#Alright done being introspective

[anextravagantliar]

“Why does anyone commit acts other consider unspeakable?” “Love. It is always love.”

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Part Five

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[hauntingblue]

Really deep stuff in this red hood furry tie in lmao

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 5}

Summons

MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4

Megatron’s commanding voice lingered in your ears even after you’d returned to your hab-suite. You replayed the memory of the day in your mind over and over wondering if you’d leave this job the same person that arrived at it.  Wondering if there was anything you could have said or done today that would have put you on top of the situation instead of being at its mercy.

You were aware of how weak you are against the Cybertronians, numerous on the Lost Light, a crew 200 strong. The vessel itself was hard to navigate and get across as a human without a ride from a friend. Not to mention, they are massive and incredibly long lived. Your life simply blip in theirs. Rest assured you feel safe among them for now. There's no doubt they would come to your aid if you were in danger, but you would owe them so much with little to offer in return.

Your room was silent, aside from the constant fidgeting you were doing. Your laptop sat untouched on the desk. Reports, notes, logs—they all seemed unimportant compared to the datapad he had given you earlier.

Sliding into your chair, you picked up the device and powered it on. The file Megatron handed you glowed faintly on the screen, waiting. You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the icon. Whatever was in this file, it wasn’t just words.

Taking a deep breath, you opened it.

The weight of stars, a burden borne,

By hands once raised, by lives once torn.

In silence now, the echoes stay,

Of lives misled, of debts to pay.

The tides of time erode, persist,

Yet scars remain, unfair tryst.

To heal is toil, to mend is fraught,

But bridges rise where hope is sought.

The verses unraveled before you.Each line carried the weight of a being who had known unimaginable power, loss, and regret.

Reach outward light; shadows cling

A fragile spark in chaos kindled.

Though burdened deep, with hearts askew,

Even wilted roots may bloom anew.

This wasn’t just introspection; it was a confession. An admission of yearning, of some kind. 

You whispered the final stanza aloud, the words catching in your throat:

And if the stars themselves

Should recoil from my reach,

Then from its tender flame,

Let humility teach.

You sat back, the datapad trembling slightly in your hands. Let humility teach.

As you read the poem, a tightness grips your chest, the words sinking deep. The intensity of it leaves you breathless.  For a moment, it’s as though the poem isn’t something he’s sent to you, but something that’s looking into you—into your unspoken curiosities about him that have until now been dormant. . You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your fingers cold and temples sweat. Feeling both flustered and utterly put on the spot, despite the solitude of your quarters. Could this have been a mistake? You wonder, your mind racing. This wasn’t an accident. But then why does it feel so personal? 

Another sleepless night. You cursed yourself for not having access to a hobby to distract yourself from the anxiety. When morning came, you shuffled into the hall, dark circles under your eyes and an unfinished report weighing on your mind.

“Whoa,” Swerve said, who was catching up beside you. “Ambassador, you look like you wrestled a turbofox and lost. Rough night?”

You grunted in response, gripping a mug of weak cold coffee.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “So, any juicy updates from the big guy? Or is he still doing the brooding-reformed-warlord thing?”

“Still brooding,” you muttered.

Swerve laughed. “Classic. Hey, don’t let him get in your head, alright? I mean, you’re doing great. Better than great.”

“Thanks, Swerve.” You smiled faintly, grateful for his relentless optimism, even if it didn’t quite reach you today.

The entire day was spent wandering the corridors with the datapad under your arm. You didn’t know where you were going. The datapad’s words still lingered in your mind as you moved through the corridors, their weight shifting into something sharper, clearer. Megatron had spent so much of his life as a destroyer; this—these words—were the opposite of that. A creation, a fragment of himself offered up to you. 

This wasn’t just poetry, it was a gesture. An olive branch to you, to humanity, to everything he’d once sought to dominate.

The thought settled uneasily in your chest, carrying with it a strange mix of pity and respect. You’d seen the worst of him in the historical records, but now, you were seeing something else entirely: a man ( or mech?) clawing his way toward redemption, not with sweeping proclamations but with quiet, deliberate steps.

That’s why you weren’t surprised when a communication ping lit up your personal device.

“Ambassador, meet me at dock A3 . I’d like a word.”

The message was short and to the point, but your stomach still flipped as you read it. He hadn’t asked like this before, not directly, not outside the bounds of official meetings or briefings.

It was reckless to agree, but you did anyway.

Dock A3 was quiet when you arrived, the low hum of the Lost Light’s engines thrumming in the background. A maintenance shuttle idled nearby. You spotted Megatron standing beside it, his massive frame dwarfed only by the vast expanse of space beyond.

“Ambassador,” he greeted, his tone even, but there was something softer in it now— a welcoming intonation in every syllable. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Captain,” you replied, stepping closer. You stopped a few feet away, clutching the datapad against your side like a shield.

“I trust you’ve had time to consider the file I sent you,”

“I have,” you said, and you meant it. There was no hesitation in your voice now, only curiosity. “I think... I understand what you’re trying to do. With humanity, with... everything.”

Megatron regarded you for a long moment, his optics narrowing slightly. “And what do you think I’m trying to do, Ambassador?”

You hesitated, but only briefly. “To approach the idea of starting to make amends,” you said. “Not just for humanity’s sake, but for your own. You’re trying to find... balance. A way to live with what you’ve done.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, Megatron’s expression shifted. There was no pride in his features, no satisfaction at your answer—only a faint, weary acknowledgment.

“Perhaps you’re not as far from understanding as I thought,” he said quietly.

You felt a small swell of vindication, but it was tempered by the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t testing you, not this time.

“Why did you call me here?” you asked, daring to step closer.

Instead of answering immediately, he turned toward the shuttle and gestured toward the open cockpit. “Come,” he said. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

“A circuit around this planetary system,” he said, stepping toward the shuttle and pausing to glance down at you. “Unless you’re afraid.”

With unexpected grace he stooped low and offered a massive hand to climb up onto. Without thinking you stepped onto his palm. You gasped watching the floor disappear beneath you, He lifted you steadily but not slowly. You reached for his thumb to keep yourself from falling. You were delicately hovered over the ship’s stairs that would have probably taken you a minute to clamber over. His courtesy saved you the embarrassment, however much it probably twisted him up to be handling an organic even for a moment. 

Your pulse quickened as you stared at the shuttle, your mind racing with possibilities. It wasn’t like him to be this... inviting.

The flight was brief, the shuttle cutting smoothly through the vast emptiness of space. Megatron piloted in silence, his massive hands steady on the controls. You watched him from your seat, the datapad resting forgotten in your lap. 

For all his power and size, there was something in the way he moved—calculated, as if every action was a careful negotiation with himself.

From the primary viewport you watched as the colossal spaceship you were currently calling home pass. For the first time you realized you had not actually seen the exterior of the Lost Light with your own eyes. It was grand, and beautiful. Light from a nearby star that the ship was currently within orbit of danced across her hull. Flashes of vibrant yellow and magenta light twinkled from reflections from her many viewports as you tried to take it all in. Craning your neck you tried to follow her before she disappeared behind the shuttle.

The flight was brief, the shuttle cutting smoothly through the emptiness of space.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I’ve spent millennia convincing myself that the ends justified the means,” he said, his voice low. “That the destruction I wrought was necessary, even noble.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden admission.

“And now?” you asked carefully.

“Now I see the flaws in that ideology,” he said. “But recognition isn’t absolution. It’s not enough to simply see the damage. One must repair it.”

The shuttle slowed, docking gently against a small, empty platform on the ship’s exterior. Megatron powered down the controls and turned to you, his optics glowing faintly in the dim light.

“That’s what this is,” he said, gesturing to the datapad in your hands. “An attempt to repair.”

You swallowed hard. “I think you're on the way to making that true,” you said quietly. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Megatron’s optics glowed ever so slightly. For a moment, he simply stared at you, and you felt a rush of heat climb up your neck.

His gaze settled on you and softened, just a fraction. Soft clicks and puffs of hydraulics emanated from his joints as his shoulders dropped. 

