at the absolute absurdity of this man.

"I could have been completely naked, you know," you said, pretending to scold him. "Did you think of that before you peeked?"

His eyes widened as a shrill little squawk escaped him. Oh, you were having far too much fun.

“Y-Yes, you’re quite right, that would have been- That would have been...” he trailed off, as if struggling to find the right words.

“Awful? Terrible?” you prompted airily.

His poor hat would soon be in pieces if he didn't relinquish his deathly grip on it.

“Well, yes, I-I suppose, but none of those words would describe you at all,” he replied with sincerity.

Your smile faded a little. Here you were, trying to make the most of an…odd situation, and this strange man you didn’t even know the name of was trying to be charming. You weren't sure if he was even aware of what he was doing.

“And what words would describe me?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

How entirely unlike you - you didn’t even know this man’s name.

“O-Oh, well, pretty, I suppose,” he managed to stammer, his fingers fidgeting at the fabric of his trousers. “Your face, I mean- I can't see anything else- There isn't much else to look at- No, what I mean is, you're covered, so-”

If he kept this up, he was going to make himself faint. And what a scandal that would cause, as if things weren't bad enough as they were.

"You don't do this often, do you?" you asked, almost pityingly.

His shoulders immediately slumped at your words.

"What gave it away?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

You shook your head fondly, still smiling.

He opened his mouth to speak again, when the curtain was drawn back suddenly to reveal your great-aunt and a well-dressed, young woman you had never seen before.

"Ralph!" the woman said shrilly. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

Ralph spun around on his heel, frightened out of his wits.

"Victoria!" he exclaimed. "You said that I should meet you here."

Victoria scoffed, rolling her eyes with her hands on her hips.

"Yes, an hour ago!" she scolded. "My God, you would lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body sometimes. Honestly. Come along now, we're late enough as it is."

She grabbed his arm before he had a chance to argue, dragging him towards the shop door. He turned to you as he went, his smile wide as he waved.

"It was so lovely meeting you! Perhaps I'll see you another time," he called. "With more clothes on!"

"Ralphie!" Victoria snapped as the door swung shut behind them.

You had barely a moment to watch him go when your great-aunt was pulling the curtain over harshly, her expression aghast.

“Well, I never,” she blustered. “The nerve of that boy.”

You smiled to yourself as she continued to drone on about manners and decorum and the downfall of polite society.

You hoped you would see him again.

How pleasantly surprised you were to find that he had been invited to the very same party as you. Perhaps you would be able to introduce yourself this time.

Taglist 💖: @punkrockmlchael @glassbxttless @keaganz @peachyproserpina

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

#ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury x you #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters #angie writes #prettycalla writes

64 notes · View notes

kathlare · 5 months ago

Note

Can you write something for Lando and Amelie in the present. Maybe about them just having a cute date at a park and thinking about the future. Please add whatever you want to if you don't like the idea

Thank you so much for sending in this request! I had so much fun bringing your idea to life, and I truly hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your support and engagement mean the world to me, and I’m so grateful you’re part of this journey.

As always, thank you for reading—I hope you love this chapter! 💕

chasing sunsets

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando embark on a chilly hiking date in Monaco, where Amelie grumbles about the cold but slowly warms to the adventure. Along the way, they share playful banter and deep conversations, reflecting on their relationship and the year ahead.

Wordcount: 3.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

January 12th, 2025 Monte Carlo, Monaco

The chilly breeze rolled off the Mediterranean and danced through the streets of Monaco. The January air was crisp, and the sun hung low in the sky, its warmth doing little to cut through the winter cold. Amelie tugged her jacket tighter around her, glaring at Lando as they made their way up the winding hiking trail overlooking the glittering principality.

—This is your idea of a fun date? Dragging me up a mountain when it’s freezing?— Amelie grumbled, her breath fogging in front of her.

Lando glanced over at her, a smirk playing on his lips. His cheeks were pink from the cold, his curls tucked under a beanie, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. —Oh, come on, Ames. It’s not that cold. You’re just being dramatic.—

She shot him a look, one that could freeze even the warmest summer day. —I’m from Mexico, Lan. This is basically the Arctic for me. My ass is frozen, and we’re not even halfway up.—

Lando laughed, reaching out to grab her hand. —You’ll survive. Besides, I promised you hot chocolate and snacks at the top, didn’t I?—

—You’re lucky I love you, you know that?— she muttered, but her fingers laced through his anyway, her small hand warm against his.

They continued the climb, Lando leading the way with a determined stride while Amelie followed, occasionally huffing and muttering curses in Spanish under her breath. The trail wound through pine trees and rocky outcrops, offering stunning views of Monaco below, the city’s iconic white buildings glowing in the afternoon light.

—Okay, I’ll admit, it’s kind of pretty,— Amelie said begrudgingly, pausing to take in the view.

Lando stopped beside her, his hand still holding hers. —Kind of? You’re impossible. Look at that, Ames. It’s stunning.—

She glanced at him, her lips curling into a soft smile. —It is. But you know what’s even better? Being inside where it’s warm.—

He rolled his eyes but leaned down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. —You’re such a baby.—

—And yet you love me anyway,— she quipped, nudging him playfully.

—Yeah, I do,— he said, his voice softer now, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the wind stilling and the noise of the city below fading into the background.

—Come on, lover boy, let’s keep moving before I turn into an icicle,— Amelie said, breaking the spell with a teasing grin.

They finally reached the top of the trail, a small clearing with a bench overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean. Lando set down his backpack and pulled out a thermos and a couple of cups, pouring steaming hot chocolate and handing one to Amelie.

—Okay, you’re forgiven for the whole ‘dragging me into the cold’ thing,— she said, wrapping her hands around the cup and taking a sip.

Lando grinned, pulling out a small bag of snacks and sitting beside her. —I told you it’d be worth it.—

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of the trees and the distant hum of the city. Amelie leaned into Lando, her head resting on his shoulder, her dark curls brushing against his cheek.

—You know, this is nice,— Amelie admitted after a moment, her voice soft. —Even if my fingers are still kind of frozen.—

Lando chuckled, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. —I told you, Ames. You just need a little adventure in your life. Fresh air, good views, and me. What more could you want?—

She tilted her head up to look at him, her expression fond but playful. —A heater. A blanket. Maybe a beach in Cabo. But you’re right, this isn’t bad.—

Lando pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering for a second longer than usual. —You’re such a sunshine girl. I should’ve guessed you wouldn’t be thrilled about this, but thanks for humoring me.—

Amelie smiled into her cup, her cheeks pink, not just from the cold. —Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t wander off a cliff. You’ve got a terrible sense of direction.—

—Rude,— Lando shot back, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. —But true.—

They both laughed, the sound warm and easy between them. The tension of the climb melted away as they relaxed into each other, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over them.

