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hussyknee · 9 months

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Jesus is Under the Rubble

“This Advent, while global Christians prepare to commemorate the arrival of the Prince of Peace, our Palestinian kin in Gaza suffer unthinkable violence. Their cries of deliverance, echoing those of two millennia ago, seem to be falling unheard on the United States.”

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— by Kelly Latimore icons. All proceeds from sales of this digital image will go toward Red Letter Christians trusted partners in Gaza.

Transcript: Christ in the Rubble A Liturgy of Lament Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church Bethlehem Saturday, December 23rd, 2023 We are angry…

We are broken…

This should have been a time of joy; instead, we are mourning. We are fearful.

Twenty thousand killed. Thousands under the rubble still. Close to 9,000 children killed in the most brutal ways. Day after day after day. 1.9 million displaced! Hundreds of thousands of homes were destroyed. Gaza as we know it no longer exists. This is an annihilation. A genocide.

The world is watching; Churches are watching. Gazans are sending live images of their own execution. Maybe the world cares? But it goes on.

We are asking, could this be our fate in Bethlehem? In Ramallah? In Jenin? Is this our destiny too?

We are tormented by the silence of the world. Leaders of the so-called “free” lined up one after the other to give the green light for this genocide against a captive population. They gave the cover. Not only did they make sure to pay the bill in advance, they veiled the truth and context, providing political cover. And, yet another layer has been added: the theological cover with the Western Church stepping into the spotlight.

The South African Church taught us the concept of “The state theology,” defined as “the theological justification of the status quo with its racism, capitalism and totalitarianism.” It does so by misusing theological concepts and biblical texts for its own political purposes.

Here in Palestine, the Bible is weaponized against our very own sacred text. In our terminology in Palestine, we speak of the Empire. Here we confront the theology of the Empire. A disguise for superiority, supremacy, “chosenness,” and entitlement. It is sometimes given a nice cover using words like mission and evangelism, fulfillment of prophecy, and spreading freedom and liberty. The theology of the Empire becomes a powerful tool to mask oppression under the cloak of divine sanction. It divides people into “us” and “them.” It dehumanizes and demonizes. It speaks of land without people even when they know the land has people – and not just any people. It calls for emptying Gaza, just like it called the ethnic cleansing in 1948 “a divine miracle.” It calls for us Palestinians to go to Egypt, maybe Jordan, or why not just the sea?

“Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” they said of us. This is the theology of Empire.

This war has confirmed to us that the world does not see us as equal. Maybe it is the color of our skin. Maybe it is because we are on the wrong side of the political equation. Even our kinship in Christ did not shield us. As they said, if it takes killing 100 Palestinians to get a single “Hamas militant” then so be it! We are not humans in their eyes. (But in God’s eyes… no one can tell us we are not!)

The hypocrisy and racism of the Western world is transparent and appalling! They always take the words of Palestinians with suspicion and qualification. No, we are not treated equally. Yet, the other side, despite a clear track record of misinformation, is almost always deemed infallible!

To our European friends. I never ever want to hear you lecture us on human rights or international law again. We are not white— it does not apply to us according to your own logic.

In this war, the many Christians in the Western world made sure the Empire has the theology needed. It is self-defense, we were told! (And I ask: how?)

In the shadow of the Empire, they turned the colonizer into the victim, and the colonized into the aggressor. Have we forgotten that the state was built on the ruins of the towns and villages of those very same Gazans?

We are outraged by the complicity of the church. Let it be clear: Silence is complicity, and empty calls for peace without a ceasefire and end to occupation, and the shallow words of empathy without direct action— are all under the banner of complicity. So here is my message: Gaza today has become the moral compass of the world. Gaza was hell on earth before October 7th.

If you are not appalled by what is happening; if you are not shaken to your core— there is something wrong with your humanity. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by this genocide, by the weaponizing of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and compromising the credibility of the Gospel!

If you fail to call this a genocide. It is on you. It is a sin and a darkness you willingly embrace.

Some have not even called for a ceasefire.

I feel sorry for you. We will be okay. Despite the immense blow we have endured, we will recover. We will rise and stand up again from the midst of destruction, as we have always done as Palestinians, although this is by far the biggest blow we have received in a long time.

But again, for those who are complicit, I feel sorry for you. Will you ever recover from this?

Your charity, your words of shock AFTER the genocide, won’t make a difference. Words of regret will not suffice for you. We will not accept your apology after the genocide. What has been done, has been done. I want you to look at the mirror… and ask: where was I?

To our friends who are here with us: You have left your families and churches to be with us. You embody the term accompaniment— a costly solidarity. “We were in prison and you visited us.” What a stark difference from the silence and complicity of others. Your presence here is the meaning of solidarity. Your visit has already left an impression that will never be taken from us. Through you, God has spoken to us that “we are not forsaken.” As Father Rami of the Catholic Church said this morning, you have come to Bethlehem, and like the Magi, you brought gifts with, but gifts that are more precious than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. You brought the gift of love and solidarity.

We needed this. For this season, maybe more than anything, we were troubled by the silence of God. In these last two months, the Psalms of lament have become a precious companion. We cried out: My God, My God, why have you forsaken Gaza? Why do you hide your face from Gaza?

In our pain, anguish, and lament, we have searched for God, and found him under the rubble in Gaza. Jesus became the victim of the very same violence of the Empire. He was tortured. Crucified. He bled out as others watched. He was killed and cried out in pain— My God, where are you?

In Gaza today, God is under the rubble.

And in this Christmas season, as we search for Jesus, he is to be found not on the side of Rome, but our side of the wall. In a cave, with a simple family. Vulnerable. Barely, and miraculously surviving a massacre. Among a refugee family. This is where Jesus is found.

If Jesus were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble in Gaza. When we glorify pride and richness, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we rely on power, might, and weapons, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we justify, rationalize, and theologize the bombing of children, Jesus is under the rubble.

Jesus is under the rubble. This is his manger. He is at home with the marginalized, the suffering, the oppressed, and displaced. This is his manger.

I have been looking, contemplating on this iconic image….God with us, precisely in this way. THIS is the incarnation. Messy. Bloody. Poverty.

This child is our hope and inspiration. We look and see him in every child killed and pulled from under the rubble. While the world continues to reject the children of Gaza, Jesus says: “just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” “You did to ME.” Jesus not only calls them his own, he is them!

We look at the holy family and see them in every family displaced and wandering, now homeless in despair. While the world discusses the fate of the people of Gaza as if they are unwanted boxes in a garage, God in the Christmas narrative shares in their fate; He walks with them and calls them his own.

This manger is about resilience— صمود. The resilience of Jesus is in his meekness; weakness, and vulnerability. The majesty of the incarnation lies in its solidarity with the marginalized. Resilience because this very same child, rose up from the midst of pain, destruction, darkness and death to challenge empires; to speak truth to power and deliver an everlasting victory over death and darkness.

This is Christmas today in Palestine and this is the Christmas message. It is not about Santa, trees, gifts, lights… etc. My goodness how we twisted the meaning of Christmas. How we have commercialized Christmas. I was in the USA last month, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, and I was amazed by the amount of Christmas decorations and lights, all the and commercial goods. I couldn’t help but think: They send us bombs, while celebrating Christmas in their land. They sing about the prince of peace in their land, while playing the drum of war in our land.

Christmas in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, is this manger. This is our message to the world today. It is a Gospel message, a true and authentic Christmas message, about the God who did not stay silent, but said his word, and his Word is Jesus. Born among the occupied and marginalized. He is in solidarity with us in our pain and brokenness.

This manger is our message to the world today – and it is simply this: this genocide must stop NOW. Let us repeat to the world: STOP this Genocide NOW.

This is our call. This is our plea. This is our prayer. Hear oh God. Amen.

(Source)

I found these on Twitter a while ago. Original creator unknown.

I can't stop you ascribing hateful, paranoid meanings to these images, but they're not about blaming religions. Jesus was a Jew born to a community of Jews in Palestine, the cradle of the Abrahamic faiths. He was raised and loved by them, betrayed by their rulers* and killed by Romans. He's a Prophet of Islam. End of.

*Y'know, like how the people of the Arab and Muslim nations love Palestine and crying to help them, except their leaders are greedy and rotted to the core. The ruling class will always only serve the empire.

Edit: alt text provided by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters

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fawnandshadows · 9 months

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I'll Be Home For Christmas ~ Part One

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Smut, language

AO3

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“I’ve never been on a train before.” Elain admitted, her eyes trained on the snow-covered pine trees through the moving window.

The strong body beside her shifted, careful to maintain a small amount of space between them.

“Really?” Azriel asked curiously, turning the page in his worn book, A Christmas Carol, that he snagged from her bookshelf.

