#Edge of Wonder Special Report

[risetvusa]

The Big Oil Industrial Complex: How Oil is Damaging us As Plastic?

Big Oil Industrial Complex | Rise.TV

Big Oil Industrial Complex is the collective list of six or seven largest publicly listed and investor-owned oil and gas firms in the world. In the United States, they are often referred to by this name because of their political and economic clout. There is some disagreement on which firms now make up Big Oil Complex, however, Total Energies, ExxonMobil, BP, Chevron Shell, and Eni are all named regularly super majors in The Big Oil Industrial Complex. 

But are you familiar with the marketing conspiracy behind the Big Oil Industrial Complex? Did you know it is vaster than your imagination? Here in this blog, we will guide you thoroughly about how the Big Oil Industrial Complex is using oil to make plastic, which is one of the biggest enemies of human health on the planet right now.

Did you know oil has been used to make plastic? 

Many scenarios utilize the oil industry's own records to support their assertions that the company hides the rising danger posed by its own products.

Below are some surprising facts about the oil industry:

Plastic is made from 8 to 10 percent of the world's oil supply.

It is estimated that annually 12 million barrels of oil are needed to produce plastic bags in the United States. 

Each week, the typical American trashes around 10 bags without recycling them. That means they use 520 bags per year, which is equivalent to fuel for 60 miles of driving.

Why was plastic really pushed on the public?

A worldwide energy revolution is now underway. Oil companies are concerned because more affordable renewable energy and electric vehicles lead to a cleaner and safer system. That’s why, The Big Oil Industrial Complex is looking forward to Petrochemicals, and plastics in particular, as the next big thing for growing their business.

According to the International Energy Agency, by mid-century, plastics generated from fossil fuels would account for more than half of the increase in oil demand worldwide. The United States is a significant provider of plastic polymers and competes with oil-rich Middle Eastern nations like Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, and Qatar.

Through 2050, the demand for petrochemicals, which are used to make plastic, is anticipated to rise by almost 10 million metric tonnes every year.

How are we choking on plastic?

Despite the convenience of plastic, our reliance on plastic goods has had detrimental repercussions on our environment, society, and health.

Below are the detrimental facts about plastic that will make you shocked:

The amount of plastic production globally has doubled during the past 50 years

Edible things like chewing gum contain plastic

The global use of plastic bags is staggering, at 2 million each minute

The recycling rate for overall produced plastics is only 9%

Every single minute, a truckload of plastic is poured into the ocean

By 2050, 99% of seabirds and animals will be relying on plastic

Approximately one million plastic bottles are purchased every minute

95% of plastic pollution in the oceans is carried by 10 rivers of the World

Plastic contributes to 73% of beach garbage worldwide

An average human eats 70,000 microplastics each year

By 2050, the ocean may contain more plastic than fish

Fortunately, we can solve the plastic problem in the simplest way, by reducing its use. Reducing plastic consumption, especially single-use plastic, is an important step in improving our treatment of the environment. In order to create healthy surroundings for everyone, it is necessary to recycle plastic and minimize its usage.

You might be thinking, why is plastic being pushed as the best way to prevent climate change, when plastic is actually a huge contributor to the environmental problem? And why celebrities refuge to eat out of plastic containers?

To get answers of all your queries, watch our complete video series “The Big Oil Industrial Complex” on the platform of  Edge of Wonder at Rise TV.

[demisexualemmaswan]

oh I meant to like actually report what was said but then I like fell asleep immediately and I didn't even think of it until I checked my notifications and saw @criticalrill and @mountainsboyhowdy reply to my post

so fwiw I phrased the question a bit differently to Taliesin and Liam based on the vibe of the conversation I was having with them

To Taliesin - Question was asked: "So. Orym and Ashton. What the fuck is up with that?"

Taliesin's Repsonse: Ashton was/is into Orym but realized like they were so damaged and felt it wasn’t fair to Orym to be with them until they dealt with their shit AND ALSO soft touches hurt but firm touches don’t so they are also unsure if Orym could handle that all the time. To which I said, “Orym has two hands is all I’m saying” and Taliesin laughed and said that was true.

-- To Liam - Question was asked: "You’ve spoken about how Dorian has been really crucial to Orym’s healing process, but it did seem like Orym was willing to playfully test the edges of those boundaries with Ashton for awhile too?” Liam's response: By the time things had really gotten rolling with Ashton, Orym realized he’d really fallen for Dorian hard to which I said "and what's not to love about Dorian?" which Liam repeated.

(I meant to say to Liam that Orym had two hands but Liam was so grateful that I'd made him a bracelet with Sprigg's coloring on it that he put it on right in front of me and said it was wonderful and special and I was so overwhelmed in that moment because when I'd started making bracelets for the cast, that was the first one I made so I was so happy Liam liked it.) -- So key Ashrym takeaways - We did not imagine it! There was a mutual attraction that was there at least for a little while and definitely is still there on Ashton's end actively if I'm interpreting what Taliesin said correctly whereas Orym's attractions might be a little more singularly focused on Dorian right now -Ashton likes to be manhandled both in and out of sex (Taliesin asked if they could demonstrate the pressure level on my arm and when I consented, he did. It was nice, it relieved the pain I normally feel in my forearms) -Dashrym or poly Orym who is dating both Ashton and Dorian (but Ash and Dorian are not dating each other) would not necessarily be out of the cards or unreasonable, especially in a post-campaign fic setting

[yandere-sins]

Wriothesley didn't smile much.

Occasionally, he felt his features being torn into a grimace of faux pleasantry, his eyes as cold as the sea that his prison lay beneath while he bared his teeth to pretend a mood he wasn't in. People liked it when he appeared friendly before them; he felt nothing. Only the most perceptive amongst them would have noticed his smiles never reaching his eyes. And those few knew better than to run their mouths. There simply wasn't much to smile about when he kept himself busy by dealing with the problems and conflicts that kept rising around him. No matter how hard he worked, he always woke to a new day of challenges. It was how he wanted it, as it allowed him to forget the memories he didn't want to ponder.

And though Meropide forged unique relationships amongst its prisoners, the same couldn't be said about Wriothesley.

Even respected and, occasionally, admired by others, his life was more lonesome than it would seem to some. Good company was hard to come by when he spent all his time below the surface, running his prison and enjoying tea in his office with only his own thoughts to listen to. Every day was bittered by the uncertainty of the future he never thought he'd live to see. That same bitterness robbed him of genuine smiles to decorate his face with.

That was until you came along.

If he was the gasoline keeping the machines working, you were the match setting them ablaze. If he was the hot water to make his tea, you were the sugar sweetening his day. There was no friendly banter to have with you, no matter how little Wriothesley cared for the cold shoulder and snarky rejections you gave him every time he sought you out. And yet, the thought of seeing you again was enough to put a spring in his step, his lips parting in a grin more becoming of a little boy than a grown man.

Undoubtedly, you'd be there, in his office, sorting through his paperwork or glowering at the tea cups as you counted down the seconds the leaves needed to seep. You were meticulous like that, although Wriothesley would have drunk straight-up poison if you had served it. He knew you would welcome him with a sigh and your attention diverted towards other matters than him—you liked the credit coupons way too much that this work earned you. It was a privileged position, and you sought after any work Wriothesley handed you, even if you harbored no other feelings but indifference for the 'Duke'.

But how could he not adore you?

It had been a while since Wriothesley felt as alive as he did when he met you. You might have turned down any offer to join him for a meal (on his dime, mind you) or to give you a paid day off. Still, the way you fretted over a minor, completely irrelevant mistake you made was too adorable to send you away. He loved your serious ways, loved your hardworking mindset. He kept replaying your focused expression and grimaces in his head, chuckling into the darkness while he laid in bed at night.

There was no particular reason his heart chose you. Or perhaps his heart chose you, which made the reason special? But either way, he watched you over the edge of the report he should have been reviewing. Watched your hand guiding the feather over the paper you were working on, wishing you'd come over and hold his hand instead.

Wriothesley observed how you furrowed your brows tensely, wondering if you'd let him massage the tension away. He caught the way you nibbled at your lips, wishing he'd be able to have a taste of them instead. Working with you was torture. Torture he enjoyed a little too much.

"You're going to stare a hole through that paper, your grace," you noted, not even looking up at him as you spoke. You two weren't on the best terms since you still hated him after he thwarted your plans to escape the prison. But the way you called him by the respectful title he didn't care about didn't send a shiver down his spine because of the vitriol you spat it with. The grin curling the corners of his lips was evidence of that, but Wriothesley quickly hid it behind his hand, clearing his throat.

He went to grab his cup of tea, but it was already empty. The sinking feeling of disappointment curled in his stomach as he realized what this meant.

"It's past your work hours," he reminded you, secretly hoping you'd not care. It was past his work hours, too, but he'd rather sit in silence with you, working, than at home with only the memory to keep him company.