After a while, Amelie set her empty cup aside and glanced up at him. —So, is this what you had in mind for the new year? Dragging me out on random hikes and freezing my ass off?—

Lando looked down at her, his expression softening. —Not exactly. I mean, yeah, I want us to do more stuff like this. Spend time together, explore a bit, make memories. But… I don’t know. I feel like this year could be big, you know? For both of us.—

Amelie tilted her head, studying him. —Big how?—

He hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his curls before settling it back around her. —Well, for starters, I’ve got a pretty big year ahead in racing. There’s a lot riding on it, and I want to prove myself again after last year. And with you… I mean, you’ve got your career, and you’re killing it. But I also want us to keep growing, Ames. Together.—

Her brows furrowed slightly, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. —You think we’ll have time for that? With everything going on?—

Lando nodded, his expression earnest. —Yeah, I do. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m all in. And I know we’ve both got a lot on our plates, but… I don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want to lose you.—

Amelie’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. —You won’t, Lan. I promise. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.—

Lando leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if to savor the warmth and reassurance in her words. When he opened them, they were soft but brimming with determination. —You mean that?—

Amelie smiled, her dark eyes glinting in the golden light of the setting sun. —Of course I do. You’re stuck with me, Lan. Frozen ass and all.—

He laughed, his whole body shaking as he pulled her into a tight hug, practically lifting her off the bench. —God, Ames, what did I do to deserve you?—

She smirked, her cheek pressed against his chest. —Well, for starters, you’ve got a cute smile, decent cooking skills, and apparently a thing for dragging me into the wilderness.—

—Hey, I’m the full package,— Lando teased, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. —Don’t sell me short.—

Amelie reached up to tug playfully on the edge of his beanie. —Fine. You’re all right, I guess.—

He gave her a mock-offended look, his lips twitching with the effort to keep from grinning. —Wow. Just ‘all right’? Remind me to work harder on impressing you this year.—

Amelie laughed, the sound light and warm against the cool air. —Don’t try too hard, Norris. You’ll strain yourself. And besides, I’m already impressed. Even if you did have the world’s most embarrassing crush on me back in the day.—

Lando groaned, leaning back dramatically against the bench. —Oh, here we go. I knew this was coming.—

—You knew I was going to bring it up,— she teased, turning to face him with an impish grin. —But honestly, it was cute. You being all shy and awkward every time we were on a video call with Charles and the others. And then trying to act cool like I wouldn’t notice.—

—In my defense, you’re very intimidating when you want to be,— Lando said, shaking his head. —You were this big deal, a proper movie star, and I was just some guy who drove cars fast for a living. I didn’t think I stood a chance.—

Amelie tilted her head, her smile softening. —You’re not just some guy, Lando. You never were. Even back then, when you were a blushing mess around me, I could tell you were special.—

He looked at her, his blue-green eyes glinting with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. —You mean that?—

She nodded, her voice gentle. —Of course I do. And, for the record, I kind of liked that you had a crush on me. It was endearing. Even if it took you ages to actually do something about it.—

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his curls before meeting her gaze with a smirk. —Yeah, well, I got there eventually, didn’t I? And look at us now. Who would’ve thought?—

—Not me, that’s for sure,— Amelie quipped, her grin widening. —But I’m glad we’re here. Even if you’re still a little bit of a dork.—

—A dork?— Lando repeated, feigning offense. —I’ll have you know I’m extremely cool. Ask anyone.—

—Oh, I will,— Amelie teased, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his cheek. —But even if you’re not as cool as you think, you’re still my dork.—

Lando’s teasing expression softened, his hand coming up to cup her face. —And you’re my sunshine girl. Frozen ass and all.—

She laughed, the sound light and musical, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss was slow and sweet, the kind that made the world around them blur into nothing. Lando’s hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her gently as if afraid she might vanish.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

—You know, Ames, I’ve been thinking about this year, about us,— Lando began, his voice low and steady. And I know it’s only been a little over a year since we gave this another shot, but… I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. It’s like everything makes more sense with you in it.—

Amelie’s heart swelled at his words, her fingers brushing lightly over his jaw. —Lando…—

—No, let me finish,— he said, his voice firm but kind. —I don’t know what the future holds. With racing, with your career, with everything. But I do know one thing... I want you in it. No matter what. I want us to keep building this, keep making it work. Because I’m obsessed with you, Ames. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone.—

Her eyes welled with tears, and she let out a soft laugh. —God, Lan, you’re going to make me cry. And I didn’t even bring waterproof mascara.—

He smiled, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down her cheek. —Then don’t cry. Just say you feel the same.—

Amelie took a deep breath, her smile trembling but full of emotion. —I do. I feel the same. I love you so much, Lando. And I’m all in too. Whatever the future looks like, I want it with you.—

Lando’s smile lit up his entire face, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. —You have no idea how happy that makes me.—

Amelie’s arms wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly. —Probably as happy as I am right now.—

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and the quiet serenity of the moment. When they finally pulled back, Lando’s grin turned mischievous.

—So, about that embarrassing crush I had on you…—

—Don’t even start,— Amelie warned, poking him in the ribs.

—Oh, come on! It’s a good story,— he said, laughing as he tried to dodge her playful jabs. —Remember that time I tried to flirt with you in Spanish and completely butchered it?—

Amelie laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. —Oh my God, yes! You called me “muy guapo” instead of “muy guapa.” You literally called me handsome.—

Lando groaned, covering his face with his hands. —I was so nervous, okay? Cut me some slack.—

—Nope, never letting you live that down,— she teased, leaning into him with a wide grin.

Lando sighed dramatically but couldn’t help smiling. —Fine. But at least admit that you thought it was cute.—

Amelie tilted her head, pretending to think. —Hmm… maybe a little. But only because you looked like you were about to pass out from embarrassment.—

He laughed, shaking his head. —You’re mean, you know that?—

—And yet you love me anyway,— she shot back, echoing her earlier words.

—Damn right I do,— Lando said, leaning in to steal another kiss.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, they sat side by side on the bench, their fingers intertwined. They talked about everything and nothing—plans for the year, dreams for the future, and all the little moments that had led them to this one.

Lando glanced at her as she gazed out at the horizon, her face glowing in the golden light. —You know, Ames, I think this might be my favorite date ever.—

She looked back at him, her smile soft and genuine. —Even though I complained the whole way up?—

—Especially because of that,— he said with a chuckle. —It’s just… us. No cameras, no distractions. Just you and me.—

Amelie leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. —Just you and me. I like the sound of that.—

And as the first stars began to twinkle in the sky, they sat there together, dreaming of a future as bright as the city lights below.

-------------

liked by lanmeliemyship, f1gossippage, and others

ameliedaymanupdates: Amelie via instagram story

View all 9,421 comments

fluffylanmelie: they’re just out here being in love and going on cute hikes and I’m over here rotting in my room 😩 → dayman4everrr: @fluffylanmelie mood. but like… at least they’re giving us serotonin content 💅

norriessimp69: the fact that they’re just casually doing couple-y things in MONACO like it’s normal 😭 → lanmiehypequeen: @norriessimp69 she said luxury love story and DELIVERED

wanderlustwithlanmie: this is the kind of soft love that makes me believe in romance again 🥹

gossipgridtea: lol they’re cute or whatever but this is SO performative sometimes 💀 → byef1girl: @gossipgridtea you mean happy? that’s what love looks like babe 😘 → daymansdefender: @gossipgridtea no one’s forcing you to watch, scroll on 🤷‍♀️

delulusince2020: Amelie really won the softest man in F1 AND he takes her hiking?? unreal → tifositanlover: @delulusince2020 pls I can’t take this level of domesticity 💘

fanoflanmelie: they look so genuinely happy, no posing, no pressure, just THEM

randomcarla: idc how cute the pic is i still don’t like her 💅 → softieforlando: @randomcarla cool story. he does. that’s enough 🫶

lanmeliearchive: someone PLEASE tell me there’s a better couple than them rn. I’ll wait. → lanmielover101: @lanmeliearchive crickets 🦗

-------------

After they made their way back down the trail and returned to Lando’s Monaco apartment, Amelie headed straight for the bathroom with a dramatic groan, peeling off her cold layers as she went.