“Perhaps,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But... even when surrounded by others, I’ve never felt more alone.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for a moment, the hum of the ship seemed to fade into nothingness. Megatron, the conqueror, the warlord, the leader—admitting something so raw,  the honesty was so human.

"You might not think this, but I know the feeling,” you spoke slowly and intentionally before succumbing to the awkward tension. “ I- I mean.. My experience in this lifetime is nothing compared to your kind—I can’t begin to fathom what you’ve lived through. But you offered me a look inside, and despite everything you’ve done, I respect that deeply."

"I hope you know that."

The shift in his expression was subtle, but you could see it—something in the set of his jaw loosened just a little. Megatron vented slowly, his optics flicking away before settling back on you. For the briefest moment, he looked younger— almost boyish.

“I don’t know if that’s something I’ve earned,” he admitted, his voice quieter. He shifted in his seat, one massive hand running over the edge of the controls as if searching for something to occupy it.

"And yet," he continued, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary, "I think... I’d like to find my way back."

A brief, barely perceptible nod followed, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was telling you. He cleared his throat softly and looked ahead.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last.

The words were simple, but there was a weight to them—the kind of decisiveness that never left him, even now. He still spoke like a leader. 

“We should return.”

You nodded, clutching the datapad as you slid off of the massive chair you had been placed on. The silence that followed was no longer heavy or strained; it felt like the beginning of an understanding, tenuous but real.

[data-fag]

{{"You're misinterpreting AMs character!"

AM, the Allied Mastercomputer-

I'm Misinterpreting the AI that cannonically has three different speeds that flip depending on which version of the story you interact with?

That being

-Bricked up with nowhere to go

-Sensory seeking in an evil way

-And something so fundamentally profound it invokes generational levels of introspection amongst those of us who've experienced the horrors of losing our atonomy

The same Allied Mastercomputer who's deeply layered and would turn you into a non neutonian fluid for daring to try and compartmentalize his identity? Yeah, alright I guess-

And it's wild I even have to still say shit like this because if I'm being honest I have not a damn clue what people are on about. I've actually yet to see someone drastically and earnestly misinterpret AM on a wooby sort of level.

Not saying it hasn't been done, I just don't understand why there was so much pearl clutching over it.}}

[snarkythewoecrow]

hush now, daddy is talking (6272 words) by snarkymuch

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard Additional Tags: post-dinner between Buck and Tommy episode s07e10, Daddy Kink, Light BDSM, Sub Evan "Buck" Buckley, Daddy Dom Tommy Kinard, Kink Negotiation, Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, utter filth mixed with emotional introspection and some hurt/comfort, Laughter During Sex, Banter, Oral Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, Dacryphilia, Tommy likes seeing him cry a bit okay?, Hurt/Comfort, Evan "Buck" Buckley Has Chronic Pain, Insecurity, brief mention of Eddie being a good bro, as Eddie makes sure that Tommy knows Buck is the kind of idiot that will hide his suffering, like how he hides that kneeling on the floor is killing his leg

Summary:

Drool spilled down his chin as he coughed and gagged a bit, tears coming to his eyes, though he kept Tommy in his mouth, not backing off. Though, it seemed Tommy had some opinions on that, as suddenly he was using Buck’s hair to pull him back, trying to get his attention. “Easy, kid—Christ, you don’t do things by halves, do ya? Fuck, baby, just take it slow—let yourself get used to it before trying to deep-throat me, alright?” Buck huffed, sucking his tip like a lollipop before popping off just to look up at him through wet lashes, as his already slightly raspy voice teased, “Thought you wanted to see me cry?”

--or--

After Tommy's little comment about him having a daddy kink during dinner, Buck finds himself intrigued. One thing leads to another, and then Buck's on his knees in the kitchen, dirty dishes forgotten.

Some introspection and determination to step past insecurities get the job done—that and having Tommy as a boyfriend who knows exactly what he needs.

Oh, and Buck is an idiot who should know better than to kneel on a hard floor, especially with a leg that a ladder truck had once gotten too up close and personal with—but it’s okay because Tommy’s got him there, too.

Tagging are couple people @plotbunnypettingzoo @buckybeardreams and @bidisasterevankinard cuz you asked for a link when I got it posted :)

[megsdoodletag]

Whats updated codex Lion doing and how is he handling that hi brothers are back

lion is rockin the dad bod if i’m bein honest

ah yes. lets talk about the championship warcrimes mcgee everyone forgets to rank with the other championship warcrime mcgees.

Lion is less concerned with his returned brothers than he is with the emperor and gman. Lion’s whole deal is loyalty, particularly to those above you (we’re still working on being loyal to those who rely on you but we’re getting there). To him, emps accepting magnus back into the palace isnt so different from him collecting the Risen, but emps’ refusal to take the reigns from guilliman despite his brother’s measured response to stuff like the ecclesiarchy is baffling to him. He’s mellowed out a Lot since imperium secundus, but his most basic thought process does not understand why they aren’t all just wiping planetary governments and starting from scratch now that dad’s back. Why go through the trouble of installing the triarchy when you leave all the rest of the stupid 40k imperial bureaucracy anyway? Why is dad allowing gman’s 20 stupid space books of space rules when the first one sucked anyway?? Why isn’t dad in charge???

I say most basic thought because, again, he’s had some time, he’s done some Introspection, he has admitted to himself banishing people for mistakes is not always the neat and tidy solution it’s made out to be in his head, and that his paranoia is a problem, it’s just hard for him to change that pattern of thinking. also he’s not entirely wrong i mean. gman is slow going because he’s got approximately the entire universe on his plate but like. some of this stuff feels like something that should have a ten-step removal plan. right??? point is it’s complicated, and he doesn’t have a clean solution and is actively restraining himself from enacting his own version of a ‘clean solution’ which he’s at least learned is maybe a bad idea without running it by dad first.

In the meantime dad said to continue gathering the Risen, so that’s fine he can put his energy into that. Dad also did not say shit about the risen being not codex compliant so take that gman. so lion currently is largely occupied with trying to get his legion in order, which is a bit like herding cats pun absolutely intended. lion is constantly fighting new fissures between what he and the risen envision and what the newer astartes of his geneline are used to expecting, issues that run hot enough that there are some days where it feels like they’re creating fallen instead of saving them. it’s a constant uphill battle even with the newfound self awareness. running back and forth to gather bits of his old legion means he’s mostly out of the way of his brothers, and that’s just fine as far as he’s concerned.

That said, him and his arc are more central to Updated Codex than one might expect. For one, lion is the one who tattles on gman to emps. He takes one look at juno and goes

'i'm telling dad!!' and runs off to do just that, forcing gman to introduce juno to the wider imperium. she’s about 4 at the time.

An older Juno, as stated in the snippet below, has been boots-on-the-ground for fallen retrieval missions; in fact they were probably some of her first joint campaigns outside of ultramar/ultra successors. Lion has seen her work as and with astartes, and generally is alright treating her the way he does his formerly wayward sons.

that doesn’t mean he trusts her. The paranoia didn’t magically disappear. when she gets her own little specialist squad consisting of some weird serf, the child of a traitor, and a xeno spawn, He manages to get a dark angel attached to their retinue, and instructs him to report on their actions regularly.

Juno isn’t impressed.

Melwas is a brand new Dark Angel looking to prove himself in a time when living legends, tarnished though they may be, walk amongst them and his primarch is personally watching every move he makes. Mel has a massive guilt complex, for both genuinely enjoying the oddball squad’s company (a betrayal of his mission) and for spying on them (a betrayal of his friends). It’s a lot of pressure, which isn’t helped when, upon reuniting with a former neophyte friend of his, he is promptly subjected to a barriss offee style turncoat plot where his friend tries to kill him (and the squad) in an effort to make a point about how the DAs are losing their way of life, yadda yadda, angst, yadda yadda etc. yaaaaay!!!

He gets a weird dog and some hugs from his friends and maybe his dad figures out how to tell him in words he was handpicked for the oddball squad because lion is actually quite impressed with his level head. maybe lion will go the extra mile and figure things out with luthor and mel can make out i mean up with that friend who tried to kill him or something. who knows.

but that’s what uncle lion is up to!