“Usually someone drives me to and from school,” Elain turned to him with a smile. “Someone being you.”

Hazel eyes met hers over the brim of a fraying book.

“Sorry my car broke down.” Azriel said, almost playfully. Well, Elain could recognize the playfulness in his voice. Anyone else would have heard a droll deliverance.

“‘Broke down’ seems excessive,” Elain turned towards him, her hands pressed between her cheek and the cloth seat in a praying gesture. “You need a new battery and the shop is closed.”

“The perils of traveling on Christmas Eve.” Azriel said, and though the book was covering half of his face, Elain knew he was smiling.

She looked around the carriage of the train, over the empty seats, and silently wondered if they always ran the train with next to no one on it. A few passengers rose in other carts, but Elain was grateful for the privacy. Somehow they had managed to hop on the train all of three minutes before it left — the bus that they tried left five minutes early, and the car rental place was completely sold out.

“I think you did it on purpose,” Elain yawned, her eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. It must have been the excitement and anxiety of this morning getting to her — all the last minute changes, and it wasn’t until her butt sat firmly in her train seat that she felt exhausted. It all crashed into her at once. “So you could see more of my ugly face.”

An ugly sound caught in Azriel’s throat, and she saw the corner of his eyes crease as he smiled.

“Of all the words I would use to describe you, sweetheart, ugly isn’t one of them.”

She smiled softly at that, and then they weren’t talking. She became startlingly aware of the fact that they were just looking into each other’s eyes and the weight of his gaze became the center of her universe.

With flushing cheeks she blurted out, “Read to me?”

“Marley was dead to begin with…”

Elain shut her eyes and hunkered down in her seat, listening to his deep, dark, relaxing voice. She focused more on the luxurious sound of his voice than the actual content of what he was saying, but she had read the tale multiple times and saw enough movies to be able to follow along, a picture forming in her mind as she felt lighter and drifted off.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Elain awoke when she felt as if she was no longer in motion. Her neck was bent at an awkward angle, and somehow her cheek no longer pressed against her hands, but had migrated to Azriel’s chest. One arm smooshed between her side and the seat while her other arm came up and clutched Azriel’s shoulder. Her sleeping form clinging to his strength and warmth.

The book was laid open on his chest, and Elain gazed up at him to find that he had fallen asleep as well — one hand resting on his stomach to keep the book in place, and the other stretched over her seat, allowing her to snuggle and burrow into his side.

He looked devastatingly handsome.

His black hair curled out from under his navy knit cap on his thick locks, and she could see a few freckles on his brown skin — Elain wanted to touch each and everyone of them, to map them out as if they were her own constellations. Soft snores passed through his parted lips, and it somehow endeared him more towards her. Which she didn’t think was possible.

With more strength than she had, Elain turned her head away from him and looked out the window. The entirety of the glass was frosted over and Elain nearly had to shield her eyes from the blinding snow swirling around outside. She quickly looked away, but after growing up in New England she only needed two seconds to register what the whiteout meant.

A blizzard.

Begrudgingly, Elain pushed herself away from Azriel, leaving her hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake.

She watched as his eyes blinked awake, slowly gaining consciousness.

“Are we there?” Azriel asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

Elain shook her head in response.

“I don’t think so,” Elain started, ignoring the way his arm fell so that it no longer rested on her seat but rather on her back. “There’s a blizzard.”

His eyes fluttered behind her to look at the window and then drifted back to her face, understanding dawning in his expression.

“I fell asleep.” Azriel stated, slight disbelief coloring his voice. Elain bit her lip and nodded her head — Azriel was notorious for his insomnia. Whenever she couldn’t sleep Elain would find herself scrolling through tumblr or Instagram, and Azriel was always on. She’d wake and find messages from him timestamped 3:00, 4:00, or 5:00 am…and whenever she and her sisters would spend the night at the place Az shared with his brothers, she would always wake to hear him quietly playing videos. Sometimes she would go and join him, either having him show her how to play, or if she was too tired she would just sit by him to keep him company.

“Well, it’s a good thing cause you didn’t sleep much last night.”

She woke up at seven and saw a text dated three hours before.

Azriel was in grad school at the same university where Elain was pursuing her bachelors — about seven hours southwest from where their family lived. It was only Elain’s second year, but she loved traveling with Azriel to and from campus. She always had a small, school-girl crush on her sister’s boyfriend's brother, but somehow she had fallen hopelessly in love with him from the passenger side of his car. He was kind…funny…attentive…and there was nothing she could have done to stop the casual affection she felt for Azriel from blossoming into something beautiful.

And Azriel…Elain thought he felt something similar. When she first started college, he went out of his way to make her comfortable, and he was her only friend until she met Nuala and Cerridwen. But he went on dates and had casual hook ups — on more than one occasion she went to his apartment early enough to see half-dressed girls try to sneak out. Elain would simply paint on a fake smile and avert her eyes, not saying anything to Azriel when she saw him…but his dates and hook ups became few and far between. He spent most of his days texting her, and in all of their free time they would go to the library or their favorite diner — studying together, sharing their favorite meals, or even having Netflix marathons at his apartment.

Azriel sought her company just as much as she sought his.

“What are the chances we actually made it to Velaris?” Azriel asked in a gravelly voice, sitting up slightly from his slouched position — his discarded coat halfway off his seat.

Elain pulled her phone out of her backpack on the ground and checked the time. Somehow only two hours had passed since they left.

“It’s only 3:00.” Elain showed him her phone.

“Well, fuck,” Azriel said, rubbing his clean shaven chin. “You should text Feyre, let her know what happened. You know your dad will worry.”

Elain nodded, sending a quick text to her sister, downplaying what happened to make it seem as if her and Azriel weren’t somehow stranded in the middle of a blizzard — even if they were stranded in the middle of a blizzard.

“My dad likes you,” Elain said softly, her eyes not looking up from her screen. “I have no service. You?”

Azriel jostled in his seat to pull his phone out of his back pocket, tapped the screen, and shook his head.

His eyes met hers and a sarcastic look took over his expression as he said, “Your dad hates me.”

There was one time last winter break where Azriel came over to her house and they watched all the Christmas episodes of The Office in her room — the rest of their family went bar-hopping and Azriel stayed home with her — and they both fell asleep on her bed. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Somehow in the middle of the night she had ended up in Azriel’s arms. And when her father knocked on her door the next evening he wasn’t thrilled to see her and Azriel sleeping next to each other. Ever since then her father would make off handed remarks about their relationship and would give Azriel the stink eye whenever he saw him — Even if they were huddled over her phone or sitting too close together her dad would yell, “Save room for the Holy Spirit!” which would cause Elain to turn bright red and roll her eyes.

“That’s not true.” Elain said, tucking her phone back into her backpack.

“He certainly doesn’t want me dating you.” Azriel raised a dark eyebrow at her and adjusted his beanie.

A flushed ran through her cheeks as she mumbled, “He doesn’t want me dating anyone. It’s nothing against you in particular. He just knows that we spend so much time together.”

“And you told him you spent the night in my bed.” Azriel groaned and rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye.

Elain cringed at the memory. For some reason she thought it would placate her father to know that it was a common occurrence — she would go over to his place and accidentally fall asleep while watching tv. Nothing ever happened, but her fathers face turned red with anger before pointing to her doorway and saying “Out.” between clenched teeth. Azriel tried to apologize, but her father wouldn’t let him, so Azriel left and sent her a sad look over his shoulder.

“I thought it would make it better. Give him a better understanding of our friendship.” Elain explained, crossing her arms across her chest as she leaned back into her seat.

His eyes fell to her chest, not in a sexual way, but to take note of the sweatshirt she was wearing. His sweatshirt that she had stolen months ago.

“No one understands our friendship.” Azriel stated, mimicking her posture and crossing his arms, but he did it with arrogance. As if he has somehow checkmated her in this conversation.

He was correct.

There were whispers around campus that they were friends with benefits — Even though Elain liked to stick to herself, she had the twins and Azriel and it was enough. Too many bad friends burned her in high school that she learned the value of just having a few good friends. Most people weren’t even interested in her, they just wanted to know the girl who got Azriel to stop sleeping around. For the most part, they just ignored the whispers.

There was, however, one person that really didn’t love or understand their relationship. Rhysand. Azriel’s closest friend.