—I swear, if I don’t thaw out in ten minutes, I’m suing you for emotional damage,— she called over her shoulder, already halfway through the door.

Lando grinned, watching her disappear, and called back, —You’ll thank me once you feel human again!—

The sound of the shower started up a moment later, steam slowly beginning to creep under the crack in the door. Lando, still feeling the post-hike ache in his legs, stretched briefly before wandering into the kitchen. He grabbed his phone and started scrolling through delivery options, finally settling on their go-to: a cozy Italian place nearby that Amelie always insisted made the best gnocchi outside of Rome.

While he waited for the food, Lando glanced around his apartment. It was tidy—mostly—but something about it suddenly felt… unfinished. Or stuck. His eyes lingered on the bookshelf near the window, where a stack of books still bore Max Fewtrell’s name scribbled inside.

Max’s stuff was everywhere, really. A couple of framed photos from years ago. A dusty pair of sneakers by the door that definitely weren’t Lando’s. Some random mugs that didn’t match anything else in the kitchen. It had been over a year since Max moved out, and yet it looked like he’d just gone on a really long holiday.

Lando let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He grabbed one of the sneakers and tossed it into an empty laundry basket, then started picking through the bookshelf, pulling out anything that didn’t feel like his.

As he moved through the living room, clearing out forgotten remnants of their old roommate era, his thoughts drifted to Amelie. Her laugh still echoed from the hallway, muffled by the running water. He glanced toward the bathroom, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe that was the step.

They were already practically living together whenever their schedules aligned. Half of her stuff was already at his place—or hers in LA. Her skincare was in his bathroom, her sweaters in his closet, her cat hair somehow on every piece of furniture.

Maybe it was time.

Not just sleepovers and long weekends and suitcase-living. Maybe they needed something real. Permanent. Shared.

His stomach fluttered a little at the thought—nervous, excited, maybe both. He could picture it so clearly: waking up to her every morning, hearing her music through the walls while she got ready, her humming while making tea in his hoodie, her presence filling this place until it felt like home.

But first… Max had to come get his damn stuff.

Lando set down the last of the mismatched mugs with a quiet clink, standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips. The laundry basket now sat full of relics—Max’s old hoodie, a half-finished LEGO set from some rainy week in 2022, and a random framed poster of Step Brothers that Lando had never actually liked but somehow never took down.

He looked around, breathing out through his nose. The place already felt lighter. Not empty—just… ready.

His phone buzzed on the counter. Order Confirmed. Arriving in 25 minutes. Perfect.

He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside, letting the golden haze of early evening pour in. Monaco’s rooftops shimmered in the fading light, the sea a calm, glassy stretch beyond. It hit him all at once—how much life had changed in such a short time. How much he wanted to keep going in this direction. With her.

The door to the bathroom cracked open, steam spilling out in thick waves. Amelie stepped out a second later in one of his t-shirts, her damp hair twisted into a towel on top of her head.

—Did I survive hypothermia? Debatable,— she said, dramatically flopping onto the sofa. She reached for the throw blanket and cocooned herself instantly. —But I do smell like eucalyptus now, so I’m choosing to focus on the positives.—

Lando chuckled, walking over and dropping a soft kiss to her forehead. —Dinner’s on the way. Gnocchi. I knew you’d be too frozen to argue.—

—You know me so well it’s terrifying,— she murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

He sat beside her, letting her curl into his side, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie to rest against his stomach like they always did. Comfort. Safety. Her.

Björn leapt up onto the back of the sofa with a chirp, purring loudly as he made his way across their shoulders like a balancing act. Benny followed shortly after, less elegant but just as determined, squishing himself between Amelie and Lando like he owned the place.

Lando laughed softly, wrapping an arm around her and shifting to make space for the feline invasion. Benny promptly began kneading Amelie’s thigh, his claws catching the fabric of the blanket as he settled in.

—We are being swarmed,— Lando mumbled, watching Björn try to gnaw on a loose thread of his hoodie.

—They missed you,— Amelie said, barely above a whisper, the soft hum of contentment in her voice making something warm unfurl in his chest.

Lando turned his head slightly, letting his cheek rest against the crown of hers. The apartment was quiet in that sacred, golden-hour kind of way—no chaos, no cameras, no flights to catch. Just them, wrapped up on the sofa, two cats and a blanket between them, the smell of eucalyptus still lingering faintly in the air.

He wished he could bottle it. This feeling. This moment.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to disturb the calm. But in his mind, he could already see it: Amelie padding barefoot through the kitchen in the morning, grumbling about how much she hated early call times. The cats racing down the hallway like tiny stampeding horses. Her toothbrush next to his without the need for a travel case. Her laughter in these rooms every single day.

Their home.

His fingers absentmindedly traced circles on her hip, thoughts drifting again to Max’s half-abandoned clutter. He’d have to call him soon. Maybe even guilt-trip him into a proper goodbye drink and a trip down memory lane while he packed up.

Because once that was done… there’d be space. Not just on the shelves or in the closets, but in the life Lando was building. The life he wanted to build with her.

He glanced down at Amelie, her eyes now fully closed, breathing even and peaceful. One of Björn’s paws was resting gently on her ankle, like a weird little guardian.

He smiled.

He didn’t say it aloud—not yet. But he knew.

He wanted this. All of it.

Every single day.

56 notes · View notes

askereiniongilgalad · 5 months ago

Text

The Nobility in Defiance

First, allow me to ask your forgiveness for addressing this question in such a way. But I believe... nay, I am convinced, that this inquiry deserves it's proper moment and space. After all, the question of favorites… is indeed a delicate topic for any ruler.

Allow me to clarify: as High King, I must remain above such trivialities. After all, kings are meant to be impartial, serene, and, most importantly, diplomatic.

In theory, anyway.

A king must never show favoritism! A king must be a beacon of fairness, the embodiment of justice and balance. I am the leader of all Elves, not a parent choosing the favored child. I must remain the ever-constant, unwavering symbol of unity, never allowing personal preferences to cloud my judgment or compromise the greater good of all my people.

You see? A king has no room for favorites.

Well… there is the official answer, and it is, of course, entirely correct. But then we get to Ereinion, the elf behind the crown. The one who occasionally forgets he’s the High King and, instead, just becomes an elf who’s seen too much and cares too much.

In that role, as Ereinion, I will confess, with a smile that speaks volumes:

Yes, it’s Elrond.

Why?

Perhaps it is his maddening habit for doing what is right, even when it defies all common sense, and occasionally my direct orders. There is this infuriating nobility to Elrond, the sort that makes one simultaneously want to commend and chastise him.

He possesses an unyielding moral compass, as though the stars themselves set his course, and woe to anyone who tries to sway him from it!! And yet, for all his stubbornness, there is wisdom in his defiance, a rare quality that even I must admire.

Elrond is the rock amidst the tempest. While Galadriel burns with the fire of ambition and Celebrimbor dazzles with the brilliance of creativity, it is Elrond who remains steadfast. He is the quiet voice of reason when the council chambers grow too loud, the calm presence that tempers the storms of elven pride.