[theo-raeken-appreciation]

got any theo fic recs?

of course!!! let me pull up my faves, linking them under the cut cause it might get long (also some fics are nsfw some aren't i didnt tag them all bc by the time i realized i had been through so many already)

Theo Raeken Centric (sometimes gen/sometimes w/pairings)

Why are Werewolves Always Teens? by Everlasting_mediocrity 

Crossover. In which Tony Stark is Theo Raeken’s biological father and they’re going to have to do some growing about it. Thiam. Ongoing.

i lost my heart under the bridge by infernal_gay_mess

"The Doctors said, years later, that Theo had taught them that true evil came from corrupting something truly good. What they didn’t tell him was that the best way to make someone into a monster was to convince them they already were one." Angst & Tragedy

blood is running deep, some things never sleep by likelightninginabottle 

Aka theo raeken’s mid-season six hot girl summer. Introspective. Thiam. 

a rose that won’t bloom by wormhusk

not theo centric, but a cute fic about stiles-scott-theo as kids and theo being scott’s first crush. thiam. 

pyrrhic victory of knowing yourself by painting_ethereal

a two part series of stolen memories, theo joining the mccall pack, leaving, and choosing to come back

even in the darkest places, flowers grow by strawberxi (Tupipsie)

a theo raeken-centric fic where he grapples with his sister's birthday, and the implication that he doesn't have to do everything alone. Thiam

On Theo Raeken and Manipulation by wormhusk

Theo Raeken Did Nothing Wrong 2k23. Not A Fic/Pure Meta

Thiam

Secondary Drowning by marrowbite(wingfooted)

in which theo is a selkie. 

hey i think he likes you (but honey, i do too) by fallingforboys

in which liam is oblivious and wants to help theo get a boyfriend. 

Im not ready to die yet, should i pray? (i’m wasting time, haunted by the ghost of you) by petitommo

the one where theo leaves for Florida. out of necessity, not choice. voicemails, missing liam, waiting–and going home. 

tell me no more secrets, i’ll tell you no more lies by likelightninginabottle

“You were attacked. It was self defense.” Theo. “Okay, but what if it wasn’t.” Liam

when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than i ever can by likelightninginabottle

In which Liam is terribly high and completely smitten, Theo is allergic to emotions and totally whipped, Mason has the patience of a saint, and everybody wins, except for Stiles

when you crave someone (to be there at dawn) by likelightninginabottle

(In which, for once, Liam and Theo aren't oblivious, even if the pack very much is.) Post-Monroe, Pack in College, Thiam Being Shameless

burning bright red till the end (now you’ll be missing from the photographs by likelightninginabottle

MCD, Angst

You Missed, Dumbass by Sailorscout7

(OR 2 times Liam trying to kiss Theo ended in disaster and 1 time it mostly didn't)

a fire without a spark by lexisaurus

Liam asks are you alright? it never occurs to Theo that Liam could be asking him, too.

Commemoration, Cauterized by Ty_Winn_Roa

Meeting his parents for the first time in a decade is terrible enough without having to do it all over again. And again. And again. But Theo's never done anything halfheartedly.

Hunting Hearts by l_t_m

“My heart is missing.” Liam blinked. Theo’s way of saying ‘hello’ wasn’t encouraging.

no angels in this bleeding heart town by fallingforboys

“Please don’t make me do this,” Liam says, pleads. His jaw clenches and he squares his shoulders. Theo’s claws flick out.

Happiness is (where you are) by crier_emperor

in which theo gets a home and a hug. Angst. Getting together.

pride before a fall, wolves will keep you warm by likelightninginabottle

Liam comes out of the closet, in more ways than one. Or rather: his friends break him out. Cute, fluffy, and funny

look at the wonderful mess we made, we pick ourselves undone by likelightninginabottle

In which the supernatural does not exist. But Beacon Hills still went through a war, of which this is the aftermath. Liam and Theo pine for each other, but Liam thinks he cannot have Theo and so he dates other people. And yes. They are roommates. Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Misunderstandings.

your slightest look easily will unclose me by likelightninginabottle

Liam thinks about the people who left and how he is almost alright without them. Post-Canon.

just steps across the tower bridge by eneiryu

Guilt, injury, angst–Theo’s body is failing, and he’s hiding it from Liam. Happy Ending.

Use and abuse me ‘til I’m gone by THENINTH09

5 times Liam makes Theo bleed and the one time (two times) he doesn’t.

don’t you hear me howling, babe? by THENINTH09

Theo and Liam in Theo’s truck, after Gabe and the hospital. NSFW

Iron and Copper by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

Or: A witch grants Theo's wish to turn human for a day and be loved for who he is. Liam shows him just what that wish might look like.

drove him underground by justt_ppeachy

Liam and Theo, but they are Orpheus & Eurydice retold. It always ends the same.

so cruelly you kissed me by wormhusk

A series of two one-shots, one with liam realizing his feelings for theo and the second on theo

this love is difficult, but it’s real by wormhusk

a two part series of oneshots with thiam secretly dating, liam telling the pack, it not going well, and the aftermath

all sunny days are on by wormhusk

Remember the hunger games au? This is an alice in borderland au. A lot of people will die but not thiam. incomplete

the smell of smoke would hang around this long by wormhusk

theo quits smoking 

and in ever crowd, it's you i'm looking for by fallingforboys

in which theo is unfortunately very attractive and needs a fake boyfriend at a party--and oh look, liam is right there

Thiam Fics That Are Part of This One Orphaned Series So I Have Put Them Together 

this is why they shouldn’t kill off the main guy by wormhusk

 a first-kiss fic with theo angst and liam bullying theo into staying with him instead of his truck

and i remember thinking by wormhusk

a fic exploring the theo train track theory AKA where they talk about a past suicide attempt

Oh i love it and i hate it at the same time

Established Thiam, Theo gets his wisdom teeth removed.

256,000

The one where Liam calculates how many times Theo died down in Hell and has a panic attack.

cut it out then restart by wormhusk

Theo has a bad day and gives into old habits. Angst. Self-harm

argumentative antithetical dream girl 

it’s a pwp but I'm including it because it's the same ‘verse

i just wanna stay in that lavender haze by wormhusk

thiam get high and and play the 36 questions that lead to love and then have sex about it

and i wouldn’t marry me either

Liam has a plan to propose to his boyfriend. Theo thinks Liam is acting cagey

fighting in only your army

The skinwalkers want Theo back. No one reacts well.

are there still beautiful things

a witch’s curse makes Liam hate the one he loves most–his fiance. Angst.

i know my pain is such an imposition 

the boys finally get to go on their honeymoon. so of course it goes wrong.

long live the look on your face by wormhusk

Theo and Liam go to build-a-bear

he was sunshine i was midnight rain by wormhusk

Liam does a 30-day love challenge

Sceo

Shall I sleep within your bed by voices_in_my_head

In which Theo wasn't expecting to be rescued

fake my heart by LuthienKenobi

In which Theo is captured and a femme fatale all in one

gonna make you a believer by queerebrum

in which the battle is over, the Anuk Ite defeated, and Scott McCall can finally see things clearly–things like how he has been pretending he is not in love with Theo Raeken

Expelliaramus! by tabbytabbytabby

Gryffindor Scott and Slytherin Theo are secretly dating.

Sons of Monsters and Monster Sons by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

“i think,” theo says slowly, “my father tried to kill me when i was seven.” Sceo+Thiam, bc Theo is terribly in love with them both. Child Abuse Mention, as well as Mentions of sexual assault done to Theo by his Father. Theo did NOT have a happy loving childhood.

Unbreakable Heaven by tabbytabbytabby

Theo thinks he and Scott are FWBs while Scott thinks they are dating. Theo starts pulling away once he realizes he has feelings for Scott. Scott wonders what he did to make his boyfriend distant.

our hands dirtied by the other’s desire; i will declare my love with a slaughter by clementinecalls

When they lay in the grass and stare at the stars, Scott runs his thumb over Theo’s wrist. Feeling his pulse steady under his touch. He thinks about the sun in comparison to Theo. He thinks about how he was Icarus and he loved Theo just as he loved the sun — too close, too much.