Rhys shrugged off the entire incident of Azriel spending the night in her room. At that point, Elain was still basically his little sister and Azriel was his brother, and as far as Rhys knew Azriel was still fucking around on campus and wouldn’t look twice at her. However, two days later he held a party at his house, where Elain could drink with her entire family and not have to worry about anything, and somehow she ended up on Azriel’s lap. They were both drunk. One of Azriel’s hands on her bare thigh, her skirt was bunched and hiked up higher than she would have liked if she was sober, and his other hand was on her knee — holding her close to his chest so she wouldn’t slip off. Elain was playfully adjusting the Santa Cap on his head, her fingers touching his hair a little more than was necessary, but Azriel let her. He just smiled up at her. And there was a teeny, tiny part of Elain that was hoping he would kiss her.

He didn’t.

Feyre came over and kindly pulled Elain off of his lap, offering to dance with her and Elain eagerly agreed.

Elain had no idea anything was even wrong. It wasn’t until later when she heard Rhys and Azriel arguing upstairs on her way to the bathroom that she realized there was an issue.

“She’s 18!” Rhys whispered angrily. “You’re 23!”

“You didn’t have a problem with that a few months ago, when you kept pushing me to hang out with her.” Azriel replied in an icy voice. One that Elain almost never heard.

“To be her friend! To make her feel comfortable and help her settle in! Not to drool over her tits while she’s giving you a lap dance,” Elain looked down at her chest from the opposite side of the door. “Not to make her fall in love with you.”

“We are friends.” Azriel responded glibly.

“A friend you don’t want to fuck?”

Silence.

“Don’t you fucking hurt her,” Rhys started, and for some reason Elain thought he was probably poking Azriel in the chest. “I know how you are, Az, you’ve never been with someone longer than a week. You get bored and you leave them. Fucking A — that girl looks at you with fucking stars in her eyes. She obviously likes you. Just be her friend. And keep your dick to yourself.”

Elain quickly scampered to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and ran her hands under cold water, wanting to cool herself off as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. And when she went back downstairs Azriel was standing next to Cassian — who was playing against Nesta at beer pong — and Az intentionally didn’t meet her gaze as she reached the bottom of the steps. So, she walked over to the makeshift dance floor with Feyre and Mor. Thankful they never noticed the confusion hidden behind her smile.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments and then the blurry, distorted voice of the conductor came from the overheard speaker.

Elain and Azriel looked at each other, silently imploring whether or not they could hear what the conductor was saying.

They couldn’t.

It wasn’t until one of the workers walked into their car a few moments later that they realized they had managed to dock at a small station, but the tracks were completely snowed over ahead of them and there was no way for them to be going anywhere.

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The small diner located just down the street from the train station was cozy, to say the least.

Small with a few locals sitting in the booths, and as soon the bell jangled to alert the patrons of their arrival, Elain felt all eyes land on her and Azriel.

It was the type of place where people recognized a new face.

Elain smiled politely and quickly sat in the booth toward the end of the restaurant, where there was enough room for Azriel to lay down their bags without being in the way.

She expected him to sit on the opposite side of the table, but he surprised her by scooting into the booth next to her — his thigh pressed against hers as he leaned his head close to hers.

“What are the chances we get out of this town tonight?” Azriel asked, his voice low and close to her ear.

Elain forced herself to turn her head and look out the window, taking great effort to appear unaffected by his closeness, and saw the white flurries falling down and obscuring the entire view. Nothing but a veil of white.

“I’m thinking it’s pretty low,” Elain said, turning back to him. “The roads aren’t even plowed yet.”

Azriel nodded his head.

“Looks like you’ll be spending Christmas Eve with me,” Azriel said, nudging his shoulder into hers. “Hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“Never,” Elain smiled, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t have anyone back home waiting for you? Heartbroken that you aren’t showing up?”

Elain meant the words as a joke, but as soon as the words left her mouth it felt as if the entire world was resting on a pin. Ready to topple with what he said next.

“No,” Azriel said, his eyes darkening. He brought one hand up to rest behind her shoulders, on the back of the booth. Just like how he sat in the train. “I don’t have anyone pining over me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Elain asked, leaning into his side.

Azriel tucked one of her curls behind her ear. He opened his mouth to respond, but the waitress sidled up to their table and handed them the menus.

“Can I get you lovebirds anything to drink?” She asked, smiling at them. Elain could see the fine lines in her face made from smiling over the years. Her dark curls were piled on top of her head and her name tag read ‘Alis’.

“Two hot coffees with cream, no sugar.” Azriel said, giving Alis a polite smile.

“Do you know what you want? Or do you want to look at the menu?” Alis asked.

Azriel turned to Elain, not even opening the menu before saying, “Waffles and bacon?”

Elain nodded her head upon hearing her favorite breakfast. Not the healthiest. Or one she had very often. But her favorite.

Elain tapped her finger on her nose three times, thinking. And as she spoke her finger slowly turned and pointed at his amused expression.

“Denver omelet,” Elain said thoughtfully. “Rye toast, hash browns, aaaaaaand,” She drew out the last word, thinking about what Az would like to complete his meal. “A side of fruit.”

“Perfect.” Azriel said with a grin that showed off his dimples and handed the unopened menus back to Alis.

“You two are sweet,” Alis said, tucking the menus under her arm. “How long have you been together?”

Elain felt her cheeks blush at the words, but Azriel didn’t miss a beat.

“About a year now.”

His arm dropped down from the seat and settled around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. For the second time today.

His hand curled around her shoulder.

“But we’ve known each other for years.” Elain added, and Azriel looked at her in surprise as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Underneath his coat.

“Awww, childhood sweethearts,” Alis said with affection. “I’ll put your order in.”

She walked away, but neither Azriel or Elain moved. They didn’t shift or pull away.

They leaned closer together.

“This isn’t a horrible place to be.” Elain admitted, slightly nuzzling closer to him.

“Even on Christmas Eve?”

“Especially on Christmas Eve.”

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After their meal Elain and Azriel finally decided to check their phones and see if their service finally returned — they both hid their disappointment as they saw the full signal bars on their screens.

“I’ll call hotels and you call Feyre?” Azriel suggested and Elain nodded along, looking at all the unread messages on her phone. Sighing, she called her sister.

“Elain?” Feyre answered, worried. “Are you ok?”

“We're fine,” Elain reassured her sister, watching Az dial from the corner of her eye. “We just finished lunch, but I don’t think we can make it home tonight — Our train stopped at the first station it could. We only rode for about two hours.”

“Where are you?”

“My phone said Winter Court — wherever that is,” Elain replied, noting how Azriel hung up the phone to call someone else. “Are you guys still doing cookies tonight?”

“Yes,” Feyre said, and Elain could hear the shuffling cookware over the phone and multiple people speaking at once. “Though, I’m sure they’ll be burned without you.”

Azriel sighed, hung up, and called someone new.

“They’ll be delicious,” Elain said with a soft smile. She was about to remind her sister to set the oven five degrees less than what the recipe recommends, but she heard her fathers voice on the other end.

“Is that Lainy?”

“Yeah, papa.”

“Let me talk to her,” Static shuffled through the phone, and like clockwork Azriel called someone new. “Are you being safe, sweetheart?” Her fathers voice became crystal clear and for the first time she felt a pang of homesickness.

“Of course, papa,” Elain said. “But we’re not gonna make it home tonight. Az is calling hotels to book a room for us. I miss you guys.”

A beat of silence.

Azriel hung up his phone, but didn’t call anyone else.

“A room?”

Her eyes met Azriels, and he must have heard her father because he nodded in confirmation.

“Is was all they had?” Elain meant to say with confidence, but her voice lilted into a question.

Azriel nodded in confirmation even though his lips curled into a smile as he mouthed,

“Honeymoon Suite.”

She blushed.

“Hopefully it has a couch for the boy.” Her father grumbled.

Before Elain could stop herself she said, “I’m not going to make Azriel sleep on the couch, dad.”

Azriel raised a dark brow at her.

“Let me speak to him.” Her father said with a sigh.

Elain held the phone out to Az, their fingers touching as he took it from her.

The bastard turned the volume down so she couldn’t hear what her father was saying.

“Mmmhm,” Azriel’s eyes never left hers. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll protect her,” His hazel eyes darkened. “Mmhhmm. Goodbye.”

Azriel handed her phone back to her and said, “He hung up.”

“Honeymoon Suite?” Elain asked, pocketing the phone.

“This town has a surprising amount of hotels and motels and somehow they’re all booked. Apparently, this is a really popular Christmas destination for tourism, and hotels get booked years in advance. Somehow I found this small B&B and the only room they had was the honeymoon suite on a special reserve. If anyone asks, we eloped at the courthouse on a whim and haven’t had time to buy rings yet,” At her silence he continued. “I’m thinking we take a cue from Alis. Childhood sweethearts?”

“Az?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve been good friends for over a year now, yes? And we’ve known each other for a while — but I’ve never heard you talk for so long.”

A face-splitting grin stretched across his lips.