And yet, Elrond is not without his flaws. His maddening habit of leaping off proverbial cliffs, sometimes literal ones, is enough to infuriate even the most patient of kings. But perhaps that is part of his charm: he does not hesitate when faced with the abyss, he trusts his ability to navigate the unknown. This… is a quality that makes him a formidable ally and, dare I say, a worthy successor to the ideals we Noldor hold dear.

Now, don’t misunderstand me… Galadriel and Celebrimbor, also, have their place in my heart. Each of them, in their own right represent something vital about who we are and what we aspire to be. Galadriel’s unshakable spirit and her bold vision remind me that courage, is the one that forges new paths. Celebrimbor, on the other hand, with his endless creativity, is a living testament to the brilliance that runs through our bloodline, he brings our heritage to life.

But Elrond? Elrond is different. He’s the balance between them, a bridge connecting the wisdom of the past with the promise of the future. He’s a reminder that we can truly achieve greatness when our hearts and minds are aligned.

So, while I loath to admit it (if only for the sake of appearances) the truth is simpler: Elrond’s place in my heart is not a matter of favoritism, but of trust. Trust in his unwavering spirit, his unyielding principles, and his ability to lead where even I cannot. If that makes him my “favorite,” then so be it.

Let history judge my words as it will. For now, I am content to say this: a king may have no room for favorites, but an elf, just an elf, may sometimes be forgiven for showing his heart.

There you have it: an essay, a confession, and perhaps even a scandal among my advisors. But what is kingship without a little controversy?

With quiet honesty, Ereinion

#TheNobilityInDefiance #QuietStrengthAndCliffLeaps #BetweenCrownAndHeart #KeepItElvenCalm #AConfessionNotARebellion #It'sElrond #Don’tTellGaladriel #NorCelebrimbor #gil-galad #gil galad #trop crack #trop #elrond #elrond peredhel #middle earth #the rings of power #Cherish.ered

60 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 2 years ago

Text

heaven doesn't take too kindly to him breaking in a second time.

aziraphale stops them, with his blood already staining their perfect fucking floors, and his hands are balled into shaking fists, his voice projecting more authority than ever. crowley waits until they're alone in the blinding corridors before allowing his body to collapse, hissing when pain flares across his back.

"crowley-" there is a shadow in his periphery, hands reaching for him, but he flinches out of reflex more than intention, taking twisted satisfaction in the strangled noise escaping aziraphale.

"fuck off." while audibly hoarse, the edge to his words is sharp.

with his palms pressed to the floor, he gets to his knees, head hanging down as he sucks in breath after breath to summon enough focus to fix himself.

"let me help-"

"i said FUCK OFF," he spits, glancing up at him through a curtain of red waves and pain. "what do you care anyway."

"of course i care," aziraphale shoots back immediately, somewhere between offended and distressed, and oh, crowley takes the same satisfaction in that, too, no matter how bitter it tastes.

purely out of spite and to regain whatever of his pride is left, he ignores the cut still sluggishly bleeding onto the floor and pushes himself upwards, managing to stand while swaying heavily. he's a fucking mess compared to aziraphale in his pristine archangel get-up, and it lures the anger out of him with ease.

"huh, considering those are your guys you really have a funny way of showing it."

they both know what he is doing, yet the guilt carved into his face is as real as the heartbreak etched into his own. someone knows he is tired of playing games, but that is all they have left now, isn't it? stupid fucking games, as if they hadn't drowned themselves in those for millennia.

"i stopped them, i didn't send them. you know that."

crowley doesn't even attempt to bite back the hollow laugh craving to be set free. it rips through him with pain in his wake, and if he doesn't heal that wound soon the blood loss will make him pass out. how annoying.

"oh, aren't you being hilarious today, archangel. none of this would have happened if you hadn't—"

left.

thirteen months and he still cannot say it. what a pathetic little creature he is, deep down, clinging to love and having nothing but anger to voice it. he understands, he must understand.

suddenly, he is very, very tired.

"i'll be on my way. not gonna clean up though, that's on you."

aziraphale stands frozen, watching, right there and warm and real. crowley barely avoids throwing up at the thought of letting it all go for one gentle touch. in the harsh light, he seems pale, his lips bitten raw, and crowley loves him so desperately it hurts. gritting his teeth, he heals the cut oozing all over his back and nearly topples over with relief. hold me, he doesn't say. help me. come back. i miss you.

"for what it's worth, crowley, i am sorry."

they look at each other, gold and purple-blue-something new. he refuses to believe in Her after everything, but he believes that they will fix this somehow. crowley swallows and his fingers twitch at his side when the light catches on the tears gathering on aziraphale's waterline. they will fix this.

they have to.

"yeah, me too."

three word sentences hiding the one they both cannot voice, yet he finds forgiveness cannot easily be forgiven, not this time.

(it still counts)

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen

349 notes · View notes

katsona-the-katsequel · 9 months ago

Text

Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad Activity Report

Part 1

(As I mentioned before, all of this was retrieved and translated from the P3 Club Book)

4/6 (Mon) - Reporter: Mitsuru Kirijo

It's Kirijo...

Today is April 6th... No, it's already past midnight. So, to be precise, it's the early hours of the 7th. A new member has arrived at Iwatodai dorm. He is a boy who seems a little quiet, but exudes a mysterious air about him.

Yes, to use a cliché phrase, he has that kind of aura that makes you feel like there is something shining there.

The Chairman had told us about his "potential" beforehand, but to be able to walk the whole way from the station to the dormitory without getting flustered during the Dark Hour... Marvelous! I'm really surprised!

It seems that he has not yet Awakened, but I am sure that he will be a great asset to our team. Today may be a fateful day for us.

Hehe... I seem to be in a surprisingly good mood. Let's hope that my hunch is correct and that I'll finally be able to put an end to my sadness of the past 10 years.

4/7 (Tue) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, it's Takeba. There are no club activities today. Oh, I guess escorting the transfer student who arrived last night to school this morning counted as part of the activities. He is, to put it nicely, "calm and collected," but from my perspective, he's way more than cool, and I don't know what he's thinking... well, you shouldn't say anything bad without knowing the facts.

Also, that idiot Junpei Iori from my class is getting a little too close to the new transfer student, so I made sure to tell him not to mention the Dark Hour thing. That's it. This is Takeba.

4/8 (Wed) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

Following on from last night, I was on a shadow patrol again tonight. The patrol area was the main street from Iwatodai Station to Moonlight Bridge.

Since the beginning of this month, there have been more and more rumors about shadows, but contrary to expectations, there are not many of them. To be honest, it's not enough.

I guess we have no choice but to build up our fighting power as soon as possible and begin our assault on that dreaded tower, Tartarus. They'll be gathering there. It should be a more efficient way to proceed with our operations than patrolling in the hopes of a chance encounter. Well, now is the time to lie low...

Ah, that's right. Tonight I found an unexpected find. A detailed report will be provided at a later date.

It's unclear whether it will be an effective fighting force, but it looks like it could be interesting in many ways.

Oh, and a message from Takeba to Ikutsuki-san: "It's embarrassing, so please stop the indiscriminate attacks of puns."

4/9 (Thu) - Reporter: Mitsuru Kirijo

It's Kirijo. During the Dark Hour, we were attacked by a large Shadow unlike any we had seen before.

The Arcana was the Fool.

For more details, please see the attached report.