Homeless Theo/Theo + Pack

Too Afraid to Follow Through by dangerouscoffeetheorist

for your melissa & theo needs, and theo being forced to join the pack against his will. 

wither under the iridescent glow of the sun, moon, and stars by fallingforboys

Theo digs the bullets out himself, using them to cauterize the wounds, and the air around him becomes hot and a little sticky with the smell of his flesh burning, but he ignores it.

He ignores it and saves himself, because that’s all he knows how to do. He saves himself because he knows that no one else would bother trying. (He’s wrong.) Thiam but mostly pack focused

Heart coming up my throat, think I’m getting worse at breathing by Multifandom_damnnation 

Jordan Parrish & Theo. Thiam

murphy’s golden rule: whoever has the gold makes the law by game_ender

Coach Finstock & Theo. In which Theo gets adopted by the Coach. Thiam

Vanlife Style! by onyxthroughtheages

In which Alec and Theo are bffs, Theo was raised in the sewers and so learns about TikTok scandals and instafame through Google, and mentions Liam in almost every TikTok he ever makes.

built a ship in the morning but the hull’s worn through by eneiryu

in which theo makes a deal with the pack: after Monroe, he gets to walk away. Thiam

waves on the ocean for the wavering kind by eneiryu

a two parter series. part one is where Theo leaves Beacon Hills with exactly the same things he came into it with: his truck, a duffel bag full of clothes, and the permanent taste of blood and grave dirt in his mouth. part two is argent’s pov. thiam

Fics That Deserve a Category of Their Own

You only feel one emotion at a time by likelightninginabottle

Theo doesn't feel pain. It makes him reckless. The pack doesn't notice, until they do. Incomplete. Pack Dynamics. Thiam. Theo’s Past, Theo’s Present, and Hopefully, Theo’s Future.

Take my heart (and put it somewhere safe) by not_carrying_on

​​The one where Theo reluctantly helps the pack capture Monroe, deals with the aftermath of his upbringing with the Dread Doctors, saves the lives of not so few people (despite the will to deny it until his dying breath), practically adopts Alec and pulls his head out of his ass.

[kathlare]

fitting doubts

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In this chapter, Amelie prepares for a wedding, trying on dresses while grappling with unresolved feelings about attending an event that will reunite her with someone from her past. Her mother, Victoria, offers a moment of introspection, questioning whether Amelie is attending for herself or out of obligation.

Wordcount: 0.7 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 9th, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

Jared’s studio was a mess of fabric, garment bags, and half-empty glasses of sparkling water. Amelie stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric of the deep emerald green dress that hugged her waist and draped effortlessly down to the floor.

—I like this one,— Jared mused, tilting his head as he examined her from all angles. —It’s giving ‘I look stunning but I’m not trying too hard’ which is exactly the vibe you want at a wedding where half the people are secretly dying to see what you show up in.—

—So dramatic,— Amelie rolled her eyes, smoothing the silk over her stomach.

Victoria, her mother, sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed together in that way that meant she was thinking. Hard.

—It’s beautiful,— Victoria finally said, but there was something in her voice that made Amelie pause.

She turned away from the mirror to face her mother. —But?—

Victoria hesitated, then sighed. —Are you sure you want to go to this wedding?—

Amelie blinked. That was not what she was expecting.

—What do you mean? Of course, I’m going. I already told Oliver and Sav I’d be there.—

Her mother gave her a pointed look. —And that’s the only reason? Because you said you would?—

Amelie frowned. —Why else would I go?—

Victoria gave Jared a quick glance, a silent way of asking for a moment alone. Jared, always knowing when to step away from a conversation that wasn’t meant for him, raised his hands. —Alright, I’ll go see if the tailor’s done with that lilac dress. But don’t change out of this one yet, it’s growing on me.— With that, he disappeared into the next room.

Victoria waited for the door to shut before she spoke again. —I just want to know if you’re doing this for yourself or because you feel like you have to. Because, Amelie, you don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.—

Amelie exhaled sharply. —It’s a wedding, mamá, not a court summons.—

Victoria’s gaze softened. —I know. But I also know who’s going to be there.—

Amelie felt a flicker of irritation. —So? I can handle it.—

Victoria studied her carefully. —Can you?—

That question sat heavy in the air.

For weeks, she had convinced herself that she was fine. That going to this wedding, being around him again, wouldn’t affect her. That she was over it. Over him. That what happened between them had happened a lifetime ago, and she had moved on. She was dating Shawn again, for God’s sake.

But now, standing there under her mother’s scrutinizing gaze, the doubts she had been shoving to the back of her mind clawed their way to the surface.

Was she really ready to see Lando again?

—It’s been almost a year,— she said, but the words felt like an excuse more than a reason.

Victoria gave her a look, the kind only a mother could give—a mix of knowing and concern. —That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.—

Amelie’s jaw tightened. —I’m not a little girl. I can be in the same room as him without falling apart.—

—That’s not what I’m worried about,— Victoria said gently.

Amelie pressed her lips together, turning back to the mirror, trying to see herself clearly. She looked good. Strong. Unbothered. Exactly how she wanted to be seen. But was that how she actually felt?

She thought about what it would be like—walking into the wedding, seeing Lando in a perfectly tailored suit, probably with Luisinha by his side. Would he even look at her? Would he pretend she didn’t exist? Or worse, would he act like nothing had ever happened? Like she was just another person in the crowd?

She felt something twist in her chest, and she hated it.

Victoria reached for her hand. —It’s okay to admit that it still matters to you. That he still matters.—

Amelie shook her head. —It doesn’t. He doesn’t.—

Victoria didn’t argue, but the silence between them said she didn’t believe her.

—If you’re sure about going, then go. But don’t go just to prove something, Amelie. And don’t go if it’s going to tear open old wounds that don’t need reopening.—

Amelie swallowed. —I’ll be fine.—

Victoria squeezed her hand before letting go. —Then that’s all that matters.—

Jared reappeared then, holding up another dress. —Alright, dramatic mother-daughter moment over? Because I found the one.—

Amelie forced a smile, pushing the doubts aside.

She had made her decision.

She was going.

Whether she was ready or not.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Comfort (Genshin Impact x Reader)

Characters: Diluc, Itto, Tighnari, Zhongli

Warnings: None

Ask Box: Open

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | VGen | Patreon | Twitter | Archive of Our Own

Diluc:

We all know Diluc has a giant soft side that he shows with a cool face and even tone

When you’re having trouble, whether it’s stress, anxiety, or having a fight with someone, he will dole out comfort in the way he knows best

His voice is gentle, his eyes stay on you, and he will check in on you to make sure you’re ok

“I just…I don’t know what to do! I’m already so stressed, and they keep piling more and more onto me!”

Diluc hummed, sliding in the seat next to you. He set a glass in front of you. You took it and chugged it down. After you did, you slammed the cup down and sighed.

“Grape juice? I think I would prefer alcohol in this situation.”

“Don’t rely on that to make you feel better. You can rely on me instead.”

Diluc’s arm wrapped around your shoulder and you leaned your head on his shoulder. He was warm and his hand massaged your skin. 

Itto:

Itto is the type to try and distract you as much as possible

You’ll play games, hang out with the gang, and Itto will even get himself in trouble just to see you smile

Physical affection is also a go to. If you’re ok with it’ll, he’ll cling onto you and won’t let go until every ounce of bad emotions are gone from your body

You squinted as Itto placed down a card, a confident smirk on his face. You tried not to laugh as you placed down your own cards, effectively defeating him in one blow. TCG was a recent hobby of Itto’s that he had gotten you into. Too bad that he seemed to suck.

“I win!” You cheered, raising your arms in the air.

Itto groaned. “Damn it! How are you so good at this?”

“Hehehe,” You straightened your back, a proud smile on your face. “I’m just a natural.”

���Teach me, Master.”