"You're right," you noted, no indications of your next move from the sound of your voice. Would you stay? Would you leave? You kept scribbling the itemization he had you create, and a glimmer of hope lit his world up. That was, until you set down the feather, gathered your documents, and created order on your table that Wriothesley had squeezed into his pretty crowded office.

Before you could say anything, he had gotten up, standing even before you did. "I will see you out," he explained as you glared at him, knowing fully well that with his gaze so strangely fixated on you, his reaction was not normal. And it wasn't, not when it made his heart beat incredibly fast, Wriothesley hoping you couldn't hear it break out of his ribcage the closer he got to you.

"My, someone's in a hurry," you commented snidely, and Wriothesley's grin jerked back into place. "Are you invited on a date or something...?"

"Depends," he started, quickly catching his composure after the initial surprise over your question. Was it jealousy, perhaps? A man could dream. "Are you free tonight?"

Taking a quick step forward, he stopped you in your tracks, coming to a halt in front of you. You two stared at each other in silence, displeasure written over your face that was just inches away from his. Your breath caressed him, swirls of your scent fogging his mind. Wriothesley could have leaned forward, abused this situation in ways unbecoming of his position. Risking it all just to brush his lips against yours. But his heart might have burst into a million pieces had he done so. Instead, he stood and waited, hoping for you to be the first to break the charade of your hatred. Give him the signals he so desperately hoped for.

Maybe it was all false after all. Perhaps you felt even just the smallest piece of love for him, too.

But instead, you rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, gesturing for him to go down the stairs first. He was your superior, after all, although he would rather squeeze up next to you than walk before you. Even if his heart clenched with your simple and justified rejection, it was unthinkable he'd miss out on the chance to walk beside you and watch you like a hawk until the very end.

"Funny," you finally replied, and it brought the heat to his face as you complimented him. Wriothesley was not trying to be funny by asking you out—again—but he'd take what he could. "But I fear I'm too busy for that. I'd rather get out of this prison faster than waste my time."

The laugh that escaped him was one he had practiced for years, barely distinguishable from a real one. It covered the hurt of your rejection and the fear of losing you. Inside this prison, he had the power to keep you by his side. But outside of it? His reach didn't go much further than these walls.

"You're very optimistic about your time here. How refreshing."

It was rare that you smiled in his presence. In fact, Wriothesley seemed to cause your mood to sour with the whisper of his name alone. So when it was your turn to grin, he noticed it immediately. He watched your lips curl in awe as if you were bestowing him with a blessing rather than your pity.

"It's already been a year, your grace. And don't try to tell me my behavior wasn't anything but perfect. I don't think my sentence will be much longer than what I've been given after the escape."

Time slowed as you moved forward, passing Wriothesley as his steps halted. You noticed quickly when his shoulder stopped bumping into yours, standing still at the bottom of the staircase before turning around.

"Don't tell me you thought I'd always be here."

Of course, he didn't. He knew your time would come. But not so soon... had it really been a year already?

"I'm glad for you," he mumbled, more out of reflex than from his heart. Wriothesley only ever strived to have his prisoners redeem themselves, but did that really mean he had to let you go? "Your hard work will be missed."

"I'm sure," you replied, turning back to the door before heaving open the heavy metal as he trudged after you slowly. The news hit him like a fist to his face, breaking, shattering. But it was his heart that received the blow. Perhaps in all this time, he enjoyed himself a little too much by your side, the end of your sentence seemingly so far away. And now that you were slipping out of his grasp, the panic began to fester—feelings he could not control.

"As always," you suddenly chimed up, and although his eyes didn't stray from you, Wriothesley noticed you two were no longer alone, activating the false persona you liked to display in front of strangers. It always made him feel special that you didn't put it up before him, but right now, he wished the conversation wouldn't be interrupted. That he had time to convince you to stay here. With him.

"It was a pleasure working with you, your grace. I look forward to our next meeting. Don't let me keep you!"

And with a smile and a wave, you bounced off to enjoy your evening. Away from him. Happy without him.

Wriothesley could barely pull himself together to greet the prisoner who walked up to him. The man tried to get his attention, but Wriothesley watched you disappear into the crowd even long after you were gone.

"Your grace!" the man suddenly yelled right next to his ear, and although it was not as angelic and beautiful as what came from your lips, it tore him right out of his thoughts.

"That person," the man mumbled, pointing the way you left and indicating he was talking about you. He leaned in closer to whisper, and Wriothesley curled his hands into fists, holding back from punching him after he dared mention you. "There's something I have to tell you about."

"Sure," Wriothesley said, wincing at his own soundless answer. He couldn't help the annoyance that someone knew something about you that he didn't. But he'd listen and learn.

"To say it frankly, they've not been conducting themselves properly. Many of us have suffered from their actions, and now that they will be released, I think we should speak up about their misdeeds."

Oh, Wriothesley thought, the tension falling off him. He raised his hand to pat the man's back, inviting him inside his office. Wriothesley couldn't pretend not to be happy, a gentle smile creeping over his face. It was a little less fake than any other smile he had given the countless prisoners around here, but the real ones were still only reserved for you. "These are some serious accusations. How about we take your statement inside?"

He sent the man inside, looking back into the crowd aimlessly for the sight of you before he shut the door. You were somewhere out there, still thinking you'd get to go home soon. Wriothesley smiled. Unless there was a reason as to why you'd need to stay.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"It's good to see you again."

It was impossible to wipe away the big smile off his face as you stood before him, frowning deeply.

"I'm really, truly sorry that your sentence has been prolonged. But alas, it will be nice to work by your side once again."

He watched with the greatest satisfaction as you bit your lip, the thought of kissing you right on the mark popping into his head again. However, fear crossed his features as he noticed you didn't stop, even as it started to bleed. Wriothesley wondered how your blood tasted before he focused back on the situation at hand. He knew you had to hold back every inch of your being to not scream and cry and shout at him, although he would have liked to be given a reason to shut you up—any way necessary.

You knew fully well he was the one signing your final sentence. Buying and selling illegal goods didn't warrant another five years of imprisonment. But your conduct had been too good to push for the ten years Wriothesley wanted—believe him, he fought hard for justice that day. Even Neuvillette was surprised that Wriothesley was so intensely interested in your redemption. However, the Ludex still went against the pleading of an old yet desperate and needy friend and just gave you five.

It was disappointing, but Wriothesley didn't plan on letting the time he had been given go to waste.

Picking up his cup, he held it out to you, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile that reflected nothing of the malice he had to harbor to get you to stay. After all, he was delighted, thoroughly pleased even. The day had only just begun and his mood was already through the roof just having you back in his office again.

"Cup of tea?" he asked innocently. Your eyes dropped to the cup, a hint of uncertainty about why he was treating you so kindly even though you misstepped again.

"On it," you mumbled, taking the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing over his, feeling much too soft for such a bad criminal as you were. But before he could imagine those fingers wrapped into his hair and clothes in an intense make-out session, you shocked him as you whispered, "Thank you, your grace," as if to thank him for not kicking you out from this job that definitely benefitted you. You were still snide, still angry you had to do it in the first place. But apparently, a part of you recognized his innocence as goodwill. At least, he could make himself believe that besides the perceived snark.

Off you went to brew some tea, standing barely ten meters from him. But at least with your back turned, you missed the heat spreading over Wriothesley's face, into the tip of his ears and across his cheeks. And even when you turned back, the hand clasped over his mouth didn't give away the genuine smile of adoration he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. Wriothesley would enjoy the time spent with you, day after day, waiting for you to make another mishap so you'd have a reason to stay with him forever. Otherwise, Wriothesley was sure he'd find another way to keep you all to himself.

But for now, he'd start by making you smile at him first.

[nashusglasses]

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

(background to this nsfw drabble)

thinking of marriage of convenience AU with jing yuan and general’s daughter!reader from xianzhou yuque. a rogue sect of the disciples of sanctus medicus try to execute a plot to destroy a jade abacus warehouse on the yuque—important machinery is destroyed, two critical injuries reported, one death—and intra-alliance tensions among the populace start to boil over. arrests are made. citizens are scared. general yaoguang knows the cloud knights are smart and resource-savvy enough not to respond to any taunts from angry yuque residents of the luofu, but he’s champing at the bit trying to quell public dissatisfaction on either ship. it’s fu xuan who suggests it in one meeting with jing yuan and yaoguang.

“great relations,” she says, “start with an even greater union.”

you’ve been married for five months. you’re lucky if you see jing yuan more than twice a week, and today he’s holed up in his home office signing off on contracts for the alchemy commission to order new supplies. he’d said good morning when you entered the kitchen for breakfast, and you could only offer a nod before he bade you farewell for the day. a typical conversation. you’re not unhappy, but you are awfully bored. 

your handmaiden, lihua, promised a new harvest from the garden today. she’s back by the time you’re done with your speech lessons (you still struggle to adapt to the local dialect, but jing yuan has always been kind not to fuss about your vowel inflections), and you help her wash and spread the fruits on bamboo-woven trays in the cool heat of the afternoon. 