…Today's report may be a little too brief, but due to a series of shocking events, I'll have to be forgiven.

Above all, he is a newbie... He seems to be a little out of control, but he awakened to two Persona at the same time.

What if...

Anyway, the confusion on this matter has subsided.

I will provide a written report as soon as possible.

Oh, and there was some damage to the exterior walls and windows of the dormitory, but the overall damage seems to be minor. We plan to place an order for repairs with a contractor from our group as early as tomorrow.

4/10 (Fri) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

The damage caused by the large Shadow last night was greater than expected. Mitsuru said it wasn't a big deal, but it was a big burden on Takeba, as it was her first real fight. She's probably not going to be able to use her Evoker for a few days, especially due to mental fatigue.

The damage to the dormitory itself was even worse than it appeared, with several optical fiber cables for the internet broken.

Also, the newbie collapsed after the battle and remains unconscious. It seems that the cause was excessive mental concentration in order to control his Persona, but it is unclear when he will return.

It's true... I can't help it. I'll fight for anyone who can't fight for themselves... Hey, Mitsuru, what's with you all of a sudden... Whoa, wait a second...

(Some loud bang sound)

...Additional information from Kirijo. Akihiko has been diagnosed with a broken rib and will need one month to fully recover. For the time being, the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad will be effectively suspended.

...Correction: Akihiko has suffered a head injury. An additional half month will be added to the time until he is fully recovered. That's all.

4/11 (Sat) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

Dark Hour activities will be suspended for a while, but today I went to visit our new member, so I thought I'd let you know.

He's still unconscious, but the doctor said he's in good health.

From what I saw, his complexion was good and he had regained consciousness.

I think he might have gained weight from all the infusions. I'm a little worried, so I'll go and check on him again tomorrow at noon.

Maybe he will be cured completely.

4/12 (Sun) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, it's Takeba for the second day in a row.

Kirijo-senpai is out today, having gone to the Kirijo Group headquarters to report on the recent large Shadow incident. Sanada-senpai was about to go out for some personal training when he was spotted by Kirijo-senpai, who gave him a cold shoulder... well, not metaphorically, but more like, physically.

Oh, and I believe Ikutsuki must be feeling lonely without a supervisor...to be honest, it's painful. I hope the new guy returns as soon as possible. That's all from Takeba. Phew.

4/13 (Mon) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

As for the cleanup of the large shadow from the other day, it seems that it has finally come to an end, according to Mitsuru's report yesterday.

The rest is up to the Chairman and the specialist team. We just need to focus on defeating the shadows. That being said, we are currently overwhelmingly underpowered... Anyways, patience makes perfect, so we'll just have to be patient for a while.

That's right. Today at school, the Student Council election was held. Mitsuru was running for president, and it seems likely that she will win. The results will be announced at tomorrow's morning assembly, but should I start thinking about what to say to congratulate her?

4/14 (Tue) - Reporter: Mitsuru Kirijo

It's Kirijo.

There is nothing to report from the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad today. The new recruit hasn't regained consciousness yet. I wonder if he'll be okay...

Also, I apologize for talking about my personal matters, but as a result of the Student Council elections held yesterday, I have been officially appointed as student council president, starting today.

Let me report on it.

I have a lot of things to do this week to take over the Student Council. However, I am confident that I can achieve good results by utilizing the experience I gained as a Student Council member from my first year.

I hope that with this, I can be more confident in defeating shadows as well...

No... that's not it. That's not it. Why would I have confidence in the Student Council, in school life? My life may not be in danger, but the future can't be perfect either...

I may have been... a bit complacent.

I'm grateful for this activity report. Just having to say it out loud and record it is a lot easier than thinking alone.

It teaches you things that you would not notice on your own.

Thinking about it, I've always been told that I'm taking on too much on my own. Akihiko often lectures me about this.

Well, I'll make sure to keep this in mind when I deliver my inaugural address next week.

4/15 (Wed) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

Today is a day off for the Archery Club, so I went to Tatsumi Memorial Hospital again. …He is still unconscious, so I'm starting to get worried.

The other day, I was asked to read a report about his upbringing, and I did, but it was pretty sad that he doesn't have any family to help him if something happens.

It's pretty tough without someone...

I really hope he gets better soon.

That's all from Takeba.

Oh, that's right. I forgot to mention it, but congratulations to Kirijo-senpai on being appointed president.

4/16 (Thu) - Reporter: Shuji Ikutsuki

…This is Ikutsuki.

It seems like everyone in SEES has been pushing themselves too hard lately, so I've decided to let them go to bed early tonight. There's nothing of note to report regarding shadows.

It's really nerve-wracking to record in front of a microphone in this empty space.

I was so nervous that I had to go to the bathroom...

When recording, that is, when inputting sound, going to the toilet is inevitable, just kidding...

Ah, if no one listens to me, it's not worth it.

4/17 (Fri) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

It's Takeba! Well, he's finally woken up! According to the doctor in charge, he's in good health. He'll still be staying in the hospital tonight just to be safe, but starting tomorrow, he'll be fine to go to school.

Also, the Chairman said that he will finally tell him about SEES tomorrow.

I'm a little worried about whether he'll understand SEES' activities because he's a bit shy. Well, I can't force him, so it can't be helped, but if he joins, I think he'll be very reliable. I'll try not to get my hopes up too much and wait for tomorrow. This is Takeba.

4/18 (Sat) - Reporter: Mitsuru Kirijo

Good news! The new guy has been officially accepted into SEES.

…Honestly, even though it was an accident, I put him in a life-threatening situation, so I thought it was inevitable that he would refuse, but he seems to have a more flexible way of thinking than I had imagined. I can expect him to be an even more valuable asset in the future.

Oh, and by the way... I may have been a little too strict during the recruitment meeting. Sorry, Akihiko.

However, I need you to act a little like an injured person and exercise more restraint.

I don't want anyone to be forced to miss out...any more than this.

4/19 (Sun) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

The new recruit I picked up during the recent Dark Hour, whose situation had been left unresolved due to the large Shadow attack incident, is finally being allowed to move into the dorms.

The new recruit's name is Junpei Iori.

His detailed information should have been submitted separately, but he was in the same class as Takeba and the transfer student.

I had planned to keep it a secret until the last minute and surprise him, but Takeba's reaction when he moved into the dorm was better than I expected, and it was quite fun. If he continues like that, I think he'll fit in with the group quickly and do well.

He has a unique talent for creating a good mood, and in a sense, this is an advantage that surpasses his Persona abilities.

He has a unique talent for creating a good mood, and in my opinion, this is an advantage that surpasses his Persona abilities. Maybe I should follow his example.

And... finally, starting tomorrow, we plan to begin our search for Tartarus. Unfortunately, it seems Mitsuru won't allow me to join in, but even so... it's finally here...

4/20 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

Today was my first time in Tartarus...and I'm kind of tired from all sorts of things...

But I'll try my best.

No, I think I can do my best.

The field leader, the transfer student, is amazing. I have my own goals, but I don't really know much about them.

I know I shouldn't rely on him, but it still seems like he could be relied on.

Now... if only we could do something about Junpei's stupidity, it would be fantastic.

Well, it's short, but I'm going to sleep now. This is Takeba.

4/21 (Tue) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

…Ah, ah...Is the sound properly? Ahem.