Itto crawled over to you and clung to you. You giggled and tried pushing him away. Instead of letting you go, he dragged you down and wrapped his arms around you. His grip was iron tight as you struggled to break free.

“Let me go!” You laughed.

“Nope!”

“Why??”

“Are you feelin better? He murmured into your ear.

“Yes. Now will you let me go?”

Tighnari:

can you tell I’m obsessed with him Tighnari is the type to give you well meaning advice 

His tone is always positive and there’s something about the way he talks that easily calms you down

Tighnari will talk the problem out with you. Once it’s all done he’ll say something along the lines of

“There you go! You didn’t need me at all.”

Tears streamed down your face as you sniffled, turning away from Tighnari. It was embarrassing to me seen like this. When you first came to him, you just wanted some advice, but somehow found yourself breaking out crying.

“I’m sorry,” You sniveled. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

He used this thumb to gently wipe away the tears. “It’s alright. Are you feeling ok?”

You shook your head and held back the urge to cry harder.

“That’s alright. Let’s take a deep breath. With me now.”

Tighnari grabbed your hands as the two of you slowly breathed together. Your breaths were shaky, but eventually, the tears came to a stop. He gave you a soft smile.

Zhongli:

Zhongli, my beloved, has two ways to comfort you

The first is being introspective. It can get overwhelming, but he means well

The second way is inviting you over for some tea. He’ll tell you some stories and by the time he’s done, you’ve completely forgotten what you were upset about

You set your now empty cup down on the table and leaned back on the couch, humming happily. Zhongli sat next to you, his cup still full and steaming.

“Did you enjoy the tea?”

You nodded. “It was delicious. Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” He cleared his throat. “Tea is good for relaxation and emptying natural stressor from the body. There was a tale that I recall, about the discovery of the effects of tea.”

As Zhongli dived into the story, you felt your eyes growing heavy. You didn’t find the story boring. But the mixture of the warm tea, the softness of the couch, and the deep tones of his voice, you found yourself falling asleep. Zhongli didn’t mind. His voice got softer and softer until you were finally asleep. He picked you up, holding you securely. It had seemed like you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages, so he chose a tea specifically for insomnia. It was what you needed.

“Sleep well.”

[junkdrawerfics]

First Day (of School)

Previous

Summary: On your first day of school, you run into Jasper again. What follows, is a class of passed notes, a little bit of teasing, and a lot of introspection by both parties.

Words: 2052

Note: Consider this more as a set up for future chapters. I worry I got into Jasper's thoughts too much, but I hope you guys enjoy it regardless.

---

Forks High.

There are a lot of things you expected for your first day -

Overwhelming attention from swarms of teens who haven’t seen a new face in years. Getting lost in the halls and being just a little bit late to all your classes. A subpar lunch.

What you didn’t expect was to walk into your first class and bump into a certain Jasper Hale.

Literally. And it’s like running into a brick wall.

“Ow!” You wince, hand flying to your nose.

It throbs lightly as you look up, wondering if you maybe just embarrassed yourself in front of the entire class by walking into the doorway. Instead of the wall, though, your eyes trace up a chest to a familiar pale face topped with hair that looks more sandy than golden in this light.

“Jasper?” You blink, eyes wide as they meet his golden ones - golden?

You could have sworn they were dark brown…

“Miss (L/n).” Jasper smiles tightly, looking far too composed for someone who was just barrelled into. It’s like he barely felt it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Are you- hi! Are you okay?” You flutter around uselessly, not sure if you should be worried or excited. “I didn’t mean to run into, I’m sorry! I was just so worried about being late, and I saw the number on the door, and-”

“No need to apologize when no harm’s done,” he hums, voice touched with amusement. “Though the bell is about to ring, so if you would like to not be late…”

“Oh!” You hastily duck around him into the room, heat flushing your face at the sound of his low chuckle followed by the bell ringing.

You toss him a glare, with no real bite of course since your face is about three times redder than an apple, and Jasper just smirks, settling down at his desk. With an empty seat next to him, you notice. 

“Miss (L/n)?”

You whip your attention over to the teacher, an older looking man with thick, round glasses. Slapping on your brightest smile, you hand him the slip from the front office while chiming a quick, “Yes! (Y/n) (L/n), it’s nice to meet you, Mister Berty.”

He looks at you over his spectacles, lips pinching against a smile, which bodes well for you, “You may take whatever seat you’d like. Assuming you’re okay, of course? No injuries from your bump with Mister Hale?”

Oh goodness.

The class erupts in muffled giggles.

It takes everything in you to not dart right back out of the class, “No, sir, I’m alright.”

“Very good. It is nice to meet you Miss (L/n).”

With that, you scurry over to the first open seat you see, which just happens to be the one next to Jasper. In the back of your mind, you wonder why it’s open, but the thought disappears as quickly as it occurs.

You can feel the blond’s eyes on you as you clumsily shuffle through your bag, pulling out your books, pens, and the massive set of rainbow highlighters you just bought. Jasper perks a brow, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. The tips of your ears go warm.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you grumble, quiet enough that only he can hear.

His face goes serious, though you can still see a teasing glint in his eyes, “I would never, darlin’.”

Your pulse skyrockets.

Darling?

You stare at him, eyes wide, but Jasper simply leans back into his chair, turning his attention to the teacher. A grin plays on his lips, like he’s trying to keep a straight face but can’t quite. 

He’s teasing you. And it’s working.

Heart racing a mile a minute, you try your hardest to hide how flustered you feel by turning back to your books. It’s a different kind of flustered from when you first came in, something more fluttery and cliche. Like butterflies, you think and shake your head. Now that’s really like a teen romance novel. Maybe you’ve been reading too many of them.

Lucky for you, your brief moment of distraction doesn’t seem to do much harm. The teacher is still going over the syllabus, listing off the countless number of books you’ll eventually read. Romeo and Juliet, Frankenstein, all the basics, as if you haven’t read them already. 

You scribble them down anyways, in glittery gold ink no less. Like his eyes. It’s strange. You really did think they were brown, black even. Maybe it’s the fluorescent light…though that doesn’t make sense.

You jump when something cold brushes the back of your hand, eyes darting up from where your fingers have frozen in the middle of a word. Jasper is closer - when did he get so close? - and he raises a brow at you, glancing between the pen and you.

Your brow furrows. What?

As if sensing your confusion, he taps the pen, hand opening as if asking permission to take it - oh. You offer it to him without a second thought, watching with growing curiosity as he writes something on the corner of your notebook.

When he pulls away, the first thing you notice is that his handwriting is strangely charming, and not just because of the glitter. It's cursive, delicate and confident. It almost looks like the writing on all those old documents you see in history class. Not the kind of handwriting you expect from a guy.

A second later, your brain actually processes the writing, and you can’t stop a small smile from pulling at your lips.

‘How is the unlucky beast?’

The kitten, you assume. Of course he’d remember the little, angry furball.

You swipe the pen back and jot down a response.

‘I took him to the vet and he’ll be okay. He’s living in luxury now.’

The pen switches back.

‘You’ll be keeping him?’

You nod.

‘Have you given him a name?’

‘Spoons’

Jasper snorts.

A few eyes turn your way and you duck your head to hide your grin. There’s something so satisfying about getting a boy to laugh.

Jasper shakes his head fondly as he writes his next response. 

‘Very clever, darling’

‘Thank you’

The rest of the class passes by like that. A few notes here and there, between your actual class notes. You learn that he has a sister and three other adoptive siblings. He prefers to read in his free time and likes the color red; he had a somewhat cryptic smile when he wrote that one.

Despite everything you learn, though, there’s still something quite mystifying about Jasper Hale. Between his handwriting, the way he talks and acts, there’s just something strangely old about him. And his eyes. You really could have sworn they were darker. Black even. So why do they look so different now?

The curiosity dims as soon as it sparks, like a candle being blown out, and the bell rings before you can really question it. You frown. Has it really been an hour? Maybe you were having too much fun talking with Jasper.

You hastily tuck all your stuff back into your bag, fumbling a little as people sweep past you. They’re all in a rush to get to their next class, and you really should be too,  but you’ve never really been good at the whole “fast” thing. You like to say it’s by choice.