“does jing yuan have anything to drink on days like this?” you ask lihua.

she hums thoughtfully. “i’m sure he��d appreciate his wife coming to greet him with something sweet. can i show you how to make simple syrup?”

it’s simple enough. you make a pitcher of iced lemonade in no time, and lihua prepares a tray for you to bring a glass to jing yuan’s office. you shake with every step you take. internally, you scold yourself for feeling so anxious — this is your husband. jing yuan, who asked you personally for your allergies and food preferences to curate a menu for your daily consumption for the kitchen staff to follow. jing yuan, who had a room specially built for you in the east wing after you’d told your father how much you’d miss seeing the sunrise from your window. jing yuan, who’d once accidentally walked in on you in the hot springs on his rare day off, and grew as red as an angry tuskpir, leaving with a hasty apology. (you didn’t see him for three weeks after that.)

you steel your resolve, and knock on the door. when he doesn’t answer, you gently creak the door open, jing yuan coming into view as he’s hunched over sheets of paper, hair tied haphazardly with his red ribbon. he holds his pen so rigidly. you wonder if he’s taken a break at all today. 

you tiptoe in, lest you break his focus. “sorry,” you whisper. “i brought this for you.”

jing yuan spares you a single glance, watching you position the glass at the edge of his desk. he does not say a word. 

you think… he might be a little peeved. yes. why would you even think of interrupting him? oh god. his schedule must be packed tight, his rhythm stunted with your unannounced arrival. you immediately open your mouth for an apology, feeling the pinpricks of tears at the thought of disappointing him.

he’s already looking away. his writing is even faster than before. you leave with a bow and nothing else to say.

(jing yuan drinks your lemonade in three gulps after you’ve closed the door behind you. he reminds himself to have a bundle of flowers delivered to your bedroom door by sunrise the next morning. for the rest of his working day, your face, so beautifully concerned, plagues his head.

he wants to know what else makes you cry.)

[mirohlayo]

FRENCH LOVE

( French is romantic, at least when you understand it. )

warning : fluff

note : I had to write in my native language at least once

word count : 683

Charles came to take a seat next to you, on the empty spot on the sofa. His eyes admired you with such a special and indescribable depth, that you couldn't describe what feeling he felt deep inside when he laid his eyes on you. “Have you finished your report?” His arm naturally came to rest on the edge of the sofa, moving closer to you, his fingers brushing the tip of your shoulder. “Yes, for today.” You try as best you can to hide your embarrassment by turning off your laptop.

“Viens ici, mon coeur” (come here, sweetheart) You didn't understand these words, only you quickly understood their meaning when Charles opened his arms wide so that you could snuggle into them. So with a light and beating heart, you settled comfortably into his comforting embrace. “Tu es tellement belle et ravissante comme ça” (you look so beautiful and lovely like that)

You didn't know what he was talking about, what words he was careful to use. After all, you don't understand the French language. But his perfect smile and bright eyes made you understand that it was probably something positive. So, you smiled at him in turn, although you didn't know the meaning of his sentence.

Several minutes, warm and peaceful, passed like this. His hand wandered quietly through your hair, plunging you a little deeper into a well deserved sleep. "J'aurai aimé prendre soin de toi ainsi... mais pas juste en tant que meilleur ami. En tant que copain" (I wish I could take care of you like that...but not just as your best friend. But as your boyfriend). His voice drummed strangely loud in your ears.

You sat up slightly so you could look at him, a questioning look fixed on your face. Your expression made him chuckle softly, and his fingers came up to sweep away a strand of hair. "Heureusement que tu ne comprends pas ce que je dis" (Luckily you don’t understand what I’m saying.). Your eyebrows suddenly furrowed, perplexed by how he always spoke in French when he was around you.

"What did you say ?". You could only blurt out these few words, a sign of your incomprehension of the language he used. A glint of sadness moved discreetly behind his pupils, before he drifted his gaze behind you. “I said… fortunately you don’t understand what I say when I speak French.”

You tilted your head slightly, confused. "Why ?". Your eyes begged him to answer you without you even realizing it. He looked away again, feeling insecure. “You will certainly never see me the same way again…” His sentence is only a slight sigh, which nevertheless managed to reach your ears.

Your hands were now intertwined with his, while he showed a saddened expression. “You will always be the most important person in my life, Charles.” His eyes searched yours, perhaps to find hope and courage there. "Even though I love you? Not like your best friend. I love you, I'm in love with you. So much in love that I'm losing my mind."

He pauses for a moment before continuing slowly. “I was trying to be obvious because French is a romantic language, but I think it failed.” He scratches the back of his neck embarrassed. “Completely failed, I was wondering when you were finally going to explain to me what those sentences meant.” A laugh escapes your throat as he looks at you tenderly, a smile on his lips.

“So, can you translate the sentences you said to me?” Your eyebrows raised curiously, while Charles' cheeks turned a pretty pink. He clears his throat loudly. "Oh uh.. I was just saying that you are incredibly beautiful, lovely, very intelligent and just... adorable." You couldn’t help but kiss the corner of his lips softly, your heart racing.

“So if you were to say that, I think I could get used to listening to you speak French.” Charles laughed softly, cupping your face, placing his sweetest kiss on your lips. "Je t'aime". These words now sounded obvious to you. “I love you too, Charles.”

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

i will carry you always

fandom: The Lord of the Rings

pairing: Elrond Peredhel x Reader

summary: Elrond joins your patrol group for a day. Unfortunately, danger befalls you when you find yourself injured and stuck in a ravine. Elrond must decide whether to wait for help to arrive, or take you back to Rivendell himself.

tags/warnings: injury, blood, hurt/comfort, healing, angst

word count: 2596

a/n: I realized after writing this that Elrond can like. heal people. so just ignore the fact that he doesn't do that.

Daily patrol is one of your favorite tasks as a member of Rivendell’s guard. The tranquility of the forest, the gentle bubbling of the Bruinen in the distance, it all served to set you at ease. You felt at home outside the borders of Rivendell – well, at least within the protection of Vilya. Outside that, you were more on edge.

Today’s patrol wasn’t meant to be anything special. You’re buckling the last straps of your light armor when Lord Elrond approaches your group. This in itself was not uncommon; Elrond often comes to wish the patrols luck on their journeys. But he, too, is clad in armor, which is strange.

Your patrol captain, a kindly elf by the name of Estedir, nods to Elrond respectfully. “My lord,” he begins, “how can we assist you?”

Elrond bows his own head, a display of humility not often shown by other elves. “I heard your patrol was uneven, Estedir. If it pleases you, I might join your company.”

Estedir’s eyebrows raise slightly and your own heart picks up its pace. Your own partner is the reason your group is uneven, having injured himself during yesterday’s patrol. You expected to be lumped into a group of three, but Elrond’s presence might change that.

“Of course, my lord,” Estedir permits. “If you’re ready?” He gestures to the gates as your fellow patrol members begin to mount their horses.

“Lead on,” Elrond smiles.

You mount your own horse, a beautiful Arabian named Mereneth, keeping Rivendell’s lord in the corner of your eye. As you follow your patrol out of the gates, Elrond takes up the rear, just behind you. You suddenly feel self-conscious, wondering about your riding form and your armor… Did you polish it enough? What if you look sloppy in front of him?

Before your thoughts can race out of control, Estedir stops the patrol on the border of Vilya’s protection. You figure Elrond must be actively wielding Vilya to keep its protection around Rivendell rather than himself – otherwise, the border would be traveling with you.

Estedir turns to face the group. “Pairs, everyone. Standard routes. Report back here in two hours.” His eyes meet yours for a moment before glancing behind you. “My lord Elrond, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying Y/N.”

“It would be my honor,” Elrond’s smooth voice responds, and you cringe slightly. If you weren’t on edge already, you certainly are now.

You have nothing against the elven lord – quite the opposite, actually. You find him rather attractive, and for that reason keep your distance. He has too many responsibilities and is too important to waste time on a simple member of the guard.

Elrond rides up beside you, his own horse dwarfing yours and making you feel small. “My lord,” you greet in a quiet voice.

“Y/N, yes?” he confirms and you nod. “Lead the way then.” His smile is gentle and kind, just like everyone says.

You begin to steer away from the quickly dissipating patrol, heading into a thick patch of forest. The dense canopy filters the sunlight in a beautiful mosaic, casting a serene golden glow upon the forest floor. You breathe in the earthy scent of moss, exhaling the tension that you realize you’re holding.

Elrond keeps stride beside you, weaving through the tree trunks with ease. You’re afraid to strike up conversation, unsure if he wants to patrol in quiet or not. Your usual partner is chatty – you honestly sometimes wish he would shut up.

Before you can make up your mind, Elrond makes the decision for you. “I used to patrol these woods. I have missed it.”