Hey, I'm Junpei Iori, a promising new recruit. Well, this is my first report. ...What should I talk about? The activities that seem to be part of SEES are, ah, I was told by Sanada-senpai to go to the Tatsumi East Police Station with the transfer student to buy weapons.

But if you think about it, that's just black market sales, isn't it? Is that okay?

I heard something on TV, but the number of Lost people, shadow victims, is increasing.

Well, that's where we come in... but it's hard to get used to the Evoker.

I don't think it's right. Isn't it possible to make it a more gentle design?

And then... Oh, by the way, Kirijo-senpai's inaugural speech as president was really powerful. I didn't really understand it though.

Is that it? Yes, it's all over.

SEES Members Talk!

Mitsuru: In addition to directing the daily attack on Tartarus, he is also involved in student council activities... right, he is also in the sports club.

Fuuka: Although he doesn't go every day, he participates in the same cultural club as me. The club president seems to think highly of him.

Yukari: So what was it called, that club thing... you do that too, right? Come to think of it, it's a really hard schedule.

Mitsuru: Even when he comes to school, he sometimes looks pretty pale. I wonder if he is tired after all. I am worried because he never complains or anything...

Yukari: Sometimes he falls asleep during class so soundly that his eyes roll up, or he goes to Mr. Edogawa's after school.

Fuuka: That's right, and then he takes this very suspicious drug that seems to emit smoke, and looks so happy... It's actually kind of scary how he becomes so refreshed so quickly.

Mitsuru: Sometimes during the Dark Hour he mutters to himself something like "The end is coming..." ...Could it be that he's in quite the dangerous situation...?

Yukari: ...

Fuuka: H-how can I cheer her up? Oh, that's right, how about equipping her with high leg armor and sexy heels!

Mitsuru: Wh...! Yamagishi, don't be so casual about it as if it's someone else's problem.

NEXT->

#i included a SEES Members Talk as a treat :)#persona 3 #mitsuru kirijo #akihiko sanada #yukari takeba #fuuka yamagishi #minato arisato #makoto yuki #junpei iori #look! a new tag!#that does appear in the bible!

74 notes · View notes

wutheringmights · 6 months ago

Text

I finished Skyshade by Alex Aster. No surprises: it's really bad. It might be the worst Lightlark book yet.

I could write out a long, well-articulated analysis of what specifically is bad about it, but I do not have the willpower. What I do have is a long, detailed summary of the events of the plot I spent way too much time writing out for my friends' personal enjoyment.

So here it is.

Ok so I am just going to assume that you all remember what happened at the end of Nightbane, because we pick up right where we left off: Isla "ending" the war by agreeing to go back to Nightshade with her husband Grim. The plot then informs me that apparently Grim's whole court and country knew they were married from the beginning. Taking into consideration the time they were married before the brain washing, the 100 day time limit on the centenial, and the month and a half of war prep we just went through; this means that this was somehow kept as a secret by thousands of people for like 6 whole months. How the fuck did no rumors about this ever spread to the rest of the world????

Anyway, what is the plot? So Isla has a prophecy that says that she is going to stab either Oro or Grim in the heart and kill them. That's bad, and she wants to stop that. But wait! She is also slowly dying (she's on borrowed time because her life is tied to Grim, via marriage). So she wants to find a way to not die. But wait! There are also storms. What kind of storms? Magical, uber desctructive storms that have apparently been destroying Nightshade and other countries for a long time now and have been slowly increasing in frequency. We have never been informed of the storms before, but now Isla has a goal of discovering the source of the storms and stopping them. And she has to do this before the end of storm season (winter, so a few weeks) because that's when she's supposed to die.

And here, we can truly acknowledge the fact that Aster knows how to write one plot and one plot alone: fetch quest with abritary time limit. The next 200-odd pages are Isla going to X person to find out Y, then running off to A person to ask more about B. And the narration is constantly reminding us that she only has a few short weeks to live, but it never feels that important-- frankly, because no one actually cares if she lives or dies or not.

So we go to a religious cult who once followed a prophet, who then tell her to go talk to the auger. The auger is a fucked up dude that sounds like he belongs in Pan's Labrynth. He will provide the needed info, but only if Isla pays him in human hearts. So now we need to go get human hearts.

During all this, is the… I guess romance stuff? So Grim is well aware he's in the fucking dog house with the whole brainwashing and marriage stuff, and this man has been groveling for her forgiveness. This is not fun for me, as I enjoy Grimshaw the best when he is an unrepentant asshole. He also does this thing where he keeps calling Isla, "wife." Which proves that the most important part of calling someone "my wife" is the "my" part. "My wife" is affectionate. "Wife" is like you're calling for a dog. Gives me the ick, I tell you. Anyway, everyone at court hates Isla because they think she's Oro's spy and is just using Grim. They're not wrong about the latter-- she has not forgiven him and stuff. But she's not in contact with Oro because she believes she's too evil for him.

During this plotline, there's a guy a Grim's court who's flair is that he can control people's body with a touch of the hand. Which he uses one night to try to get Isla to hold still long enough for him to kill her. He gets mauled by Lynx first. Isla then decides to go full evil mode and present his decapitated head to the court and have her ~EVIL~ snakes devour it. Before Isla can feel bad about murdering a mostly okay guy, the story implies that he had previously used his powers to rape women during the night.

And I bring that up because there is this stupid morality thread throughout this book where Isla thinks she's evil and tries to do things that are good (they aren't), but ~she just can't help wanting to do evil things.~ Because of that, Isla has these stupid handcuffs installed onto her that suppresses her magic (so that it doesn't make her evil?) until the rape guy incident. Then she removes them and embraces her villain era. At the same time, there's a lot of Grim lore we learn to soften his image so that he appears to be way less of an unrepentant cunt. There's also this weird characterization of Oro, which I will get to later.

Anyway, back to the plot. Isla needs human hearts to go talk to the auger. So she goes to a random village in Nightshade and finds a guy who she considers to be "wicked": he's choking out some girl in an alley way. And then she brutally murders him and carves out his heart. She does this so that she does not feel bad about killing an innocent person. But what Isla has not considered is that by doing this, she is violating his right to due process and is assuming he is guilty until proven innocent. For all she knew, this man was defending himself from a womanly mugger, or that this was a pre-discussed kink scenario between the two. But, like, whatever I guess. The woman she saved is named Sairsha. When Isla returns every night to do her "vigilante" activities, Sairsha is there to give her a pastry and to thank her for doing her part to keep the streets safe 🙂

Yes, there is a character in this stupid book named Sairsha

HEY ALEX ASTER DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO SPELL SAOIRSE????

Once Isla has enough hearts, the auger tells her that there's actually another magic system in this world called skyres. Basically, it's blood powered and you have to use your blood to draw sigils. Doing too much will kill you. But Isla, who at this point has been told that there's no way to avoid dying or killing one of her 2 boyfriends, is like "fuck yeah sign me up." The problem is that the skyres are a forgotten magic from the old world. The only person who remembered anything about it was the aforementioned prophet, but he was murdered ages ago by Grim's father. So Isla now has to rediscover how skyres work.

Now please pause for a moment as I quickly move some wet laundry to the dryer.