“Maybe I talk when I get nervous.” Azriel said, his cheeks pinkening.

“You’re nervous?” Elain asked softly, her heart speeding.

“It’s not every day that I propose.”

Her stomach felt hollow.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, this is the best proposal I’ve ever received.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, so Elain could feel him tense just a bit.

“I’m not your first?”

“Lucien Vanserra in the fourth grade and then again in eighth.” Elain explained and watched as

Azriel’s expression became carefully guarded.

“The prick in your American Lit class?”

“He’s not that bad, and he was very gracious considering the fact I shot down his proposal twice.”

His jaw worked.

“And what about mine?”

Elain leaned forward and adjusted his knit cap, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

“How would you like to be my first husband, Az?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Their B&B was a fifteen minute walk from the diner, but it took them almost 40 minutes since they couldn’t see more than a foot in front of them.

Azriel held Elain’s hand tightly as they wadded through the snow — neither of them in the proper footwear. At one point Azriel’s beanie almost blew off and Elain practically had to jump on top of him to keep it from flying away.

Their coats were wet and heavy by the time they arrived, and as soon as they stepped through the door they dropped their duffle bags on the ground and Azriel immediately wrapped his arms around Elain. Her wet hair in his face. His hands aggressively rubbing her arms over her wool coat.

“You must be the newly weds!” A friendly voice called over to them and Elain heard the clicking of heels over the wooden floor.

Elain poked her head out from Azriel's chest and saw a stunningly beautiful blonde — eyes a bright blue and hair almost white as snow and creamy, bright skin.

“That’s us.” Azriel said in an even voice, one that made it seem like they just took a stroll on a lovely fall day and not through a blizzard mars.

“I’m Viviane,” She introduced herself and held out her hand. Elain stayed wrapped around Azriel for warmth, but he managed to find enough manners in her to shake her hand. “My husband and I own this place. I’ll get you checked in and have someone show you to your room.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You can shower first.” Azriel said as soon as they stepped into their room.

Elain toed off her boots and walked across the hardwood floor to place her duffel bag at the base of the bed.

“Are you sure?” Elain asked, ignoring how her teeth harshly chattered together.

“Lainy,” Azriel said, his feet silently padding across the floor as he came up behind her. “You’re a human popsicle. I’m pretty sure you’re so cold that my tongue would stick to you if I licked you,” He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her so that she would face him. Her white socks twisting beneath her feet. “Go take a hot shower.”

Her wide eyes met his.

“Do you plan on licking me?” Elain asked, slightly breathless and a flash of heat swept through his hazel eyes. He didn’t say anything. “There’s a rumor I’ve heard about you on campus.” Her tongue came out to wet her lips.

“And what’s that?” Azriel challenged. His voice was rough and Elain could vaguely feel his fingers tightening on her shoulders.

“That you like…”

“That I like…?”

“That you like using your tongue.” Elain rushed out and her face was so hot she thought that her skin would start to peel off. Her cheeks were at odds with the rest of her body.

“Yes, I like using my tongue,” Azriel said as he narrowed his eyes. One of his hands fell away from her shoulder and he brought it up to rub at his lips. “I need it for speaking. For eating. I find my life would be quite difficult without it.”

It was Elain’s turn to narrow her eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Azriel tilted his face down to hers.

“Say what you mean, Elain.”

“I heard around campus, from a few girls,” Elain started and she fought the urge to turn and climb under the covers to find her flushing face, but she wanted to finish what she started. “That you like to go down on them. With your tongue. In their vaginas.”

Elain puffed out her chest a bit like she won some sort of battle.

“I do.”

Her chest faltered.

“Oh.”

Elain scrambled for something to say — for some reason she never thought he would actually admit it. And she couldn’t stop the onslaught of images that cascaded through her brain, of all the girls that taunted her about it. She could picture them with Azriel's dark head between their thighs.

“I like giving blow jobs,” Elain admitted, her voice deceptively innocent. His face didn’t change. He didn’t so much as blink at her words. “If you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Azriel said blandly, his voice carefully even toned. “Take your damn shower Elain.”

She scampered to the bathroom without looking back.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Azriel wanted to hit someone.

Mainly himself.

“I like giving blow jobs,”

And whoever the fuck Elain was giving blowjobs to.

He shucked off his soaked coat and sunk into a froofy chair by the window as the shower turned on.

His scarred hands came up to grip his hair as he tired hard not to picture Elain’s naked body glistening with water as she showered, and he tried fucking hard not picture her blowing her exboyfriends. None of them fucking deserve it. They didn’t deserve her.

Maybe he wanted to hit Rhys.

For getting in the way last year.

If Azriel thought hard enough, then he could still feel her plush thigh beneath his palm. Her fingers gently tugging at his hair. He could remember the feel of her on his lap, and how his eyes kept drifting from her lips to her flushed cheeks to the ample cleavage on display — and he kept fighting the little urge to kiss her. It wasn’t even an urge. It was a beck and call.

Elain was the type of girl he could kiss forever and never get bored. She was soft. Luscious. He could hold her in his arms and kiss her until he was blue in the face — his hands lazily exploring her body as their lips moved together. Slowly. Gently. Playfully.

There were a few times before she plunked herself down on his lap last year that he thought about kissing her. Her lips pursed whenever she was concentrating really hard ( her nose scrunched as well, but that’s besides the point) and he recalled one night they were studying late in the library when he thought that kissing would be a much better use of their time.

And when she would bake for him. Sometimes a little frosting would linger on her mouth, and Azriel wondered if it would be sweeter on her lips than out of the bowl.

Elain had the perfect fucking lips for kissing.

And blowing.

Apparently.

“I like giving blow jobs,”

Azriel wasn’t stupid. Or blind.

He’s always known Elain was incredibly beautiful — it was a fact. Saying Elain is beautiful was like saying Cassian is incredibly fit. Or that Rhysand is smart. It just is.

He knew that Rhysand didn’t push Elain at him just to help her settle in on campus, but the more time Elain spent with Azriel, then the less time horny frat boys and jocks would be sniffing around her. Azriel was aware of his reputation, and he didn’t care that Rhys wanted to use it to protect Elain. Hell, Azriel even agreed with it. And he liked Elain. So he went along with it.

But he didn’t realize just how much he fucking liked Elain.

He found himself seeking her out. Calling her. Texting her. He would send her all the tiktoks that he thought she would like, or even just a random one with his thoughts like, “This is fucking weird.” He didn’t realize how much he craved her until he was in bed with some blonde, and after they were finished fucking Azriel immediately checked his phone and smiled when he saw the notifications from Elain. The blonde girl he was with wanted to talk. Or cuddle or something. And he cared more about replying to Elain’s tiktok messages than he did about going for round two. Eventually, he started thinking about Elain as he was fucking some random girl and he couldn’t wash away the oily feeling that lingered for days afterward.

Azriel sighed deeply as he sank further into the chair, the heels of his palms rubbing his eyes as he tried to ignore the images of a wet, showering Elain that were pilfering through his mind – her pale skin glistening and beads of water dripped down her curves, lathered soap slipping down her back—

His cock hardened at the image, and Azriel shifted himself in his jeans.

The squeaking sound of Elain turning the knob of the shower off rankled his nerves.

“Az?” Elain called out, and Azriel lifted his eyes to peek at the bathroom door that was cracked open ever so slightly, steam floated out like shadows from behind her.

“Yes?”

A beat of silence.

“I forgot my clothes.” Elain said hesitantly.

Azriel felt his skin flush and overheat, but he pushed himself up and walked over to where he plunked their luggage down.

“Do you want your entire bag?” He asked in an even voice, his eyes dropped to her lips as she took her bottom one between her teeth.

“Just my toiletry bag and pajamas, please.” Elain said in a high voice. And Azriel nodded, slowly unzipping her bag and carefully moved her clothes out of the way to fund her pjs.

“You didn’t pack any.” Azriel called out, forcing a teasing tone to his voice as he ignored the scraps of lace panties that kept jumping out at him.

“Yes I did,” Elain responded, huffing in slight annoyance. “Those plaid shorts,” Azriel had thought they were underwear, but grabbed them at her words. “And your old AC/DC shirt.” Azriel’s fought from grinding his teeth together — he knew Elain stole his clothes, knew that she slept and lounged in them, but knowing that he packed his old tshirt and was going to sleep beside him in it made his skin flame.

Azriel carefully grabbed the first underwear he could find and placed it between her pajamas so that they weren’t on display. He placed her clothes underneath her toiletry bag, and tried not to stare down at her damp cleavage as he handed them to her.

A tiny white towel was wrapped around her body, and Azriel knew that with one tug the knot would be undone and the towel would be on the floor.