You hum, trying to come up with an adequate response. Suddenly everything you have to say sounds silly. “It is beautiful,” tumbles out of your mouth. A good enough response, you suppose.

“Beautiful, yet deceiving. Past the protection of Vilya, these parts are dangerous.” He turns slightly to look at you and you meet his eyes.

“My usual patrol partner had an unfortunate accident here yesterday. I’m familiar with the dangers.” The words come out a little snappier than you meant, and you hope you haven’t offended.

Elrond chuckles, a beautiful sound. “I’m sure, my lady.” The title sends a chill through you. “You are far more experienced in this area than I.”

“I’m hardly a lady, my lord. Nor deserving of such a title.” A fierce blush races up your cheeks.

The two of you go silent for a while, just the sounds of birdsong and hoofsteps filling your ears. You keep an eye out for any signs of orcs or other creatures that might pose a threat. So far, the journey has been as peaceful as usual. You’re even almost becoming comfortable with Elrond’s presence beside you. You decide to steal a glance at the elf lord. He looks at peace here in the forest, just like how you feel. You admire the light that plays upon his features, highlighting the timeless wisdom and grace that seems to radiate from him.

Whilst you’re not paying attention, Mereneth stumbles. Her hoof catches on something and she startles. For a moment you’re disoriented as you’re tossed from the saddle. Then the breath is stolen from your lungs as you impact with a rock wall, tumbling into darkness. The sensation of rocks and branches scraping against your skin goes unnoticed as you struggle to gain your bearings. Finally, the world stops moving around you and you come to a jarring halt on hard, rocky ground.

The pain hits you immediately. First your head, a deep, aching throb that emanates from your forehead. Then, a sharp stabbing pain in your thigh. You blink rapidly and stare up. You’ve fallen into a deep ravine with high, steep walls. Your ears ring, the sounds of the forest muffled.

You can just barely make out the sound of Elrond shouting, although it sounds far away and echoey. You attempt to move, but agony forces you still again. Your vision swims, a haze of red filling your right eye as blood trickles from your forehead.

“Elrond…” you mumble, the name barely a whisper on your lips.

“I’m coming, hold on!” Elrond shouts. You can hear him scrabbling down the rocks, his steps small but sure as he finds footholds along the walls. Finally, he enters your vision, his face a blur of panic and concern.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” his voice is urgent, but there’s an undercurrent of calm through it, and you suddenly remember that he’s not just a lord, but a healer.

“Hurts,” you manage to grit out, pain and confusion filling the word.

“I know, I know.” Elrond’s eyes sweep across your crumpled body, stopping on your leg. His breath hitches for a moment and there’s enough clarity in your mind to know the look on his face is nothing good.

“What… What is it?”

Elrond meets your cloudy gaze again. “Your leg is bleeding heavily. I need to stop it, but it’s going to hurt.”

A droplet of something wet flows down your cheek, but you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. “Alright,” you ground out.

Elrond places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You must stay awake, do you understand? I know it will hurt, but you have to stay awake.”

You nod, stopping when a fresh burst of pain flashes through your head.

“Try not to move too much,” Elrond says as he rips a piece of his tunic off.

You stare up at the forest canopy, seeming so far away now. Then there’s a searing pain in your leg as Elrond fastens the cloth around your leg. You cry out loudly, body tensing and vision blurring.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” Elrond urges, tightening the makeshift tourniquet. “I’m almost done.”

The pain in your leg has localized into a tight, aching sensation, but it hurts no less. It’s just more concentrated now. Elrond continues to murmur reassuring words, pulling you back from the brink of unconsciousness.

“There,” he finally says, leaning back onto his heels. “Now let me see that head wound.” He crouches closer to your face, his hand resting on your unbloodied cheek. He gently moves your head, turning to get a clearer view of it. “Mostly superficial,” he murmurs, “but you likely have a concussion. Head wounds always bleed excessively.” He rips off another piece of his tunic and presses it against your forehead. You hiss and attempt to pull away. Elrond tuts, a small smile curving his lips. The expression doesn’t reach the rest of his face though. “Still, now.”

“How are we going to get back?” you ask, your voice still weak and trembling.

Elrond’s jaw tightens and he refuses to meet your eyes. “The patrol should notice our absence and send a search party. It shouldn’t be long now.” He glances up at the sky, noting the darkening of the forest. He doesn’t say it but you both know – it is imperative to get you back as soon as possible before you bleed out or lose your leg.

“Mereneth?” you breathe the name out slowly. At Elrond’s confused look, you clarify, “My horse.”

“Ah. She’s waiting at the top of the ravine, along with my own, Arahael. Her hoof caught in some brambles, which is what set her off. She’s fine.”

“Good,” you sigh. The encroaching darkness sets off your circadian rhythm, and a heavy wave of tiredness suddenly overcomes you. Your eyelids droop despite your best efforts.

Elrond shakes you gently. “You have to stay awake, melethel. It is unsafe to sleep with your injuries.”

You flutter your eyes open again, meeting his eyes. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, concern splayed across his features. “It’s so hard,” you murmur. “I’m so tired.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Elrond says, moving the cloth on your forehead to clean up the blood across your face. “Do you have family?”

You smile. The world around you feels hazy, almost like you’re floating, but you can indulge in this conversation. “A brother. Lennor. He works in your library.”

Elrond nods. “Yes, I know him. Lennor is a wonderful friend. He helps me often. I did not know you were related.”

“Only by adoption,” you explain. “My parents sailed to the Undying Lands shortly after my birth. Lennor’s father took me in.” A new kind of pain strikes your heart, a pang of longing. While you love Lennor and your adoptive father, a piece of you wishes you’d known your real parents.

“Do you and your brother share any traits?”

You scoff, grimacing as the movement jostles your leg. “We’re practically opposites. Lennor is always stuck in his books. While I can see the value in it, I find no enjoyment in reading. I feel most fulfilled in the guard.”

“You seem adept at it,” Elrond praises you. “I must admit, Lennor’s devotion to his texts surpasses even my own. I would make the same choice as you.”

This stuns you. “You would rather be a guard? Over Lord of Rivendell?”

“Well, not exactly. Being the protector of Rivendell grants me freedom to do as I wish, within some limits. But if all I had was my texts and politics, if I had no chance to do things such as this… then yes, I would give it up.” Elrond smiles at you. “Does this surprise you?”

You think for a moment. “I suppose I don’t know you well enough to be surprised. I always imagined you were… further away.”

Elrond chuckles lightly. “Such is the curse of my position. Many don’t see me as just like you, as a member of the Eldar. They think I am above them somehow. But I am similar in more ways than you know.”

Silence grows between the two of you. By now, night has almost completely fallen. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.

“You called me melethel,” a delirious smile forms on your lips. “I like that.”

“Yes?” Elrond responds, his hand rubbing small circles on your shoulder. “Then I shall continue to use it for you, melethel.”

You hum in response, feeling too weak to form words. The world falls into a haze around you again as your eyelids droop closed.

“Y/N?” Elrond’s voice grows louder as he repeats your name. “Stay with me, melethel.”

“Sleepy,” you grumble, the danger of the situation not registering.

Elrond is quiet for a moment. “I have to carry you out, Y/N. It is unsafe for us to stay here, I worry… We need to get you treated as soon as possible.”

You hum again, barely comprehending his words.

Elrond’s hands move to cradle you gently, being careful not to disturb you too much. He worries about internal injury, something he has missed, but he knows that time is of the essence.

As he picks you up off the ground, your eyes fly open with a cry of pain.

Elrond tightens his grip, whispering, “I know, I know. Just hold on. I’ll get you out of here.”

He works his way down the ravine, spotting an area where the wall slopes gently enough for him to climb. He begins to work his way up, stopping every time you cry out to reassure you. The climb is arduous, each step a struggle.

Finally, after numerous stops and a few close calls, Elrond emerges from the ravine with you still secure in his arms. He carefully settles you onto the back of Arahael before reaching for Mereneth’s reins. He ties the two horses together before mounting Arahael behind you. One hand holds onto the reins, the other around your chest to keep you steady.

Elrond does not hold back as he commands Arahael forward as fast as he can. He feels you drooping in his arm, and he continues to murmur assurances. “Almost there, melethel. Hold on.”

The journey back to Rivendell seems endless, the night seeming darker than usual to Elrond’s half-elven eyes. Elrond feels the protection of Vilya wrap around them once again, and you slump back into his chest. He knows you’ve fallen unconscious, and he spurs Arahael on faster.

Just as the gates come into sight, a small group rushes out to meet the two of you. Elrond recognizes Estedir, your patrol captain.

Arahael has hardly stopped before Elrond dismounts and gently pulls you down. He shouts to Estedir, “She’s gravely injured; help me get her to the healing halls.”

…

You wake to the sensation of sunlight on your cheek, the warmth filling you with life. A dull pain aches through your leg and head, but other than that you feel worlds better than you did before. You open your eyes to see the soft light of morning filtering through the windows of the healing halls. You turn your head to see Elrond seated beside you, his expression a mix of relief and joy.