And now we're back. So even after she gets help from the auger, she STILL decides to continue cutting out the hearts of random men on the streets who may or may not be evil. And this leads to Sairsha roofing Isla and kidnapping her. When Isla wakes, Sairsha reveals that she and her drinking buddies are a part of a cult that believes Isla will either save or destroy the world. And they want Isla to kill them. Isla refuse, so… ok, I need you to follow me on this one. One of the men hands her a sword. She holds it up, wondering "wtf am I supposed to do with this?" and the man rams himself onto the sword, killing himself. The other cult members then try attack her, which she blocks. But then they realize they can just run themselves onto her sword every time she blocks, so she ends up accidentally killing all of them. This is very traumatizing for her

Now, you might be wondering what the fuck is going on with the storm story line. Earlier in the book, democratic leader demoted to gay best friend archetype and leader of the Skyling Azul met her for tea to discuss the tea that is her secret marriage. He is intimately familiar with the storms because apparently they happen to every kingdom, but for some fucking reason Isla has never heard of them before. So he gave her a ring that she can use to trap a little bit of storm that will lead her to its source. Cool. Now she has to wait for a storm, which is a period of time she used to justly carve out the hearts of guilty until proven innocent men. Azul also gave her a fucking bird that will sing when the next storm is intiment, kinda like a tornado siren. So the night the next storm hits, Isla finds that Oro had flown his ass all the way from Lightlark to Nightshade because he was worried about her. It's been weeks dude. Where are you. Anyway, they have a moment where Isla decides that she has to scare Oro off so she goes on an evil speech about how she never loved him and stuff. Then the storm hits, and we race off to capture the storm in the ring. This does not work because SHE DROPS THE FUCKING RING AND LOSES IT. Oops. So now we're back on the fetch quest.

So we're back on the fucking fetch quest, and we fuck around and do other things for a bit. We have a second wedding to improve Isla's reputation. Isla has long gotten the stupid anti-magic handcuffs removed. And there is a little subplot about how there is a traitor among the Wildlings who are desecrating graves and destroying medicinal miracle herbs. Put a pin in that one because we will get back to it. So we learn that the storms are coming from a tear in reality, a portal back to the original world that all of this came from. This is a one way portal, though. So we can't use it to go through ourselves without dying (there is another subplot where Grim wants to do this because he thinks it will save Isla's life; don't worry about this).

So in the last book, Isla had visited Aurora's castle and found a feather as a memento. This is now relevant because the feather is actually a quill and Aurora's ghost can control the quill. Using writing, she tells Isla that she can teach her a little bit about skyres. Isla believes her and that this is actually Aurora's ghost controlling the quill, and starts to learn skyres. But she needs to go to a special library in Grim's winter castle to find more. This, and the fact that she is really freaking horny, is her motivation to finally mend her marriage with Grim.

Grim uses this opportunity to trauma dump about how his childhood sucks. It's royal Nightshade tradition that you have all your kids murder each other so that there will be one ruler. This is stupid when you consider the whole nexus, "lives of the people attached to the ruler's" thing, but whatever. Luckily, Grim didn't kill his siblings on account of his father doing it for him. This is so sad that it makes Isla forgive him entirely and they fuck. Yay.

We go to the winter palace, and Isla finds the needed book. The book helpfully tells her that bone is more powerful than blood. Put a pin in that. Besides that, she and Grim go on some more dates (including a sequence where she gets new clothes for him because he doesn't know how to dress casually) (who the fuck wants their boyfriend to dress worse???) and shit. He also shows her a magic maze in the backyard that is enchanted to forbid people from using their magic. But at the center of the maze is Cronan's casket and body. Cronan, you may recall, is one of the three founders of lightlark, the first nightshade, and the dude that invented the nexus. Isla tries to steal his bones in order to do more powerful magic, but fails. There's also this bit where Isla investigates her dead father's life in order to feel connected to him for a bit. This involves discovering that he had discovered an island, that he had also named Isla. This island is barely relevant.

So at this point, we are about 150 pages into a 370-ish page book. This is also the point where I started reading last night and proceeded to go a little bit insane.

So the next big plot point is that a village in Nightshade is absolutely razed by someone everyone thinks is Isla. It's not Isla because she has been fucking off to learn more skyres, but no one knows she's been doing that because it's been a secret. We spend about a chapter confused as to who this person could be, only to find out that it's the same Wilding traitor who has been fucking around in the background of this book so far. Wanna take a wild guess as to who this traitor is?

Well, you can't because out of left field, we find out that it's Lark Crown-- Isla's ancestor, one of the founders of lightlark, and someone we have been told has been long dead for like a millennia

So what is Lark's deal? Lark has been imprisoned below the earth by Cronan, and has been there for a millenia. Apparently, the dead Nightshade children thing was a way to reinforce her bounds. Because Grimshaw wasn't going around and having children to kill, her bounds weakened enough for her to escape. And, I need you to understand this-- Grim knew about Lark this whole time. He knew that she was locked up because she was famously the most evil person ever (but not famously enough for Isla to know?). He kept this a secret for Isla, and then also didn't do the one thing that would have kept Lark imprisoned

Lark and Cronan (and also Horus, who is Oro's ancestor; he's actually dead so don't worry about him) are from the primary world. Long story short, they were fed up with how Horus's family were tyrants and decided to make their own secondary world. But to do that, they had to kill a lot of people and the world of lightlark is made from the bones of innocent. Then Cronan, who Lark was in love with, betrayed her and imprisoned her so that the land could be powered by her magic. Now that she's escaped, she wants to kill everyone in the secondary world so that she can start over from scratch. To do this, she has raised an undead, nigh-invincible army.

Also, remember Aurora's quill? That was Lark using magic and "stealing" Aurora's handwriting. Because she needs Isla to know skyres for some reason? Mostly, Isla is connected to the heart of Lightlark and needs that power to remake the world.

So the first thing Isla needs to do is go on one last fetch quest to learn one last bit of information that will help us later (insert mickey mouse special tool meme). So she goes to Lightlark so that she can invade this secret Sunling archive, located in a magical desert that only the Sunling ruler has access to. Here, Oro finds her and he's fucking bitter about the whole break up thing. Like he's gone from being generally nice dude to being really mean, but mean in a book 1 Grimshaw way. Like he invades her space and kisses her without her verbal consent-- because he has magic that can tell that she's lying when she says she doesn't want him anymore. Sadly, I still think he's better than Grimshaw so I will allow him to be a cunt for as long as he wants to

This story arc in the desert. Oh my fucking god. I was losing my mind. So it's super hot, so there's all these bits where Isla keeps having to strip naked to stay cool. And Oro just keeps…ogoglinh her. Fucking leering man. And while the stakes are high and you're still concerned about the whole Lark Crown situation, we stop the entire flow of the story so that Isla could have a dream. Which is just a framing device for a flashback to the time she had sex with Oro.

This sex scene chronologically took place during the events of the last book, but we did not see it because Alex Aster did not care about providing the illusion that Oro has a fighting chance at this love triangle until she read the fucking comments. In this sex scene, Isla urges Oro to turn the slinky dress she is wearing into gold. Why? Explicitly, because she wants to help Oro get over his hang-up about having once killed someone with his midas touch. WHY? Because Aster read the fucking comments and decided that Isla is actually obsessed with the gold stuff because it's therapy for Oro. Therapy, while they're having sex. Anyway, Isla rides his dick for a bit before giving him a blow job. Good job, boyo.