“Thanks.” Elain breathed, opening the door to accept the pile Azriel stuck out for her.

“Need anything else?” Azriel asked, his voice unnecessarily husky.

Her cheeks turned pink, but she shook her head and said, “No, thank you,” and closed the door.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Her damp feet pattered over the wood floors, her body still damp and humid from her shower, and sunk onto the bed, her eyes trained on Azriel who looked at her from the overly stuffed chair by the window. She still couldn’t see past the snow coming down outside.

“What now?” Elain asked, tucking her feet underneath herself.

“Well,” Azriel teased. “By the looks of it, you’re ready for bed.”

Elain rolled her eyes.

“I think that after your shower,” She smiled at him. “You should start reading to me again since this place doesn’t have a television, and then we order down for room service for dinner.”

“Hungry already?” Azriel asked, his eyebrow tilting upwards.

“No,” She said firmly “But I will be. Eventually. And I bet they have amazing desserts here.” Elain smiled at her, knowing his weakness for sweets.

Azriel didn’t bother to hide the smile playing on his mouth and pushed himself to his feet.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Somehow they ended up under the covers. Elain’s soft body pressed into his warm one as they were both sitting propped up against the headboard, pillows cushioning their backs, and the soft glow of the lamp illuminating the room, along with the moonlight reflecting off of the white snow outside their window.

Azriel’s dark, silky voice carried through the quiet of the night.

He didn’t even startle when her cold feet tucked into his for warmth. Azriel just shifted so that they were more comfortable.

“...During the whole of this time Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self…” Azriel wet his lips and shut the book, causing Elain to furrow her brow and raise her eyes at him.

“What is it?” Elain asked.

“Silly as it may be,” Azriel started. “After a few hours of reading I need some water.”

Elain felt her eyes widen at his words and said, “Hours?” in disbelief. She pulled herself away from his warmth and checked her phone, ignoring the messages from her family and focusing on the fact that it was closing in on eight. Well past dinner time.

“You must be starving,” Elain said, crawling closer to him with her phone still tucked into her hand. “Should we call down for dinner?”

Azriel nodded in agreement, and leaned over to grab the antique phone from the nightstand next to him.

“Think this works?” Azriel asked, eyeing the delicate brass machine.

“For sure,” Elain nodded. “It was probably just made to fit the aesthetic of the place,” She snuggled into his side. “Order me something good.”

Azriel dialed one, and Elain could hear a feminine voice answering his call.

Her mouth watered as Azriel ordered two pot roast dinners, a bottle of wine, bread, chocolate cake, and, most importantly, water.

“I think you’re officially the best orderer,” Elain said, slinking into his side as he took up his initial position, his arm coming out to wrap around her as he picked up the book. “Let me,” She took it from between his fingers. “Until the water comes.”

It only took 30 minutes until a knock interrupted them.

“Already?” Elain asked, setting the book down. Azriel smirked at her before getting up and walking towards the door. Elain found herself sinking into the warmth he left behind on the sheets.

The door was out of her line of sight, but Elain heard Azriel open the door and the brief conversation he had with the woman who brought their food for them — the oddly long conversation that didn’t seem to have an end in sight.

Elain pushed herself out of the bed, the chilled air nipping at her toasty skin, and walked over to the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

Azriel was standing at the door, incredibly still in a way that told Elain he was hiding his annoyance, and out in the hallway was a redhead holding their service cart in a deathgrip.

“Is this everything?” Elain asked, sliding up next to Azriel and threading her fingers through his. Azriel relaxed at her touch.

The girl’s teal eyes flashed towards Elain and said, “Hello,” with a strained smile.

“My husband and I are … eager … to continue our night,” Elain said in a too kind voice. “So, I was wondering if this was everything?”

Azriel’s body vibrated with suppressed humor.

“This is everything,” The girl said, pushing the cart to them. They’d have to take her word for it, considering everything was covered in silver domes, but Elain wasn’t going to reach out if anything was forgotten - she didn’t want any more interruptions. She just wanted time with Azriel completely uninterrupted. Luckily, she could see the bottle of wine and water on the bottom shelf of the cart. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else.”

“Thank you.” Elain said as Azriel pushed the cart further into the room, and shut the door after bidding the girl farewell.

The savory smell of the potroast was mouthwatering, but Elain couldn’t shake the irked feeling of the redhead so obviously lusting after Azriel — and they were in the honeymoon suite.

Elain grumbled as she lifted the silver covers and took in the food. Everything appeared to be in place, and Azriel looked down at her in amusement as she inspected their dinner.

“Everything to your satisfaction?” He asked and Elain felt her cheeks flush at the way he looked at her, knowingly.

“Yes, husband.” Elain grumbled and Azriel threw his head back in laughter, her body prickling at the sound.

His large hands clamped onto her hips and Azriel drew her back into his chest.

“Jealous?” He asked, his lips absurdly close to her ear.

“I don’t see why I should be,” Elain said, shifting on her feet. “I know who’ll you’ll be sleeping with tonight.”

Azriel groaned and buried his head into the crook of her neck.

“You can’t say things like that, Elain.” He spoke into her neck, and Elain could feel his lips moving against her skin.

“And why’s that?” She asked breathlessly.

“We’re trapped in the honeymoon suite with spotty cell phone service and a bottle of wine.” Azriel replied.

“Planning to take advantage of me?”

His fingers tightened on her hips.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Azriel muttered, tearing himself away from her body. “Now, do you want to eat in bed, or should we try to be civilized and eat at the table?” His chin nodding in different directions as he spoke.

“Bed?” Elain asked and watched as Azriel’s eyes darken just a hair.

It was something that that had done time and time again — having dinner in bed together. Usually while watching television, but the honeymoon suite didn’t have one, and from the second they stepped foot into the room they had an unspoken rule about not touching their phones, so as soon as they crawled back into bed (Azriel wheeled the the cart next to his side of the mattress, so he could serve them as he pleased) their conversation ebbed and flowed so that no tension lingered between them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Most people would have been surprised at how easily and freely Azriel spoke around Elain. And at that the wicked sense of humor Elain let loose around Azriel, and Azriel only. Every once in a while it would slip out around her sisters or his friends, but most of the time it was just reserved for Azriel.

A Christmas Carol was tossed onto the nightstand, far away from any damage it could incur from their food and drink, and Elain and Azriel hunkered back into their original positions. Volleying back hypothetical questions and would you rathers.

“Bullshit!” Elain exclaimed, jerking up right, and narrowing her eyes at Azriel’s amused expression - his eyes gleaming as they crinkled with his hidden laughter. “In no world is Jason Todd a better Robin than Dick Grayson! You’re just saying that to annoy me.”

“Am I?” Azriel laughed, using his fork to steal a potato from her plate, and he stared at her as he chewed smugly.

“Yes,” Elain said, shoving at her shoulder. “You know I have a crush on Nightwing.”

“You don’t have to be so obvious about it.” Azriel said, his dimple indenting his cheek.

“Not everyone tucks away their feelings like you do.” Elain mumbled, settling back into her position by his side.

“Is that what I do?” Azriel asked, his eyes bright with a challenge as he looked at her.

Elain glumly stabbed a carrot and brought it up to her mouth, chewing slowly.

“You tell me.”

After a short pause Azriel asked, “Wine?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Elain said, taking a sip from her second glass of wine.

“You don’t?” Azriel asked, his eyes intently peering at her face and she carefully avoided his eyes.

“No, I don’t.” Elain shook her head, careful not to slosh her drink over the edge of the glass.

“You don’t think it’s any of my business how many of my shirts you steal? Do you have any idea how expensive it is to be your friend? You’re lucky I’m not naked right now.”

Elain’s eyes flashed to his at his words, her eyes falling to his torso and made the mental note to start taking even more of his clothes.

“It’s not my fault,” Elain defended herself. “Your clothes are just comfier than mine.”

“Are they?” Azriel asked, his fingers sliding underneath his shirt that hung off of her frame and over the soft skin of her belly.

Elain silently nodded her head, her breath caught in her throat.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Azriel asked, and Elain gave him another slow nod. “I think my shirts look better on you.” He whispered conspiratorially and Elain couldn’t stop the smile taking over her face.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Elain asked, pushing her face closer to his, and Azriel jerked in head in confirmation. “I get sad when your shirts lose their scent. That’s why I always have to steal more.”

“You like how I smell?” Azriel asked darkly, pushing their bodies closer together.

“Mmmmhmm.” Elain confirmed, holding her wineglass close to her chest.

“I love it when you sleep over,” Azriel admitted, his eyes smoldering. “You make my bed smell like jasmine.”

Elain took one more sip of her wine before handing him the glass, silently asked him to put it back on the cart, and Azriel took his cue and placed his glass down next to hers.