Elrond leans in, one of his hands reaching for yours. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Achy,” you answer honestly. “But better.”

The elven lord hands you a tall glass. “Drink,” he commands.

You sip slowly, the water tinged with a medicinal taste. “Thank you,” you reply once you finish. Both of you understand that your gratitude is not just for the water.

“I am sorry you had to endure such pain, melethel,” Elrond murmurs.

You squeeze his hand. “It is no matter. What matters is that I am safe, and you are here.”

Elrond smiles at you, his eyes filled with affection. “Rest, now. Recover. I will be here when you wake.”

[am-i-interrupting]

The Interview | Vox x Alastor’s Child— OATSH

Summary: Being the daughter of both a famous radio show host and a serial killer lead to you being interviewed a lot throughout your life. This interview was different though. The host had something the others didn’t, charisma.

Warnings: none

You remember being shoved into the radio booth that was your fathers and being forced to answer all these questions about him, his life, and how you felt about police speculating your father was a murderer and whether or not you knew if that was true.

You were thirteen. You were grieving. You were forced to go from news station to news station to answer the same questions that you never knew the correct answers to.

Now you were in your early twenties. You wrote a book about what it was like to live with a murderer, dumbed down for the public and without all the things they’d find controversial. Like how you never saw anything wrong with what your father did, all those sentimental moments that piled up when you thought of him, how you slipped some poison in the drink of the man who killed him when you “interviewed” him for your book. No, none of that made it in.

You adjusted your skirt and looked at yourself in the window, making sure you looked the part of a sweet innocent girl.

A man walked into the room, demanding the attention of everyone with his perfectly styled hair, pressed suit, and loud footsteps. He looked around the room and when his eyes landed on you he broke out into a wide smile.

“Hello, my dear,” he said reaching for your hands. He cupped both of his around yours as he introduced himself.

“We’re about to go live in two minutes. I’m going to introduce you. You come in from the right, sit down right here, and then we’re just going to go through some of the questions I sent you. Although, we may stray from that to keep conversations flowing. Sound good?” He didn’t give you the time to answer as he nearly sprinted to set. “Places, everyone. Places.”

The cameras started rolling and you got to sit back for a moment and simply watch the man in his element.

“And welcome back!” he said. “Tonight, we have a very special guest. A girl born into a single parent home after the death of her mother and turned orphan after the death of her father, if you’ve been around as long as I have you’ve surely heard of her before and if you haven’t? Well, you shouldn’t be here. This is the night show, after all!

“Normally, I’d say welcome to our guest but just for tonight, I’ll take a lesson from the old radio and welcome our guest the way her father welcomed his. Dearly beloved, for your entertainment, it’s my pleasure to introduce to you the book world’s latest author,” he said your name as he walked towards the edge of the set, cameras following him.

He extended his hand for you to take as you walked up the steps. He led you to your seat.

When the pleasantries were done, the questions began. “So, tell me, what was it like being raised by a serial killer?”

“Well, I wish I could give you a simple answer but I’ve written a whole book about it. To spare you the long story, I’ll put it simply,” you began. “My father was good at pretending that nothing was wrong, that everything was normal and I believed it. He homeschooled me like he was. I did school work in his office and when he was done for the day we’d go home. I didn’t really have friends my age to tell me different.

“He had a friend. When I was a child, he’d take me to her house for us to have ‘girls days’ since my mother died during childbirth neither of us questioned it. Missing persons reports would be filed days after.”

“And this friend, did she ever suspect anything?” the show host asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I never got the chance to ask. She died in the 20s,” you told him.

“That must have been hard for you.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I can’t help but wonder, do you think your father killed her as well?” he asked.

You tensed. Your back now straight as a board and your hands itching to clench into fists at the mere thought. You took a slow breath.

“My father had a type. She was not his type,” you said, voice a bit hard just a bit too defensive. Your true accent coming out just the slightest instead of the polished voice your father taught you from such a young age.

“And what was his type?”

“It was mostly men. Sometimes women, but mostly men. Especially men who didn’t respect those of fairer means,” you said. “He thought himself chivalrous.”

“And what did you think?”

“I thought he was good intentioned,” you said, words practiced long ago. “My father was always very protective of people he viewed as defenseless.”

“Do you know what triggered this specific brand of protection?”

“I never got to meet my grandmother. His father made sure of that. You see, she was a black woman and he was a white man. It was bad for his image to have a child with her so eventually he made sure she would never tell anyone and my father made sure I would never have to meet him,” you explained. “I believe that through the killings he committed, he was making sure that no other person would have to face the wrath of an angry man without reason.”

“That is very insightful information,” he said before he continued on with the interview.

You were pulling on your jacket to leave when the interviewer came up to you.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he said.

“I’m simply here for advertisement,” you told him. “I don’t have a home here.”

“Then let me walk you to your hotel. It’s late, I’d hate for something to happen to you,” he insisted.

You turned towards him finally. “As the child of a serial killer, I can’t say those words comfort me.”

You spun around and walked out the door of the building but he still followed you. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Your interview time is over,” you told him.

“I’m not trying to interview you,” he said. “I’m trying to understand you.”

“And why would you want to do that if not for some information to spin about me in your next news report?” you asked.

“I remember your father’s radio show,” he said. “I remember one day he was gone and the next day you were there. Thirteen years old, not even that much younger than I was, answering all these same questions.”

“Then you know how long I’ve answered them. That’s why I wrote the book,” you told him.

He shook his head and jogged a bit in front of you. “I remember thinking of how brave you had to have been and I just want to know the woman that brave girl has turned into.”

You stared at him for a moment, taking in everything about him. He was handsome, that much was for sure. You definitely understood why he was a show host. He had the looks for television and the charisma needed to hook an audience to go with it.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s a line my father used on his victims is all,” you said walking past him.

“Really? All that back and forth just for such a simple answer?” he asked.

“Call me careful,” you said with a wave over your shoulder.

“Paranoid is the word I’d choose.”

“Maybe you should be more cautious,” you told him, taking a moment to spin around and walk backwards to look at him.

When you faced forwards once more you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe radio is what you grew up with but the television was beginning to amuse you as well.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob and Dream were childhood sweethearts. Dream was a prince and hob was just a lower noble but he lived by Dream’s summer palace, so the two of them spent their summers playing games and making up stories.

Dream loved that hob would read to Dream and of course hob thought Dream was the most beautiful, wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

As they grow up they fall in love. And they promise each other that they’ll be together. They make this promise on the eve of dream being sent off on a diplomatic tour of the neighboring kingdoms.

Only while dream is gone, (the burgess family stalled him) the Morningstar attacks his kingdom, burning the cities down and taking the palace.

Dream is filled with rage. But he knows he can’t go back.

Not yet. It isn’t safe.

He’s so worried for hob, but when he sent out of his spies to check on him, the spy only reported that Hob’s family home has been burned. They say the young lord of family gadling refused to bow to their new rulers, even raised a sword to Lucifer themself. No one has seen him since. How spies urge him not to look for hob. If he isn’t dead, he will wish he was, as a prisoner of the morningstar, renowned for their cruelty and mind games. And there is no way for dream to get to him.

So Dream mourns and turns his grief into revenge.

He works on building a network of spies and that’s how he becomes aware of a small rebellion being led in his name. It cropped up suddenly in a matter of weeks, they say lead by a former prisoner of Lucifer’s. They say Lucifer gave him their special and personal attention for years. They say most wouldn’t survive that kind of cruelty. They say Lucifer is furious about the escape.

Not daring to hope, Dream reaches out and after months of subterfuge, finally sets up a meeting between them in the edge of the kingdom, out of Lucifer’s sight.

“It’s been a long time,” the man, hooded and masked, says softly. “Many thought you abandoned us.”

And Dream knows that voice. He’d know it anywhere.

“Hob,” he breathes. “Is that you?”

Ohh, masked vigilante rebel Hob!!!

Dream begs Hob to tell him what happened to him while he was imprisoned by Lucifer, but Hob keeps changing the subject and trying to talk about plans to get Dream back on the throne. He won't talk to Dream properly, not like they used to talk. He seems so hurt and bitter, which Dream can understand! He just wants to be able to help Hob heal. If he doesn't have Hob, there'll be no point in getting the kingdom back at all.

Hob finally comes clean and admits that Lucifer used to use Dream’s image to torture him. With some kind of drug they would make sure that Hob would hallucinate Dream’s presence, and then torture Hob physically. So despite himself he began to believe that Dream truly condoned his imprisonment and torture. Only Hob’s determination to get out and find out the truth led him to survive.

Dream is, of course, horrified. He promises to respect Hob’s space going forward. He'll give Hob room to heal and maybe when he feels ready, they can be friends again? Hob bursts into floods of tears at this point (so much for his reputation as an uncrushable rebel). He doesn't want Dream to leave him! He was so scared and he just wants everything to be okay like it used to be.