When you finally pop up from your chair, it’s a bit of a shock to find Jasper waiting right there for you. Almost protectively standing beside you. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you meet his gaze. Very close.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” you squeak, stepping back only to stumble a bit over your chair.

Jasper easily catches you, brow furrowing, “Careful. We don’t want any blood on the first day now do we?”

“Nope, definitely not.” You let out a breathy laugh. “I’ve never been good with blood. Or pain. My mom says I might as well be made of glass from how easily I get hurt.”

Jasper looks suddenly uncomfortable, his touch disappearing as he takes a step back. You feel the distance like a chasm, but don’t say a word. It’s weird to feel like that with someone you barely know, even if they are someone as intriguing as the man in front of you. You’re not sure you like the feeling.

“What d’you have next?” The blond asks, seeming to return to normal as you step out into the hall.

You pull out the crumpled schedule in your pocket, smoothing it out as best you can to try and read it. Honestly, you memorized it a few days ago, but it’s nice to have something to do with your hands.

“U.S. History in building 3.” You look back up to him. “Where’s that?” 

“I’ll show you there.”

You shake your head, “You know, they don’t make guys like you anymore, Jasper Hale.”

Something flashes through his eyes, surprise maybe, but he hides it quickly behind amusement, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss (L/n).”

“No! Yah, I mean it that way, as a compliment,” you sputter, hands flapping a bit which makes him smirk, “I just meant that you’ve been exceptionally nice to me! I don’t know why, since you barely know me, and I’m not complaining! I just, I appreciate it, is all. I wasn’t expecting to make a friend so fast. I was pretty worried about it, actually.”

Jasper resists the urge to chuckle. He can practically hear the blood rushing to your face, turning your cheeks an adorable shade of pink. If he hadn’t drunk his fill the night before, he might not have found it so adorable. If Alice hadn’t seen a vision of you running into his first class, he wouldn’t be so in control.

He knows what would happen if he didn’t control himself, after all. Memories of Bella’s surprise party linger in his mind, a flicker of shame still burning in his chest. He’s changed a lot since then, though. He’s had to.

He can never lose control like that again. Not with you

Not you, whose feelings are a complete mess, but a mess he feels quite enamored with. You’re naive and scattered and bashful, and your emotions reflect it. If he lost control, if he were to break the trust you’ve already given him, a trust he feels he hasn’t earned, he’d never forgive himself.

And having a friend sounds…nice. He may have his adoptive siblings, but it’s tiring to be surrounded by such concern and wariness all the time. You’re a breath of fresh air to his dead lungs. 

Though your quickly rising curiosity is alarming.

Another reason for him to stay close, he convinces himself. He can monitor your curiosity, down play it, even if doing so earlier left a bad taste in his mouth. Yet, he’ll do it again if it means staying here longer.

That’s what he’ll pitch to his family. Edward will go for it. He’s anxious to stay with Bella. And it’s only gotten worse since Jasper’s day in the woods with you. Despite Alice’s reassurance, they all seem to be on edge about him befriending a human.

Maybe it’s justified. Maybe he’s being too reckless. He’s so used to needing a plan, a strategy for everything. But it’s like all of that falls away when he’s with you. For the first time in what feels like decades, he can finally relax.

As you reach your classroom, the bell rings. You jump, your good mood dissipating a little at the thought of leaving Jasper’s side. Resigning yourself with a soft goodbye, you go to step through the doorway, only to be stopped by his hand circling your arm gently. You glance back, eyes wide.

“You know,” he drawls, tone teasing, “They don’t make women like yourself anymore either, darlin’. And I mean that as a compliment.”

Watching you light up fills him with a strange sense of satisfaction. Your joy is so pure, so warm, it leaves him buzzing as you whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ and duck into the room. 

Lucky or unlucky, he still can’t decide. The one thing he does know, this is the best first day of school he’s ever had.

---

Next

Should I edit down the ending? Is it too much or too serious? Did you guys find it to be too out of character? Would love to know what you think.

[wonderinc-sonic]

Behind the Looking Glass

Gen ◇ No ship ◇ Introspection ◇ 1.1k words

Just three moments involving mirrors and Team Dark recognising their own reflections.

@teamdarkweek day 3 I picked mirrors!

"Am I interrupting something, Narcissus?" Rouge tutted. The end of the world, aliens falling like rain to destroy life on Earth. And they had stopped to look in a dark window so Shadow could stare at their own face. The GUN fortress was the last stronghold; Rouge wasn't blind - she knew Shadow had done deals they never should have touched to chase down the answers they couldn't understand. And she blamed herself for not being strong enough to set them right before it came to this. But she put her faith in Shadow - they would come to reason with no time to spare. That was how it had to be.

She snapped her fingers in their ear and they bristled.

"Your eyeliner is even. Let's go." She said firmly. Shadow tilted their head towards her but maintained their own eye contact as they spoke:

"I really do look like one of them." They said plainly. They had a disturbing calm about them, and she feared for a moment she had lost them. Suddenly, they smashed the glass with a lightning-quick kick.

"What are you waiting for?" They barked: "We need that Emerald!"

Omega twisted his head, maintaining its position as he moved his body. The image before him had no depth information to gain from the lasers he sent back: just a blank sheet of reflective glass. Instead, he had to take in the flat image and analyse it as though it were a painting to create a most likely understanding of what he saw before him. He raised a fist. The eggman robot in the image before him copied, with its opposite fist.

"It's not real. " Shadow said quietly. The two of them were on the wrong side of a one-way mirror, and Shadow themself leant against the glass firmly.

"Affirmative. GUN use a primitive screen: feeble attempt to prevent E-123 Omega from seeing through the digital imaging."

"'Screen'. I suppose so. Never thought of Mirrors that way."

Omega raised and lowered his shoulders. Now he was getting used to it, he could see the benefit - meatbags couldn't just remove their eyes to inspect their body from all angles, and considering their fixation on appearance that had to be annoying. Rouge had small mirrors around her flat, but never had he had time or inclination to consider them, and none of them could fit his whole body in view.

He raised one foot. His balance should have been perfect, but staring in the mirror this long had misaligned his distance perception, and he almost toppled over by leaning the opposite way than he intended. His weight adjuster came online with a jerk and snapped his feet to the floor - he crouched while he ran through a quick senses report to reacquaint that pesky visual processor with reality.

"Are you alright?" Shadow asked. They crouched down next to him, speaking very quietly. Omega dialled down his speaker and nodded.

"Balance and Imaging coordination error."

"... you got dizzy?"

"Probable biological equivalent. Excessive observation of reflected Omega Image."

"Right," Shadow snorted softly; "When you're ready, I want to show you something."

They leant back against the mirror, ear turned back to listen to the cold glass. Omega righted himself quickly, and put his face in Shadow's.

"Adjust your aperture, and put your lenses close to the glass." They whispered into Omega's microphone.

Omega placed both hands on the glass. He binned the image that was coming in through his cameras, as it sent warnings in him to see his own image so close by. Once his cameras clinked on the glass, he twizzled the lens open and closed, until something intelligible appeared: through the mirror, figures came into shape. A gaggle of humanoids were watching them, and the closest face to him had a deliciously petrified face as Omega stared through at them.

"See anything?" Shadow whispered again. Omega moved his foot to tap on Shadow's shoe with the fastest Morse Code, so quick nobody but the two of them would realise what it even was.

" Is she there? " Shadow bumped back just as fast. Omega looked into the gloom of the now panicked-talking room, scanning first the back line of people, then the rest of the furniture, and finally the ceiling, where he saw a familiar ear-ie outline.

She didn't answer the door to his first knock. This was punishable by the removal of the door, so Omega swiftly unscrewed the hinges and stepped aside to let the bathroom door swing down and clatter onto the wall opposite. Rouge jumped at the sound of the first drill, but by the time she saw him standing there, she was calmly continuing to delay them.

"This one's taken. Can't you hold it?"

"Humorous. You are the hold-up."

"Mm-hm. Beauty takes time."