“There’s something I’ve been curious about.” Elain admitted quietly as soon as Azriel faced her again.

“What’s that?” He asked curiously.

“Ever since I heard those rumors,” Elain wet her dry lips as she forced the words out. “About you being good with your tongue…I’ve been curious.”

Azriel’s body stilled next to hers.

“Curious about what, Elain?”

“About what it’s like - with you. Guys have gone down on me in the past,” Elain shared, her cheeks burning. “But it was always awkward. It felt like a fish was down there.”

A choking sound ripped through his throat at her words.

“A fish?” Azriel exclaimed, and Elain shoved at his chest.

“You can’t make fun of me!” Elain shrieked before hiding underneath the covers. “Just forget I said anything. I want to go to bed.” Her voice was muffled from the layers of blankets and sheets.

Azriel slowly moved the covers off of her and she looked up at him with wide brown eyes, her face red and flushed, and her golden hair messily tousled over her face and pillow.

“You want me to go down on you, sweetheart?” Azriel asked softly, and Elain nodded her head. He shifted so that he was caging her in with his arms. “Are you wet for me?” She nodded again slowly.

Heat gathered in Azriel’s groin at her admission.

Azriel lifted one hand to slowly tug down her bottoms, so that she was only left in his shirt and her white lace panties. Elain kicked her shorts to the bottom of the bed, silently hoping she didn’t appear too eager.

His large, warm hands cupped her over the lace and Elain shivered at the groan Azriel let out. His eyes shut as if he was savoring this moment and the feel of her. Elain hips moved against his finger, which was rubbing her through the lace, the tip of his finger almost touching her swollen clit.

Needy mewling sounds started escaping from Elain’s lips.

“I can feel how hot and wet your pussy is,” Azriel said, looking at her through half-open, heavy lids. “I bet it tastes fucking delicious.”

“I-I never get this wet.” Elain said, her cheeks burning.

Azriel couldn’t stop the male pride that threatened to tear him apart.

“You only get this wet for me?” Azriel asked, his voice laced with possessiveness and his fingers working overtime.

“Yes.” Elain said, feeling her orgasm mounting, and didn’t even try to hide her disappointment as Azriel stopped his movements.

“Would you rather have my fingers or my mouth?” Azriel asked, his eyes dark.

“Mouth.” Elain mutters, flushing harder as Azriel pulled away her panties, at the wetness that was coming out of her and clung to the lace.

Azriel tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulders and moved under the covers, and Elain could feel his humid breath dance across her wet center - could feel the shadow of his mouth against her lips.

“Wait!” Elain called out, and Azriel immediately popped up, the blankets over his head as he looked at her with a blank, slightly worried expression.

“Did you change your mind?” He asked evenly, and Elain knew that if she asked, then he would move on and act as if this never happened.

“No,” Elain shook her head. “I just want to see you. Us. This.”

Something shuttered over Azriel’s face, but he nodded and the two of them tossed aside the bedding so that Elain had an unobstructed view.

She leaned back onto her elbow, her chin forward as she looked down.

Azriel spread her legs wide, his large hands on both of her thighs, as his eyes feasted on her dripping core.

His eyes met hers from his position between her legs - his eyes gleaming from lust - and he deliberately ran his tongue up her slit. His eyelids nearly shut in pleasure.

“Ohh.” Elain moaned, her hips arching off the bed, but Azriel kept her in place with his hands.

His tongue repeated the motion and Elain felt herself panting.

Her hands snaked into Azriel’s dark curls, pulling slightly, needing something to grab onto.

Azriel’s eyes darkened at the movement, and coaxed a moan out of Elain and he slowly slid his tongue into her channel.

“Yes.” Elain sighed, her heart pounding as his tongue thrust in and out of her. “Yes.”

He groaned against her, sending vibrations through her core and causing Elain’s hips to jerk.

Azriel pulled back, his lips wet and plump, and brought one hand up to work her with his long fingers.

“You taste so fucking good.” Azriel said breathlessly before diving back to between her legs. Using both his tongue and fingers to tease her into a frenzy - and eventually Azriel stopped trying to control her hips and let Elain ride his face. Her fingers pushing his face deeper into her pussy.

“Fuck,” Elain cursed, as Azriel fingers hit the sensitive spot deep within her. “Right there - yes!” She screamed and his fingers fucked her faster.

Her eyes were clenched as pleasure seeped through her, only to go wide as Azriel took her clit between his lips and sucked hard.

Her toes curled as she came undone.

Her body went limp as her breathing turned harsh as the last of her orgasm rushed through her.

“I - that - thank you, Azriel.” Elain panted, forcing her heavy lids to open as she looked at him.

Azriel licked his lips and he made his way up the bed. His breathing was heavy and there was a noticeably large tent in his pajama pants.

“Don’t thank me,” Azriel said as he laid next to her. His hair stuck in every which way thanks to Elain’s fingers, and he wrapped one hand around her body to press them close together. “I enjoyed that way too fucking much.”

Elain bit down on her lip, her eyes dropping to his pants.

“May I?” She asked in a soft voice.

“Only if you want to.” Azriel said, and Elain met his eyes briefly before cupping him through the flannel of his pants.

He groaned deeply and pressed himself into her hands.

Elain moved her hand to slide beneath the waistband of his pants and exposed his erection - and nearly came again at the sight of it. Its purple head had a bead of pre-cum seeping out of it and she could see veins extending along the shaft before disappearing underneath the fabric.

She licked her lips and ran her hand slowly up and down his length. She knew her fingers couldn’t wrap around it even if she tried, so she slowly stroked him.

Her eyes met his as she worked his erection, and he stared at her so intently, as if he couldn’t believe that Elain’s hands were on him. His breath warmed her face and she could feel his chest moving up and down, but Elain kept her pace steady - squeezing gently every once in a while - but not wanting this moment to end.

“Do you like this?” Elain asked.

“Too fucking much,” Azriel said in a heavy voice. “You’re going to ruin me, sweetheart.”

Elain gasped at his words, her thumb smearing the liquid at the tip of his cock - and that one tiny movement pushed him over the edge. He came, coating her hand as she worked him.

Spent, Azriel tugged her closer to his side, pulling the discarded blankets over their bodies.

Elain held her hand out, his orgasm sliding down her skin, and Azriel was about to apologize but stopped as she brought her hand to her mouth and licked. Her pink tongue collecting his seed, and it took everything in Azriel not to take her right there.

She licked at her hand again, and met his eyes.

“Next time you’ll come in my mouth.”

“If you’re not careful,” Azriel said, leaning to grab a napkin from the cart next to the bed and then took her hand to clean it off. “That’s going to be sooner than you think.”

Elain squirmed next to him.

He tossed the napkin away and turned back to Elain.

“That was magical.” She said quietly, almost sheepishly.

“Better than…fish?” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from asking, and Elain rolled her eyes.

“Much better,” She said, her face bright red. “I’ve never come like that before.”

An arrogant smirk appeared on his face and Elain hid her face in his chest.

“Goodnight.” She murmured, bringing a leg up to wrap around his hips.

Azriel stretched to turn the lamp off, the glow of moonlight on a bed of snow snuck through the curtains, but he soon found himself back to Elain - his hand resting on her soft thigh.

“Good night, sweetheart.” He whispered into her hair.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hehe, I couldn't not post something for the holiday season! You guys know I love Christmas and winter too much not to write something seasonal :) . It's been so long since I've posted that I'm not going to be tagging anyone! Please share if you enjoyed this and let me know your thoughts! I'm wishing all of you a Merry Christmas <3

#elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #fawnandshadows writing

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talesfromthenorsesmouth · 1 year

Text

It was 7.30pm, on 6 July 1972...