So we get the last bit of information from what turns out to be Horus's tomb. And I'll be honest-- the whole sex scene flashback had made me gone so thoroughly insane that I'm a little fuzzy as to what bullshit we actually learned here. I think it's that the portals are being caused by Cronan's body, because had a portaling flair in his lifetime. I don't know, man. Just thinking about this is hurting my brain.

There's a bit where Isla steals some of Horus's powerful bones, which is another betrayal for Oro. Before they can duke it out, we learn that Lark has already brought her armies to Lightlark. So Isla, Grimshaw, Oro, and Oro's friends decide they have to put their petty differences aside and work together. There's more fetch questing here, but to summarize: we go see this monster guy named Remlar for a dagger powerful enough to paralyze Lark. Grim tries to find this monster controling sword he had in the last book, but it's gone now, Turns out, after he used it he put it back in the dragon lair / thief trove he had to looney tunes his way to find it last time. And since then, the thief had moved their trove, probably because some dingbat idiot purposefully trigger all their traps. We had have to get Oro's friend Zed, who is a hobbyist theif, to find the thief. This apparently was a huge ordeal and was mildly traumatizing for him, but it all happened off screen.

This is actually a huge problem in this last act of the book. A lot of bullshit happens, very quickly. The great majority of it is based on information Aster teases, but does not tell the reader until the last second, which is then followed up with Aster telling us that Isla had done something or talked to someone off screen, had gotten X special thing from them, and is now using it has a checkmate against Lark. I am not joking when I say that by the time we reach the final fight, there are like 4 checkmates in a row that can be summarized as "Isla allegedly did this really cool thing off screen that she told no one about and the audience didn't see, but it allows her to do this really cool thing"

So the what does this look like on page? The narration will tell us that Remlar "told Isla a secret." Then in a fight, Isla will use a new power and "this was the secret Remlar told Isla." Then when this does not work, we then find out that Isla:

-laid a physical, magical trap that we had not heard about before

-had talked to the auger to get one last bit of lore, which we are just hearing about now that it's going to help us fight Lark

-Isla realized a plot twist off screen that is helpful for the fight now

-convince Cleo, the Moonling queen who was helping Lark, to switch over to our side in exchange for something that is never really explained to us

It's rapid . One after another. And Aster expects you to be happy with each punch as they come. Because here's the thing about Aster's writing. The logic doesn't matter. She just wants to shock you. She wants to catch you off guard with another plot twist, even if the plot twist is nonsensical or is only possible by not writing a solid 100 pages worth of material. I don't want this book to be any longer than it is, but it's downright insulting how much Aster straight up doesn't write for the last fight of this book

So to summarize what is already the summary of a final conflict. We try to paralyze Lark long enough to open a portal to send her back to the primary realm, but oops Cleo saves her. So Isla decides to make the worst storm of the century in order to depower Lark long enough to try again. There's this bit where Lark tries to imprison her underground, but it doesn't matter. There's also this bit about Isla realizing that as a baby she killed her parents, but it's okay because they knew it was going to happen, but this Does Not Matter. She also has sex with Grimshaw again.

So final fight, we lure Lark to Cronan's coffin, where the portal is. This is where we learn that Cronan is actually alive and has been freely portaling between the secondary and primary worlds. We never see him, so who cares? Anyways, Isla uses her powers to open a new portal to throw Lark into. And she sacrifices herself by going through it as well. And the book ends with Oro and Grim realizing that Isla had gone this one last act of good-- sealing herself off in the primary world… which is named Skyshade. Roll credits

Every fucking book, Aster finds a new way to write badly. I am going insane. I didn't know you could write like this. She is discovering new avenues of absurd badness I couldn't even imagine. I feel like I am going to throw up. I can't think about this book too hard or else I think about the stupid desert sex scene again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU PUBLISHED THIS?? Why is the first book somehow turning out to be the most coherent one??? I am going to chew my arm off. I have to read three more of her books next year??? Are you insane??? Am I insane??? -1/5⭐ anyways, thank you for tolerating this long rant. I hope you enjoyed this. I'm going to go read a good book now.

Friend: [asks what was the deal with losing the ring and comments on the love triangle]

Me: So there was a second ring, which she used in the final fight to make the worst story in history to depower Lark. There is more lore about the storms and importance given to the storms in general that I skimmed over because, really, they don't matter.

Also the thing about the second ring is that I'm not sure where she got it? I thought Azul gave her one and she made a big deal out of losing the first one, then there's a throwaway line about Azul giving her a second one that I couldn't decide happened a) when he gave her the first one or b) happened off screen. Initially, I thought it was A and I just forgot but in retrospect it's probably B

I am still on team Oro, even if he's being a total dick rignt now but I have no illusions that Grim isn't going to be the end game. However, I do want to entertain delusions I will get a threesome somewhere

Honestly, I think Aster wants to write a smutty fairy book where the plot matters less than the sex scenes, but she unfortunately has to sell this as YA. Does that stop her from writing sex scenes? No but it causes her to give me a fucking flashback of Isla and Oro having sex instead of just having them fuck in the cave like she probably wanted

"[frankie] you make such a big deal about the sex" these characters are obsessed with it. like every conversation comes down to a scale of how much a character does or does not want to bang. and it's not even remotely sexy about it

[five hours later]

I have realized I forgot to elaborate on a whole plot point about her dead parents lmao

here's the highlights because I'm tired:

-her guardians had initially told isla in book 1 that they killed her parents, then walked it back in book 2. They were the red herrings for the whole wildling traitor BS

-Isla already imprisoned them when, 2/3rds of the way through the book, she decided to use oro's lie detector magic to see if they were lying or not. They were not.

-while imprisoned by Lark (this truly does not matter), Isla realized that her flair actually isn't anti-curse. Nope. It's actually that she can steal other people's flairs if she killed them. And she had actually killed her parents.

-her dad discovered an island and named it isla, but swore that he also wanted it to be the name of his future daughter

-before the final fight, she discovered a letter on the island from her dad that explains the Lore

-the dad, who had an anti-curse flair,* had a charm made with his blood for grimshaw that allowed him to be outside at night despite the curse; this is Aster reading the comments again

-Grimshaw gave the dad the starstick in exchange

-Isla's mom had a fortune telling flair that let her know that Isla is so powerful that she will kill them shortly after being born.

-both mom and dad decided to still have her because they wanted her so much, but they did make a charm to bottle away the mom's future telling flair so that Isla didn't get it right away

-When Isla asked her guardians about THAT, they confirmed it and said they didn't tell her because they did not want to truamatize her

-and also they had suppressed her powers by putting metal shavings from this story's equivalent of kryptonite into all her food, which did not wear off until she was at the centennial

-this is so that she would not have any powers until she was strong enough to handle them

This book is a goddamn mess

The real irony here is that Isla was still traumatized by the idea that she had, as a baby, lost control of her powers enough to kill her parents. Yet she cannot extend any real empathy to Oro, WHO DID THE EXACT SAME THING

Friend: that's a lot to unpack

Me: honestly eager to read crowcaller's review. if anyone could unpack it, it's them

#if something is inaccurate it's because i read half of this book last night and it all became a blur #i basically edited out my friend's comments and my responses along the way and nothing else #so sorry if this is a little incoherent #but at least enjoy this peek into how i talk normally lmao #me rambling #me reading #lightlark #skyshade #alex aster #bookish #books #bookblr #books and reading #also lost some of my comedic italicization in the copy and paste but oh well

45 notes · View notes