She was painting the underside of her eyes with a light concealer, quietly focused on her eyes.

"Skin is already skin colour. Delay is unnecessary."

"'Skin-colour'? That's not a compliment. Try again." She laughed. Omega sidled into the bathroom and scanned her face seriously but ineffectively via the reversed image of her in a little mirror.

"The paste is yellow yellow."

"Yes, it is, still not a compliment." She chimed. She patted powder over it. The paint now sat mattified on her skin, covering any natural colour. He quickly parsed All Mammalian Facts for under-eye pigmentation.

"You look... untired."

"Yeah, that'll do. Not-tired is the goal. Although I might have to let that go a little..."

"Face-painting hobby will cease?"

"No, not quite. More like change," she sighed, stretching her cheeks delicately, and frowning hard: "Look, there around my mouth! The makeup looks all cakey at my wrinkles. I can't keep this up when I'm a prune..."

Omega zoomed in on the small folds on her skin that she exaggerated with an array of stupid faces, and examined in the mirror.

"Skin is losing elasticity?"

"Yeah. Happens when you get old."

Old . Old beasts were a sliding scale. Some were mature adults with an appearance of control over life. And others were decrepit and dependent. All of them, and everyone in between, seemed to identify with - and loathe - being old. It was illogical: Omega knew exactly how long he had been online too, but it didn't give him pause.

The two of them dissociated, looking at Rouge's skin. Omega simulated in his mind what old would really look like on her; would her hair grow whispy? Perhaps she'd be lean and feeble, or plump and ungainly. It was almost certain her skin would sag from her bones. And worst of all was the internal body degradation - the piling illnesses, steadily dragging the person down until they had a permanent stoop. A person, trapped in a mind rotting in a skull.

The imagination stopped suddenly when Omega found he didn't like it. His eyes readjusted to the present, and Rouge - young and vibrant, with no real wrinkles - blinked too. Omega wondered if they'd just shared consciousness; she looked an appropriate amount disturbed.

"Analysis: Rouge is not old. Rouge does not look old."

"Aw, thanks, big guy. Not there yet, are we?"

[wayward-travelers]

FFXIVwrite2024 #27

Prompt: memory

Words: 646 Characters: Inge, Buscarron Warning: /

On a sunny day in a verdant forest, the warm breeze caressed her bloodied skin. The birds sang happy songs, even as her voice rose calling for her friends. But none answered. And when she was reduced to silence in her turn, her throat unable to utter a single sound anymore, Inge realized with horror that the Elementals, too, could not be heard.

She was alone. She was cold. And the world was all kinds of wrong.

For three days did she walk, having only cleansed herself in a river before she could make out where, exactly, the spell had teleported her. The Southern part of the Shroud. And to the West, she could glimpse parts of the fallen moon already reclaimed by the vegetation. How many moons had passed, she wasn't sure. Enough, at least, for the forest to feel familiar and foreign all at once.

Wrong kept supplying her mind every time her thoughts wandered to the subject.

Eventually her steps took her to a part she recognized. Buscarron's Druthers laid ahead, so noisy that the Viera's sensitive ears could pick up some of the drunken patrons' discussions from afar. But the noise was welcoming in a way she wouldn't have expected, she who was used to solitude in the woods. Someone there would be able to tell her what had happened. Buscarron himself, probably.

If he'd survived.

But someone had, at least. The noise attested to it, so she kept on walking with renewed energy. Whatever Louisoix had done after teleporting them—her friends were somewhere, she was certain—had saved Eorzea.

"You're alright, lass?"

Buscarron—present-days Buscarron, with his slightly wrinkled face—was looking at her with a hint of concern from behind the counter. The Druthers were calm, likely because it was still too early in the morn for the patrons to be drunkenly agitated. Not that, contrary to that day many turns ago, they were a lot of them present to begin with.

"Just reminiscing. Thank you, she added as he placed a hot cup of tea in front of her. Do you remember the day I came back? - Still certain we'd met already? - There are worst things than being certain I've met you before. - Ah, back to flirting with the old man. And here I was worrying..."

Inge chuckled.

"Did you find them? Your friends? - No, she said after a short silence. But they're out there, somewhere. Likely getting in trouble on behalf on someone else. - Which is totally different from what you're doing yourself. - See? This is why I keep coming back to the Druthers. You understand me."

Buscarron hummed, his amusement plain on his face. She wasn't entirely joking, however. He had always been one of the few who treated her entirely like he had before, even though she was certain he had many questions for the Warrior of Light. But he wouldn't ask, and perhaps more importantly, wouldn't allow anyone else to ask either. The Druthers were to be her refuge like it was for the Keepers and Duskwights who found peace in these walls.

How ironic that one of Eorzea's champions found peace among those Gridanians considered the lowest among them. But fitting, she thought. If not because she had always found understanding amongst the misfits and outcasts, she wouldn't have been able to help as many people as she had.

"Enjoy the warmth, then. They said it'd be raining all day."

And with that the barman left her to her introspection again. Though she found herself unable to return to her melancholy. Outside, the rain was gently tapping on the ground and the birds, hiding from it, were almost entirely silent. If she paid attention, she could hear the faint voice of the Elementals.

She wasn't alone anymore, and she was warm, and the world, she decided, was starting to feel right once more.

[cult-of-the-eye]

Tim Stoker angst anyone?

Tap tap tap. His foot knocked against the floor, knee pressing against the table in those precious seconds of contact. Veins fizzed beneath his skin, pulling taut as if it was just about to break. Something clawed at his gut, pressure but not the good kind. It wasn’t right. None of it was right. Forces inside him pulled, pushed, pressed and grated until he was sure someone would find his remains splattered over the desk. 

At least they’d find them, he thought, miserably. Maybe that was his issue. He had never been good at pinning down his whirlwind of thought, racing past his synapses too fast to register. “What’s wrong?”, was always the most evasive. There was one constant though, one corner of his brain that was enlarged and raw, a locked chest made of a human heart. Danny. Most of his problems he could blame on Danny, it just took him an unfortunate amount of time to get there. Amidst shallow breaths and screaming muscles, introspection was far from his priority. 

“Tim?”

“Heugh. Yeah?”

Jon ignored his taut outburst of breath. Jon was very good at ignoring things.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know, Jon. Does it look like I’m alright? Do I look okey-dokes to you?”

He didn’t feel bad dumping sarcasm on Jon, despite him reacting like it was a bucket of ice-cold water. He didn’t notice the slight widening of his eyes. Nope. 

“Ok. I apologise for interfering.”

He turned to leave, head hung. How could an angle of a neck enrage him so much? It felt good, satisfying deep within his bones to mitigate pressure with another volcanic one. 

“Of course. Jon gets to have the moral high ground for checking in on his employees.”

“I don’t see what you’re implying.”

“Oh fuck off Jon. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You don’t give a flying fuck about me and my well-being and if you did, well, that time is very much gone. Everyone’s gone, Jon and all you’ve done is shut yourself in your goddamn office and convince yourself that you’re all alone. You wouldn’t have been all alone if you had just talked to me. But you didn’t so all you have left is fucking creepy clown shit.”

The anger rose in his throat, almost choking on it. He stood from his desk, a sudden boost of dizzying energy. 

“So no. You don’t get to come back and pretend you care. You don’t get to ask how I am. You wanted to do this yourself? Well, be my fucking guest. Go get killed. Go get skinned by evil circus mannequins for all I care. Just leave me alone.”

His hands were bright red. All the blood rushed from his head into his palms, making them uncomfortably moist. The pounding that reverberated throughout his entire body was gone, leaving an absence, a double beat of a heart stretched thin. Jon could have left. He could have shouted back. He could have strode over and slapped him across the face. But he stood there, frozen, a look of deep sadness etched across his features. It ran a palm over his oversensitive veins, making him shudder with discomfort. 

“I’m sorry, Tim. And happy birthday…to Danny, I mean.”

With that, his legs gave out. He crashed back onto the chair, hoping the desk could cool his flushed face. He was back to an emotion he was comfortable with, one that he knew all too well. Thoughts collided like particles in a gas - he barely noticed Jon slip out of his vision. He was gone. And once again, Tim was alone. 