Dream promises there and then that he'll win back his realm and marry Hob. They'll defeat Lucifer together and build a kingdom that is so strong, no one will be able to hurt Hob ever again. Dream is going to protect him. He'll fight to the death to give his beloved the peaceful life he deserves.

[lithepetal]

Second Chance Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Tony learns of his daughter’s fate.

Warnings: language

Series Masterlist

Aurora wrung her fingers; her posture stiff, unmoving, except for her chest—every sound faint compared to the deafening thump of her heart. She had no way of contacting her father, no way for him to track her. Her phone had been snatched from her as soon as she was shoved inside the SUV.

The vehicle veered off the highway and parked beneath an underpass. She pivoted her body, expecting Steve, Natasha, and Sam—she didn’t know him, but she saw what he was capable of—to overpower their assailants. As she lost sight of them behind the van, she eyed the handle, wondering if it would be worth it to run.

“Fuck!” She heard Rumlow curse and immediately retracted her hand. When he returned, visibly irate, she could only assume it was because Steve, Natasha, and Sam had escaped.

Okay, Aurora thought, they’ll inform my dad, and he’ll rescue me. She waited and listened, scanned the sky for a flying metal suit. The drive continued uneventfully, and the last of her hope dwindled when the vehicle fully stopped.

Yanked from the SUV, she stumbled over her feet, clawing the hand that grabbed her, as Rumlow pressed her against the door. “Be a good girl,” his breath curled around the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “and you may get to go home to daddy.” The other agents sniggered, and it wasn’t until Rumlow pulled back that she realized she was trembling.

The building now in front of her loomed. She approached the entrance, as gravel gave way to tile. Fluorescents shone overhead, lighting a path down a stretch of sterile corridor.

Aurora followed mutely, hands unbound. Clearly, they weren’t intimidated or worried about her escaping. She was no superhero, after all; she didn’t possess any powers or specialized equipment.

Interrupting her spiraling reverie, she saw him, seated on the edge of what appeared to be an electric chair.

“Bucky?” Aurora breathed.

Either it was him, or his doppelganger, for he looked identical to the man from the memorial at the Smithsonian. The man who’s only identifying trait was his metal arm didn’t respond, though she could’ve sworn he glanced almost imperceptibly in her direction.

“He ain’t Bucky anymore,” Rumlow chuckled darkly.

To add to her confusion, the door opened, in stepping the Secretary of SHIELD. “Mr. Pierce?” Aurora frowned.

“Ah, Miss Stark, forgive me. I tried to explain to Agent Rumlow the delicacy of the situation.” To Pierce’s right, Rumlow rubbed a hand over his chin and smirked into his palm.

“I- I don’t understand,” said Aurora, eyes flitting between the two men.

“Isn’t it obvious, princess?” answered Rumlow. “Tony Stark may be the smartest man on the planet, but he’s also a father. Your father.”

Aurora shook her head in disbelief. As members of SHIELD, they were supposed to be the good guys. Yet, she couldn’t deny what she’d witnessed them do: arrest Steve, attempt to gun down him, Natasha, and Sam. She averted her eyes to the floor, tears brimming her eyelids.

“I’ll personally see to it that your visit needn’t be longer than necessary.” Pierce nodded to Rumlow, and instinctively, Aurora recoiled. Blindly, he turned his attention to the man who resembled Bucky, as she squirmed in Rumlow’s arms. “Mission report,” Pierce prompted. “Mission report, now.”

“There was a man on the bridge,” he murmured. “Who was he?”

“Steve!” Aurora cried. “His name is Steve Rogers, and he’s your—”

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, Rumlow’s bruising grip on her arm. He escorted her down the corridor. They passed more agents, whose indifference at her predicament triggered a wave of nausea.

She was the daughter of Iron Man. His overprotectiveness wasn’t a punishment. Why didn’t she see it before? Was she really so naïve?

The Avengers were more than just her wayward family. The freedom she was allotted should’ve sufficed, yet she complained. Not always, and sometimes not even aloud.

Finally, they reached the end of the corridor, and her heart sank. Far from the luxury to which she was accustomed, housed within the cell was a threadbare mattress and a stainless-steel bedpan. Rumlow shoved her inside, barred the door; his words hung in the dank air, and she felt them palpably, like a noose compressing her throat.

“I’ll return for you later, princess.”

~ * ~

Tony paced, his eyes never leaving the screen that was currently monitoring Aurora’s last known location. Her phone lay broken upon his desk, and it was all he could do not to put on the suit and go to Washington, D.C.

“Why did you leave her, Cap?”

His anger ebbed a fraction, as he turned to his friend. The remorse on Steve’s features was unmistakable, but any understanding Tony felt was eclipsed by panic, worse than any PTSD episode he’d ever had.

“SHIELD has been compromised. Fury nearly died in an earlier attack, and they weren’t going to hesitate to kill us, either. We were going to go back for her. You have to believe me, Tony. Aurora is like my own.”

“So, I ask again, Rogers, why did you leave her with a bunch of crooked agents?”

“We’re sorry, Tony,” Natasha began. “We thought—”

“Do I even have to say it?” Tony interjected. “You thought wrong, Romanoff.”

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, after Tony walked away.

“To save my daughter.”

[nerdieforpedro]

Muted Peach

Dave York x plus size AFAB

This fic and my blog overall is for readers 18+

Word Count: 921

Summary: The run in your stockings is annoying but is quickly an afterthought with Dave’s arrival. He brings you two things you need and leaves you with a promise you want. The two of you don’t need any more words than necessary.

Warnings: handling dangerous plants, soft Dave - geez, government corruption, planning for murder, use of a knife, HANDS (be weird if Nerdie didn’t have it), unprotected P in V, aftercare, more soft Dave (👀 Not mad at it, just surprised myself)

Notes: Another entry for Jett’s Flora and Fauna Challenge by @morallyinept I’m enjoying writing about flowers 💐 This is my first, primarily smut fic in a while (if you mention Frankie I dunno what you mean 👀 that was only like the first 4-5 parts).

Let me know what you think 🤔

I also found these flower meaning references to help anyone who might wanna do the challenge but either doesn’t know a flower to do or what they mean: Botanical Headcannons

This one was for the flower I chose Belladonna: How does your muse respond to silence ? Do they take comfort in soundlessness , or seek to fill the void with noise ?

Main Masterlist/ Dave York Masterlist

The run in your stockings was inevitable. They were old, a size too small but you didn’t want to wear leggings under your skirt, and you felt you could wait until the weekend to buy a new pair. You thought they might have ripped randomly when you sat down for meetings or even when your knee hit that idiot Jim’s desk when you confronted him about why his reports aren’t in. You should not be coming to his office to inquire about them after sending him a reminder email like the rest of the team. His quarterly evaluation just took a dip. Keeping up appearances outside of your real function at the CIA is exhausting and mind-numbing.

You’ve gotten back to your office after five in the evening to make some notes before leaving. That’s when he appears in your doorway. He’s brought a plant for you. It’s small, a deep violet with dark green leaves, he needs to wear gloves while handling it. The flower is called belladonna - deadly nightshade. The smile on your fellow CIA agent’s face gives away his intent. He was able to get it for you. A special project in addition to your weekend shopping. A visit would be had with one of the US diplomats that were skimming money from the embassy. That wasn’t enough to warrant their death. It was when they began dabbling in the drug trade that the department received notice to remove him from the equation to maintain the integrity of US diplomats everywhere.

Such an original concept, for the greater whole and good.

“At least how they die will be elegant,” The only words Dave says to you before noting your stockings with their run. He chuckles and reaches in his jacket pocket. Of course he keeps his knife on him, though he didn’t need to cut your stockings and panties off. You were going to take them off anyway, but now they’re in his pocket. Sometimes you wonder what he does with them all? The plant is set in the windowsill and he discards the gloves and runs his hands over your large thighs before putting you up on your own desk.

With his lips on yours, he bites on your bottom lip and has you open for him, allowing him to explore your mouth. Unbuckling his belt and reaching into his boxers, you find what you need. Having his throbbing length in your palm, you scoot your ass to the edge of the desk. York’s dripping head is sliding against your folds, you softly whimper into Dave’s mouth, opening your legs wider for him. The smirk on his face while he leans back enough you get his pants around his knees and plunges within you. There’s no preamble, just the squelches of your cunt sucking his cock back within you to kiss your cervix. He pushed you on your back and had your wrists pinned to the desk. The thickness of his turgid member gives you the pleasurable stretch that you craved when he passed behind you after the meeting ended. Purposely cupping your ass, taking a moment to reach for a pen on the table in front of you, his hand sliding across your stomach, giving it a small pat. Switching his hold on your wrists from one hand to two, that same hand roamed over your stomach, feeling its softness and jiggle. He pats it again and mouths, “You’re doing well. Stay quiet for me a little longer, Peach.” Two of his fingers reach between your legs where he can see himself entering and exiting you while he circles your small sensitive bud.