“Starman” is David Bowie’s Christmas carol. It offers a promise of deliverance, that the human race has been redeemed by greater powers, with a chorus built for a crowd to sing it... 'Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

Handwritten Starman lyrics

“Starman” seems like a revision of “Space Oddity”—“Space Oddity” had placed a frail human figure against the unfathomable expanse of space and cast him loose to drift into the unknown. It was submission to the void, the human race reaching its limits. In “Starman” the unknown is domesticated: the alien comes to visit us, in our homes, whispering through our radios, speaking softly, promising release. The stoicism of “Planet earth is blue/and there’s nothing I can do” is replaced by “he’s told us not to blow it/’cos he knows it’s all worthwhile.” ... “Starman” is also a pop song about pop music…it’s how pop music can instantly create secret societies, break up the tedium of your life, liberate you from your parents. Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

The essential moment comes when Bowie starts to sing the first chorus and Ronson tentatively approaches the mike. Bowie notices him and sweeps his arm over Ronson’s shoulder, pulls him to the mike. It’s a sweet moment of inclusion, the alien embracing the rocker, and, by proxy, all of the nation’s misfits. “Starman” left community in its wake; its promise came true. Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

"I immediately put on some of my older sister’s make-up. I loved how odd it made me look, and the fact that it upset people. You put on eyeliner and people started screaming at you. How strange, and how marvellous.” -Robert Smith, The Cure

”I was hooked. The Top Of The Pops performance changed lives. In 1972, I’d get girls on the bus saying to me, ‘Eh la, have you got lippy on?’ Until he turned up it was a nightmare. All my other mates at school would say, ‘Did you see that bloke on Top Of The Pops?’ He’s a right faggot, him!’ And I remember thinking, ‘You pillocks’, as they’d all be buying their Elton John albums, and Yessongs and all that crap. It made me feel cooler.” -Ian McCulloch, Echo and the Bunnymen

"The way Bowie pointed that finger, smilingly draped an arm around Mick Ronson, and looked beyond the camera to engage the audience sitting at home, stickily hemmed in by disapproving members of their immediate family, seemed of a piece with the new Ziggy Stardust persona we’d been reading about. It felt like an arrival long delayed." David Hepworth, The Guardian

“I just couldn’t believe how striking he was. That ambiguous sexuality was so bold and futuristic that it made the traditional male/female role-play thing seem so out-dated. Bowie was the catalyst who’d brought a lot of us, the so-called Bromley Contingent, together. And out of that really small group of people a lot happened.” Siouxsie Sioux, Siouxsie and the Banshees

Starman page from Bowie: Stardust, Rayguns and Moonage Daydreams by Michael Allred

"I remember the first time Bowie appeared on TV ... Suddenly, here comes a guy dressed as a gay alien from outer space, singing gay alien songs from outer space .... I remember TOTP was family viewing, and I remember watching it with my Mum and Dad. "Oh, shouldn’t be allowed". And there was one bit in the chorus when Bowie puts his arm round Ronson’s neck and they sing together? My Dad was like "Poofter" ... My mother’s intense disapproval made me think ‘Well, there must be something GREAT going on here"...

youtube

(maybe people who celebrate song's birthdays are cringe but fuck that post and happy birthday to the broadcast of this song)

#david bowie #starman #top of the pops #mick ronson #i wish i could have found more quotes that weren't from blokes tho #personally i wasn't born iin 1972 but when i first watched the video #new years eve 2004 #it felt pretty electric #still does

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thomasschabot · 8 months

Text

bet all i have on that furrowed brow

jakob chychrun x fem!oc

isobel has a workplace crush and healthy dose of loneliness that jakob is more than willing to cure

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of spending the holidays alone, cursing, partial nudity, alcohol consumption

a/n: for @wyattjohnston 🩷 thank you so much for putting together yet another incredibly successful event, and for giving me the best gift of all - getting to write for you! i hope you enjoy x (we're just pretending hockey works like american football and the sens have a bye week over christmas okay? okay!) many wonderful thanks to @matthewtkachuk for singing my praises via text and fluffing up my ego

The string of days between Christmas and New Years always feels like purgatory. One holiday bleeds slowly into the next, and there’s a general consensus no one knows what day it is or how long it’s been since they ate something moderately healthy. For most it’s time well spent with family and friends, but for Isobel it’s a sentence to near solitary confinement. She has no family remotely close, few friends, and is much too stubborn to take up her co-workers’ invitations to join them on holiday getaways to ski chalets or sandy beaches. Isobel refuses to be more of an inconvenience than she already feels like she is, but it isn’t necessarily best for her mental health.

She spends as much time as possible at work, researching rising social media trends to present to the team and making sure all paperwork is up-to-date. The team will be able to start with their best foot forward in the new year, something Isobel is extremely proud of, and it keeps her going into the office even when she’d much prefer to stay in bed and wallow in the intense loneliness she feels. There isn’t a pressure to produce new deliverables, which is a slight stress relief. The analytics department isn’t needed as much with the bye week and most of the incoming reports can be run by Isobel alone. A number of years ago the NHL implemented bye weeks in addition to the all-star break, which allows each team to not have scheduled games during the regular season. This year Ottawa got lucky, with their break over the Christmas holidays, and players and support staff alike took the opportunity to get the hell out of the snowy capital.

As far as Isobel’s aware, very few members of the Senators organization stayed in the area. From social media she could see co-workers posting from almost every continent, enjoying all the world has to offer. Many roster players were in tropical destinations, hungry to get away from the ice and snow that ruled much of their daily lives. Claude Giroux has taken his family to the Caribbean and posts a rare snapshot of his young boys enjoying the water. Brady, ever the gracious captain, has taken what seems like half the team home with him to St. Louis in order to cheer on his sister’s university tournament being hosted in the same city. Only Jakob’s whereabouts are unknown, his absence from her life palpable, but Isobel’s sure he isn’t in Ottawa. Why would he be? There are a thousand different people and places vying for his attention, and one of them was sure to be the lucky winner.

It’s her most guarded secret, the fact that Isobel has an almost debilitating crush on who is technically a co-worker, but she’s also sure everyone has figured it out, even Jakob himself. Working with professional athletes means there’s a serious lack of personal boundaries, and one’s private life isn’t exactly private, no matter how well guarded they may be. The boys Isobel works with will stop at nothing short of blackmail to get information out of her, even if it’s only ever used for in-house teasing. No one has said anything yet, which she’s incredibly grateful for, but Isobel can’t help but think it’s the main topic of conversation when she’s not around.

The suburbs of Ottawa are desolate as Isobel winds through the streets to the Canadian Tire Centre. No car is on the road except her own, and there is only one in the parking lot when she pulls in. Badge in hand, Isobel treks up the steps and pulls open the large door at the back of the arena, one that isn’t used by anyone except members of the organization. Jamie, one of the building’s security guards, is face down in a book — it must have been his sedan parked beside her own sensible compact SUV.

“Isobel Walker,” he says, surprised to see another person. The offices were open upon a technicality in contracts that is now grandfathered in, but it’s likely Jamie hasn’t seen anyone since he started his shift. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready with friends? The New Year's festivities start in a few hours.”

Isobel shakes her head. “Just wanted to square away a few things before the weekend. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s just me this year.”

The attentive man doesn’t miss the sad downturn in her voice, or the longing for companionship in Isobel’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get invited somewhere.” Jamie sounds resolute in the statement, but she knows it must be easy for him to think when once his shift is over he’ll return home to a wife and kids. When Isobel is done putting in work there’ll be no one waiting at home.

The elevator dings then, signalling its availability to deliver a human to the floor where the data and analytics department is located. Isobel waves goodbye in an almost timid fashion, insisting she’ll take good care of herself and promising to at least look into doing something. Nothing will come of it, this she’s sure of, but a small white lie has never hurt anyone. In fact, Isobel deals almost exclusively in little white lies, whether it be to scouts who want to hear a specific player is doing bad so they feel less guilty about not advising the general manager to draft them or to teammates when they ask what she’s doing on the weekends. Telling Jamie one more won’t cause the world to fall apart. Isobel is sure of it.

Her cubicle is tucked just inside the glass doors that shelter the front office from the rest of the floor, but Isobel doesn't head there. Instead, she tiptoes through the space until the corkboard of Senators and their individual season stats is right in front of her. The photo of Jakob immediately catches her attention — not an official headshot but instead a picture from the charity gala last season — and Isobel notices it’s a cropped version of one she has on her desk. In the photo he’s posing with the analytics staff, goofy smile plastered on his face as he stands three people from Isobel. She also remembers that in the photo she’s not looking at the camera, but at him. Eventually she forces herself to stop looking at the gorgeous specimen that is Jakob Chychrun and accomplish what she intended to do. Taking one last look, Isobel places a distant memory that their eyes had locked seconds after the camera’s shutter went off.

⭑⭒⭑

It’s long past sunset when Isobel returns home, and there’s no sense trying to scramble downtown to an overcrowded bar. She hadn’t been planning on it anyways despite what she told the only person she’s interacted with in a week. Things at the office didn’t take long to complete, despite the frequent distraction of Jakob’s gorgeous portrait in the background, but Isobel couldn’t bring herself to return to her empty home. Since the conversation with Jamie in the lobby she’s been dreading the silence that would greet her when the door rocked on its hinges. Instead of immediately returning home, Isobel drives eastward towards more connected areas of the city and marvels at the tourists in town to ring in the new year surrounded by history. Each street sign passed amalgamated into a mushed series in her brain, and once she could no longer tell what was real or imaginary Isobel turned and headed for home.