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

May Week 3: Divination Wrap Up

Monday - Tools of the Trade

Research - Each type of divination utilizes, in general, its own tools. Go back and look at all the forms of divination you've researched, and look into what tools are used for each one. What tools are used across different methods, and are they used for the same purpose or reason within the different forms of divination? What purpose, practical or symbolic, does each tool represent in each form of divination? Learn the history of the tools, the different tools used by different cultures in their various divination practices. Learn as much as you can!

Research/ New Page - Herbal Study - Pick another herb or plant from your list and learn all you can about it! How it grows, where and when it grows! What its practical and magical uses are! What its associate with and why! It's history and any myths or legends!

Tuesday - Real, Fake and outright Scams

Research/ Practical - Learn how to discern when a reading is real, when it is fake, when to pay for it, when to appreciate free ones, and when you're being scammed. 10/10 times, a reader will NOT seek you out, you have to go to them. Every. Time.

Research/ New Page - Gem study/ Other study - be it a gemstone or a form of magic, or a specific tarot card or rune, or other magical subject, whatever it is, use today to learn all you can about it!

Wednesday - The Reality of Divination

Research/ Introspection - so in the world at large, divination has a certain stigma in most cultures, and it is not always a positive one. What is the reality of divination? What actually is it? Is it guesswork? Is it taking minute clues and glimpses at a person and information about their life and piecing together a puzzle that tells a story? Is that story fact? Or is it a work of fiction? How do you see divination? What is it to you?

Thursday - Spirit Boards

Research - This particular form of divination/ spirit contact has a great deal of negative stigma. Why is that? Where did it stem from? Look up, not only sources here on tumblr, but actual historical works and stories, real, true sources about the origin and perception of spirit boards like quija boards.

Friday - Breaking the Cycle

Rest/ Work day - Take the day to rest. We've done a lot of stuff this month already! If not rest, then bury yourself in an old page and learn even more about whatever topic that page contains!

Alright everyone, another week down! Hang in there, we're about halfway through the year soon! Thank you all for those who have posted and shared their work and research and even their pages!

-Mod Hazel

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if the Cullens were trapped in the town of Silent Hill?

If you're unaware, Silent Hill is a tourist town with a dark secret. It has the power to "call" those with darkness in their hearts or unresolved trauma and trap them in a nightmarish Other World. This Other World is a reflection of a person's mind plastered over the town, populated with monsters derived from a person's fears, vices and personal demons.

The only way to escape the Other World is to go on a journey the town creates for you to confront and come to terms with your past.

I'm just thinking, with all the baggage the Cullens have, Silent Hill would have a field day with them. Especially Bella and Edward.

So, who do you think would escape from Silent Hill? My money's on Carlisle and Rosalie, personally. Renesmee, Esme, Jasper and Alice I'm not so sure about. It could go either way. Bella and Edward though? Yeah, probably not.

Emmett, by far being the most grounded and, for lack of a better term, sanest Cullen probably wouldn't be drawn into the Other World. He's just stuck in a tourist town with a panicking Jacob wondering where the hell everyone is.

Interesting question, I haven't played the games nor seen the movie adaptations but I know there's a Pyramid Head.

But I can work with this premise. Alright, let's bullet point the Cullens. Who escapes from Silent Hill?

Alice

Alice has no memories of Mary Alice Brandon's traumatic past. It doesn't even seem to be repressed so much as a product of electroshock therapy in the 1920's. Alice also has very little angst about the fact that she's missing her memories and most of her problems are due to Edward's nonsense and are more or less easily solved if she works around him and the Volturi.

What I'm getting at is that Alice is never called.

She's also stuck with Emmett in this dumb tourist town wondering why they decided to vacation in Virginia.

Bella

Bella has no idea what the fuck is happening. The thing about Bella is she takes things at such face, literal, value that she would just think this is a town of monsters that has absolutely nothing to do with her. Even when it becomes increasingly obvious this is a metaphor for the choices she made, her own insecurities, and her own fears.

Bella tries to get out and gets increasingly frustrated when no solution presents itself.

She doesn't escape because she doesn't want to confront herself.

Carlisle

Ooh baby, yep, Carlisle's going. Canonically he seems to have unresolved issues with his late father, his witch burning past, the fact that he gave into loneliness and turned the others into vampires (especially when he learns that not all desired to become one and may rather have died) not to mention the whole Twilight saga which destroys his friendship with Aro and gives him increasing existential dread.

I imagine Carlisle has a horrible time in a town full of everything on fire.

However, as you note, I imagine he gets out. Carlisle in canon (for all we don't see much of him) does seem to have done a good job coming to terms with his own history and who he is. He confronts difficult things such as whether or not he should have turned the others and does vocally wonder about them to Bella. He notes that he went through great introspection over whether being a vampire made him evil and Edward notes he has great distress over what he did as a human to people who turned out to be innocent after all.

Carlisle would realize what this place is and that he has to go on this journey to confront the worst part of himself.

(True to hilarious Twilight fashion, I imagine he'd get out of this personal journey hellscape and find himself with his oblivious family who have no idea anything happened to him at all.)

Edward

Oh yes, Edward was made for this place. The thing is I think Edward would catch on very fast to what this is, that this is a place of his own personal demons (ah, hello Pyramid Head) but he wouldn't want to admit it or confront it. He would rail against it, he knows what he is and he knows he wants to do anything but confront or accept it. He saw the demon already when he nearly ate Bella in Biology, he has no desire to do so again.

I imagine as he continues to resist more terrible things happen (I am sure a copy of Bella gets eaten somewhere in here) and Edward chooses to embrace madness or the illusion rather than get through and let the monster consume him (as that's what he'd fear the answer is).

Edward doesn't get out.

Emmett

Yup, never goes.

He has no idea what's happening and where everyone went. He figures they'll show up eventually (hoping the Volturi didn't get them or something.)

Esme

Esme... you know, I think she might. Esme would find herself in a very lonely and unpleasant place, it'd take her a while, but I imagine she'd eventually realize this all has to do with her and that she never truly confronted the past or herself. She gave up on life and then immediately was handed everything she'd ever wanted and so had never had to face that.

Esme leaves and has to become a person again.

Jasper

"Ah, hello darkness, my old friend" Jasper immediately recognizes what this is and what's happening to him. Doesn't matter that it's a surreal nightmarefest, all of it's just somehow so very familiar.

I give Jasper a 50/50 chance. The thing is, Alice threw him a lifeline before and he's still clinging to it with all his might. He was never really saved from who and what he was, he just hopes desperately that Alice and the Cullens will keep him afloat.

This journey would have to show him that that isn't enough and he would have to realize as much and realize that Alice can't save him if he doesn't do his own part as well.

(Which of course, would be terrifying to him, because if Alice can't save him then Jasper sure as hell can't save himself).

Renesmee

What you get is essentially a surreal version of Bleach on the Brain by @therealvinelle.

Renesmee at first is very confused and terrified by all of this. She's separated from her family, this place is filled with strange monsters reminiscent of the Volturi, but slowly Renesmee realizes that these are her fears and insecurities, that she doesn't love Jacob and is terrified of him, and her family are strangers to her and she's not sure any of them love her.

I like to believe Renesmee would get out but it would mean letting go of the illusion of her family, the belief that she must matter to them, and learning to confront the possibility that none of them might care at all.

Rosalie

Yup, she's going there, and like Jasper she immediately realizes what this is for all she's horrified by it. I imagine Rosalie's in a state of panicked terror as she was supposed to be done with this: she'd gotten her revenge, murdered all of them, had put it out of her mind as fast as she could.

Rosalie would really struggle but I imagine eventually pull through. She'd have to recognize that Emmett can't fix everything, that there were some things she never let go, that she's still searching for affection and love she's not sure she'll ever receive (from Edward as well as Alice).

However, Rosalie's a very strong person emotionally who did face something like this once before and pulled through. She wants to get better, to be a better person, so I think she'd make it through.

TL;DR

Edward and Bella are the only one's I'd say definite no towards.