The small gasps released from your throat, you’ve gotten skilled at keeping the noise to a minimum outside of your wet core. The pressure’s building with the unevenness of his drags, Dave’s close and you’ll be painted soon. Quickly he pulls out of you and lobs his ropes across your mound and thighs while your walls contract around air. Your moist folds miss his cock already, but it’s time to go. Dave sits you up and pulls a small packet of wipes out of another pocket in his jacket, wiping you down and himself before pulling his pants up and fixing his belt. The peppered kisses to your cheeks and neck are his goodbye to you as he exits the office. The notes you’d been writing and files are on the floor, it’s not his concern, though Dave makes a point to come back after thinking about it for a minute. Touching your shoulder, you stand and he picks up the papers off the floor.

“Didn’t want anyone to see?” Teasing him leads to another peck and a hand on your hip.

“Of course not. I should be the only one to see you sloppy. Take care of it this weekend and I can swing by Sunday night. We might even get breakfast Monday if there’s time sweetheart.” You pat his chest and nod, giving him one more kiss before he really does leave this time.

A fresh pair of gloves is on your desk. York left you those so you can get your new plant home safely - to be repotted you tell the janitor on your way out, the cool air tickling your clit. A job well done means a lazy Sunday night and Monday morning with Dave, so what if you work on different ends of the ‘special operations section’ of the CIA?

Being Dave York’s sweet Peach has definite perks.

Peaches 🍑 that might be in that jacket of Dave’s 🧥: @yorksgirl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @iamasaddie

@legendary-pink-dot @bitchwitch1981 @for-a-longlongtime @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair

@daddy-dins-girl @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @magpiepills @harriedandharassed

@maggiemayhemnj @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @avastrasposts @survivingandenduring

@pedroshotwifey @connectioneverywhere @djarinmuse @604to647 @secretelephanttattoo

@rhoorl @sherala007 @schnarfer @bishtrouille @ohforficsake

[7ndipity]

Afraid Of The Dark

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: A small blurb about Yoongi comforting the Reader, who has an intense fear/anxiety of the dark.

Warnings: slight angst, depictions and mentions of anxiety attacks, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this, sorry it took me so long to get to. I hope you like it tho!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Yoongi was no stranger to your anxieties. You had explained your phobia of the dark to him quite early on in your relationship, following a minor incident while walking you home after a date late one night. You’d been trying your best to stuff down your building sense of unease, but Yoongi had quickly noticed your growing tension and asked about it.

You’d been slightly embarrassed, feeling it was a silly thing to be so afraid of, especially as an adult, but he’d been nothing but understanding, reassuring you that everyone had things that scared them or made them uneasy, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

He always tried to make you feel comfortable and safe at his place, making sure to leave an extra light or two on throughout the house when you stayed over, even buying a special night light for your bedside table.

Whenever your anxiety got really bad, he would do his best to help comfort you and remind you that you were safe. He knew that there was only so much he could do when it came to deep seeded fears like yours, but if there was something he could do to ease your suffering even a little bit, he would do it without hesitation.

He’d seen the weather reports earlier in the day saying there was a chance of power outages due to the storms and strong winds passing through the area, causing his own anxiety to rise, knowing you were home on your own, but he tried to focus and get his work done as quickly as possible. The sooner he was finished, the sooner he could get home to you.

When he did get home, all the lights were on, but the house was quiet, making him wonder if maybe you were already asleep?

As he neared your bedroom, however, he could hear you sniffling, making his stomach drop.

“Y/n?” He called softly, not wanting to startle you as he pushed the door open, his heart breaking as his eyes landed on you.

You were wrapped up in one of your favorite blankets, curled tightly in on yourself, tear streaked face barely visible peeking out of your little safety nest.

“Oh, Baby.” He said softly, immediately coming to your side. He climbed into the bed with you, balancing himself on the edge of the mattress so that you were facing each other, pausing to make sure that it was okay before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“Has it been a bad evening?” He asked gently.

You nodded, trying to stem your tears, but your breath kept catching in your throat.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” He said, wiping your face. “It’s okay, I’ll look out for you now, yeah? Can you do your 3 3 3 breathing with me?”

You nodded again, cuddling closer to his chest.

“Okay, deep breath in, 1 2 3,” He sucked in a slow breath, which you followed. “Hold 2 3, breathe out 2 3…”

He led you through the routine a few more times until your breathing steadied out, rubbing your shoulder soothingly the whole time.

“Feel any better?” He asked, still in the soft tone he always used in moments like this.

You nodded, your voice coming out in a tiny whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, you did so well.” He told you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Everything’s okay.”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about if the power went out.” You admitted quietly.

“It’ll be okay,” He reassured you. “We’ve got flashlights in the bedside drawers, remember?”

You slipped a hand out of your blanket cocoon to reveal you were already tightly clutching one.

“Always so prepared.” He grinned at you proudly. “See? We’ve nothing to worry about. I’m here, you’re here, even Holly’s here.” He said, noting the small dog curled up behind you on the bed, watching over you diligently. “Let’s think about something else for a bit, okay? You wanna hear about how Hobi almost got into a fight with the table in my studio?”

“What?!” You looked up at him in confusion.

The full story was just that Hoseok had caught his shoe on the corner of the table and tripped, but Yoongi wanted to distract you, adding more than a few embellishments until you were curled into his chest again, shaking with laughter until a yawn slipped past your lips.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?” He asked with a small grin.

You hummed, smiling up at him. “If you’re with me, yeah.”

“Where else would I be?” He kissed you softly. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“ ‘Night, Yoongi.” You yawned again, suddenly drowsy. “I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[always-andromeda]

Hi, I was wondering if you still take requests? If you don't that is perfectly okay with me, I don't mind! But if you can, would you be willing to write headcanons or something about Javier Peña (Narcos) with an s/o that doesn't really like pda or super affectionate stuff? Again, if you don't want to you don't have, I'm fine either way! (really trying hard not to sound like I'm peer pressuring you or being passive aggressive 😣) but, yeah, like if you ever have time.. thank you so much!

𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javier Peña x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 600

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Javier learns the different ways of seeing a romantic relationship, or, a drabble about Javier being with a significant other who isn't quite comfortable with his usual charms.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Oh, my sweet anon, you don't sound passive aggressive or anything of the sort whatsoever!! If anything, I apologize for taking so long to get to this. I've been trying to urge myself back into writing a little bit more and this was a nice little challenge to help me reach that goal. I've been obsessed with Gia Margaret's album, Romantic Piano, these days and I ended up listening to Ways of Seeing on repeat while prattling down these ideas, so naturally, I've named this piece after that song. This isn't my favorite thing I've ever written? But it's been a hot second since I've been regularly writing fanfic so forgive me lmao.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ slightly established relationship, Javier crosses a physical boundary, allusions to Javi and reader having a sexual relationship but nothing explicit is described (regardless, minors, please do not interact), overall fluff and healthy communication

He wasn’t used to this. Any of it, really. Having a lady friend was a new one and by far the most surprising turn of his life at that point. But a lady friend who shrugged off his little touches like he was a pesky insect was another thing. At first he figured it was a reputation thing. Having him slung around you in the halls wouldn’t attract the good kind of attention for either of you. He could handle the jabs and jokes; he always had.

It’s why he hadn’t thought too much about it the first time he caught you in front of the copier and placed a hand on your hip. “What’s that you’re working on, querida?” he’d asked in that low, gravelly tone of his that usually drove you wild.

He swore he felt you jump; momentarily startled before you straightened your shoulders and pushed them back. He couldn’t see your expression, but he already knew he wouldn’t find an ounce of reciprocation to his teasing there anyways when you answered firmly, “Messina asked for copies of this report. She’s got a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Javier’s hand slid around your front, fingers playing at the edges of your top. “You think that’d be enough time?” he mumbled.

You swirled around on your heel and glared at him with a raised eyebrow, “For what exactly?”

“I thought that we had something going…?”

“Just because we have something going it doesn’t just give you the freedom to accost me whenever you want.”

Javier took a step back and folded his arms, getting ready to rocket into defensiveness. 

Before he could get a word in, you continued, “I know that you’re comfortable with the flirting and the teasing…but I’m not. It’s fine when it’s just the two of us.” You struggled to get an accurate grasp of your words, “But outside of that…it’s just…uncomfortable? Do you get that?”

His stomach sank as he was reminded of the type of men he’d helped put away in the past. The kind who had no regard for anyone or anything aside from their own wants. He thought of those butterflies in his chest whenever he caught your eye from across a room. How they glittered with the allusion of a secret; that secret being something special that only you and him shared. Your eyes were now shadowed with a layer of caution. How quickly those butterflies of his had turned into an invasive species.

He slowly raised his hands, admitting defeat before divulging, “I apologize. I– I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You blinked a few times before turning back around and grabbing the stack of fresh papers from the printer. “I think we should set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries? What kind of boundaries?”