As expected, the modest craftsman house Isobel occupies is dark and silent and lonely, as well as a million other words she can’t think of to encapsulate how isolated she feels. If she had been thinking clearly Isobel would have picked up take out on the drive back, but she wasn't in a completely sound frame of mind, therefore being resigned to heating up three day old broccoli pasta and drinking room temperature beer. She can’t even be bothered to change into comfortable clothing, instead throwing her blouse and slacks over the back of a dining room chair seconds before crashing onto the worn leather sofa inherited from a college roommate nearly a decade ago but that she can’t seem to get rid of.

The television turns on at the press of a button, and Isobel briefly watches the sports highlights for updates on potential trade targets before deciding she’s done more than enough work for the day and switching to a New Years special. This one seems to be taking place in New York, a place she’s never been nor cared for, but at the moment Isobel would give anything to be there amongst the suffocating crowd. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so earth-shatteringly alone.

Hours pass by and more beers are consumed, but Isobel can’t seem to reach the buzz she’s so desperately chasing. The performances and countdowns meld together but if questioned there wouldn’t be a detail missing from her recollection. No one could do that inebriated, further proving that getting drunk isn’t in the cards for her tonight. A chill settles over the room and Isobel struggles to wrangle a throw blanket free from its perch on the back of the couch. Though comfortable, sitting in only undergarments doesn’t provide much protection against the drafty windows she should call a repairman about. Some pop star, whom she doesn't particularly care about, is thanking fans for helping them reach a milestone this past calendar year and she zone out. Nothing and everything floats through Isobel’s brain all at once, swimming in circles and causing a beautiful confusion.

The dull thud of a fist against the front door shakes Isobel from her stupor and possible slumber. Panic encroaches and her sharp survival instincts set in — the baseball bat normally kept in the corner of the living room grabbed and work clothes are haphazardly tossed over frame. The person on the other side of the wood slab is the last person she’s expecting to see, and the fact he’s standing there with a sheepish smile is astounding. Jakob Chychrun is on her doorstep, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and carrying a large bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of garlic bread.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you, Jakob?” she asks, but immediately backpedals when she realizes how ill-tempered the tone of the words made her seem. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors and am wholly unprepared.”

He smiles even more, as though Isobel can actually solve a problem he’s been faced with, and gestures to the objects in his hands like it’s obvious. “Jamie mentioned you were spending the evening alone when I went into the rink this afternoon, and I had no plans, so I thought we could watch the dumb special programs and drown our sorrows in alcohol.”

The answer is so Jakob, so perfect and friendly and warm, Isobel can’t help but return his grin. “I told him I’d look into going out. What are you doing in the city?”

“I wanted a relaxing week.”

Isobel arches her eyebrow. “The beach isn’t relaxing?”

“Not as much as staying at home.”

“Oh.”

Jakob doesn’t skip a beat in bringing conversation back to his original proposition. “Well sweetheart, what do you say?”

All the air leaves her lungs at the pet name, but she manages to nod semi-enthusiastically and move to the side. Jakob slips off his shoes while Isobel closes the door and treads into the living space carefully, inspecting-without-inspecting the decor. She quickly plays the role of gracious hostess, getting her handsome guest a crystal flute and asking if he’d like anything to eat. Jakob declines, saying he had leftovers before coming over, and urges her to sit down and ‘stop fluttering around like a hummingbird’. She obliges, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her center of gravity.

Jakob rakes his eyes over Isobel, once, then a second time, before coughing rather aggressively. It rings through the quiet like a gunshot and nearly makes her jump. Unsure of what could have caused such a reaction, she looks down to find the previously hastily buttoned shirt has shifted, revealing a rather large patch of red lace that hints at what’s underneath. Surely that can’t be the reason the normally suave man across from her is a blushing mess?

He respectfully looks away while she adjusts, and Isobel finishes quickly before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to let her know everything is back to normal. She’s desperate to dissuade any awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jakob laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “Happens to the best of us. Well not me, in that exact way, but I’ve been caught in my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions.”

Isobel focuses extremely hard on not thinking about what that means, and unsure of where to go from the moment that was somehow vulnerable and impersonal at the same time, she reaches across Jakon to grab the bottle of champagne and doesn't even bother getting a glass. The cool liquid does wonders to soothe the fire in her insides, exacerbated by the fact that Jakob came to her, wanted to spend time with her. Some alcohol misses Isobel’s mouth, dribbles down her chin, but before she can even lift the bottle from her lips it’s being wiped away.

It’s Jakob, she realizes, stroking his thumb across her skin tenderly and making sure there isn’t an opportunity for the champagne to stain the silk button up that she can never remember to take to the dry cleaners. Clouds immediately form in her mind and Isobel closes her eyes — this has to be a dream. An incredibly elaborate fantasy. Under no circumstance is Jakob Chychrun sitting on her couch staring at her with longing and centimetres away from her lips. She must have fallen asleep, and her dreams are vivid due to the beer.

“Iso, sweetheart, hey,” Jakob says barely above a whisper, eyebrow furrowed with concern and the slightest bit of amusement. “You alright?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a bit heavy from all the alcohol she’s consumed, but her gaze is met with his blue eyes so close to her own and his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pants. Apparently this is in fact real life, and while Isobel had been trying to convince herself otherwise she’d missed Jakob inching closer and resting his forehead against her own.

“Yeah,” she sputters, nearly choking on air for the second time that evening. “I drank a bit before you got here and I think it’s all catching up to me.”

Jakob smiles softly, like he already confirmed this, and it’s then she clues in to the fact there are four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”

Laughter trickles from her lips. “I wish,” Isobel confesses, “It would make the loneliness a lot easier to ignore.”

Again, Jakob smiles like he understands. It’s a bit surreal, the way the two of them are so similar, but Isobel can’t help but enjoy learning about him through these small glances. If she could keep her cool around the man for longer periods than the handful of minutes long interaction they’d shared, Isobel is almost sure they’d be friends, but the universe is cruel and unyielding. She’s destined to never know Jakob all that well, watching from the sidelines as he jokes with Brady and Tim, marvelling at his beauty and resigning herself to the fact he’ll never be yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question steals every ounce of air from Isobel’s lungs. Jakob is looking at her intently, studying her features for clues or transgressions he unknowingly committed. She’s never been good at keeping her emotions steeled away, and Isobel knows everything is splayed on her face for him to decipher if he wants to. The most prominent one is shock. Isobel is beyond surprised he’s asking the one thing that’s been on the tip of her tongue and whispering in her mind for years.

“Are —” she struggles to find the words she wants to say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

It’s Jakob’s turn to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, his deep rumbles as he nods his head, and Isobel does her best to imprint it to memory. If this is the last time she’ll ever hear it she wants to give herself the best shot at remembering.

“Pretty damn sure, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to do it since I joined the team.”

Isobel is now beyond shocked. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for three years?”

Jakob smiles in a way that allows it to reach his eyes. Beautiful, Isobel thinks, but doesn’t allow herself much time to focus on it, too eager to catch his next words. “Four if you count the time I got lost when Arizona was the visiting team and you held the door for me to get back to the locker rooms. You were wearing a black turtleneck that made your eyes look even more angelic than normal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but I did know I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck me, you never thought to say anything when I was so clearly pining after you?” she whispers, emboldened and growing more confident under the confession and moving even closer until her lips are so close to Jakob’s she can feel the breath he inhales.

It takes a moment, but Isobel gains the courage to tilt her head slightly upwards and slot her lips against Jakob’s. Time stops with the flourish of a cheesy romance novel, though she can’t find it in her to groan internally even if she would under normal circumstances. Nothing about what’s happening is normal, however. Kissing Jakob is perfect in ways Isobel could never accurately describe — all plump lips and gentle touches and whispered sweet nothings. She never wants it to end, but eventually he pulls back.

He doesn’t stray far, just tucks her into his side with a hint of possession if Isobel squints , and cards his fingers through the matted ends of her hair. Jakob seems to have quite an affinity for the strands, allowing them to keep his attention while Isobel processes the fact that the man she’s been secretly in love with for years has also been in love with her for just as long.

“You know,” she says breathlessly, still in a surreal state from the kiss, “Maybe ringing in the new year won’t be so lonely after all.”

Jakob giggles in the same warm and gleeful way that made Isobel fall in love with him all those years ago. “I hope not.”

The pair of them spend the remaining hours of the night eating, drinking, and talking about what the future holds. When the television program begins the countdown Jakob looks at Isobel with a gleam in his eyes, and waits until the ball drops to kiss her into the next year.

⭑⭒⭑

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#jakob chychrun imagine #jakob chychrun x oc #jakob chychrun fic #ottawa senators imagine #ottawa senators fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #cwrites

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