“Well…for now…let’s keep the public displays of affection at a minimum. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I hear you,” Javier nodded firmly.

As you started to tell him goodbye and head towards Messina’s office, one more thought popped into his mind. He reached forward to place a hand on you before stopping himself and clearing his throat instead. “Wait–”

“Yeah?”

The corner of his lip curled up into a smug smile. “Just to be clear…we’re still okay on the private displays of affection, right?”

You rolled your eyes and replied, “We’re alright in that department, Peña, don’t you worry.”

“Sounds good, keep me posted if anything changes,” he said with a quick wink before sauntering away, leaving you cradling the warm papers against your chest, knowing that you could tell him if anything did change.

[futurehunt]

My Old Friend, Fire

Azriel x Eris

Against his better wishes, Azriel has found himself growing close to the new Autumn High Lord, Eris Vanserra. The male has dug himself under his skin and now he can't get him out. An invitation to the Autumn Equinox changes the path of Azriel's life for the better.

Read on AO3

AO3 version is updated with editing and spelling corrections!!

Word count: 15,737

Azriel POV

18+

Content warning: Smut- story can be enjoyed fully without reading it!

*no beta, we die in Prythian

This is long, I apologize! It's a lot of feeling, realizing, and longing. Azriel's got all the emotions. Flashbacks are in italics- they all have important details in them that tie in at the end so don't miss 'em!

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

"I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

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

Read full story below

Azriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting at the pinching sensation caused by the buttons on the wing-flaps of his jacket.

Mor had bought it special for him, special for today.

It was a tight-fitted jacket made of a dark, woodsy green fabric. Along the cuffs and collar were sewn black embellishments that swirled and shaped a pattern so complex that Azriel hated to think of how many hours went into creating it. Intricately carved silver buttons ran up the front and finished at a final clasp around the middle of his neck.

Mor said the jacket suited him, brought out the colors in his eyes. Azriel just felt like a fool.

He'd been on edge all week leading up to tonight. The Autumnal Equinox, Mabon. The Autumn Court's Great Rite.

It was Eris's first Equinox as High Lord of Autumn. He had graciously extended an invite to Rhysand, Feyre and the Inner Circle- his treasured allies he mockingly referred to them as in his letter- and encouraged them to come celebrate his new position and experience a true taste of Autumn.

"Treasured?"

Eris remained silent in response, bow drawn tight. His sharp gaze honed in on a pheasant, trackings its movement through the stalks of wheat. Its emerald neck acting as a beacon for the eye.

Azriel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, how it would burn.

On an exhale, Eris let the arrow fly. "Don't talk while I'm aiming, it's rude." He turned towards Azriel, not bothering to spare a glance to see if his arrow met its mark. Eris released a shrill whistle and his hounds took off, cutting through the stalks to their target.

"Treasured?" Azriel pressed again.

"I used my thesaurus for that one." Eris quipped back.

Azriel squinted his eyes at the High Lord. "You like being disliked, don't you. You're a masochist."

"You like me".

"I tolerate you." There was a chill in the wind that blew towards them across the field. It dusted red across Eris's pale cheeks, the fire in his blood seemingly not fighting the bite of the cold. "Here are the reports we have on Koschei. He's getting desperate."

Eris reached out for the thin file from Azriel, the full might of the hunter's gaze finally locked onto him. It burned right through him, just as Azriel had suspected. Burned right through to the icy center of him.

Rhysand and Feyre decided they would not attend. While they wanted to put on a good show for diplomacy, they deemed it unnecessary for the High Lord and High Lady to make an appearance. And as it is with them, where one goes so does the other. In their stead, Azriel, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta would be attending as representatives of the Night Court. Azriel was pretty sure Cassian and Nesta only decided to tag along because they wanted to fuck in the woods.

Azriel chuckled to himself as he remembered the conversation in which Cassian crudely explained to Nesta the erotic nature of Great Rite celebrations after nightfall. Nesta had known the basics, brief snippets of information from what Feyre had deigned to share with her about Calanmai, Spring Court's Great Rite, but wasn't aware the seasonal courts all had their own version. Nesta was all too eager to attend after learning everything.

Mor was attending because. . . he wasn't entirely sure. Azriel knew Mor had made great strides in accepting Eris as an ally of the court, knew that she had traveled the path of forgiveness with him and the two were on amicable terms. Amicable, nothing more. Eris certainly did not make it easy, he was still an asshole. Gods was he an asshole.

But Azriel also knew she was still haunted by the past. Saw it in the glaze in her deep brown eyes every time Keir threw barbed comments her way. Azriel gathered that this visit tonight would serve as one of Mor's final steps in conquering the demons of her past. Regardless, she seemed all too willing to attend.

It was part of the reason Azriel agreed to join the visit today- why Rhysand pulled him aside and adamantly requested he tag along. Though Rhysand's request left little room for disagreement.

He wanted Azriel there to keep an eye on Mor. Rhysand knew all too well how suffocating the horrors of your past could be. Azriel remembers vividly the nights, not too long ago, when dark power filled with shadows and stars would burst through his brother's window as he drowned under the weight of everything that haunted him.

.…........................

That's how Azriel found himself here, in the ornately decorated receiving room of the River House, the base of his wings getting pinched to Hel by the jacket Mor bought him for Mabon.

He's the first to arrive as usual.

It was barely past three in the afternoon but the sun, beaming in through the room's westerly windows, was already on a quick descent. His shadows dodged the rays and dissipated whenever they come in contact.

Azriel thumbed the plum, silk curtains that draped the large picture window whose frame he leaned on. Not that he would ever utter the thought out loud but he found the interior of his brother's home a bit gaudy. Fit for a High Lord, no doubt, but it felt impersonal.

Eris's manor smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. Woodsy and sweet. The scent stuck inside of Azriel's nose, invading his senses. It invoked a nostalgia for an experience he had yet to live.

"The magic in Spring is growing weak- I can feel it in the land at our shared border. We need to get Tamlin back on track," Eris spoke without preamble. He stood opposite Azriel, a smoke gray granite countertop separating them. The texture of the stone rippled and eddied, it felt like the scars on his hands.

"Tea?"

Azriel nodded in assent and looked around the kitchen in which they stood. Dark brown wood laid the foundation of the room, it blended well with the warm colors of the furnishing.

"You made yourself right at home. Was your father's body even cold before you started moving in?" The question was probably too crude, even for Azriel.

Yesterday marked a month since the long awaited death of Beron Vanserra finally came to fruition.

Eris merely smirked over at him, taking his crass question in stride as he poured the second cup of tea. His eyes traced over every inch of Azriel's face before he responded, "You wound me, brute. This manor hasn't been inhabited since my grandfather. My father felt it too exposed and only resided in an apartment deep within the Forest House."

Azriel snorted. His only response. He continued to take in the room.

In the corner of the kitchen was a nook that housed a dining area encased by a dome of windows on one half. It gave the illusion that you were dining out in the jeweled canopy of the woods.

His attention caught on the dining chairs that surrounded the table.

They were all shaped to fit wings.

Growing weary of the solitude, Azriel decided to set out to track down Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx in the massive house when the carved wood door at the home's entrance swung open. From his spot within the receiving room, Azriel watched Mor strut in.

"I knew that color would look great on you," She tittered, looking him up and down, "you really ought to let me buy you more for your wardrobe."

Azriel's face pinched - answer enough to her demand.

"A shame" she bemoaned, throwing herself on to one of the room's stiff cobalt couches. "Where's Cass and his Lady Death? We should be off soon."

"Don't call her that." Azriel chastised, not having an answer for the first part of her question.

Mor just shot him a look, rolling her eyes. It's been a year and a half since Nesta sacrificed her Cauldron-stolen power for the life of her sister and nephew, yet Mor still clung to that infernal nickname. For Mor it's all in good fun, but Azriel never fails to catch the haunted look that ghosts Nesta's face whenever the moniker is used in her presence.

As if on cue, he heard the bustle of Cassian and Nesta coming in through the home's rear entrance. No doubt they landed on the back lawn after flying down from the House of Wind. Cass still likes to give Nesta a good fright by coming in hot for his landings, the back lawn providing a perfect landing zone for him.

Confirming his suspicions, Nesta's face is tinged with green as she rounded the corner and came in sight of Azriel and Mor.

"Cassian, they're in here," she called over her shoulder. Her hair, uncharacteristically, is worn loose today, with a tight braid running down the center of her head segregating both halves of her hair. Her mauve, linen dress was modest in the length of its hem and sleeves but clung to her frame in a way that suggested excellent tailoring. As she twisted to shout to his brother, Azriel noted the deep scoop of the dress's back.

"You look...very good today, Nesta." Azriel said to her as she twisted back around and entered the receiving room. Not that she didn't usually, though she now wore her Valkyrie leathers more often than not.

Mor interjected from the couch, "You didn't say anything to me! I even complimented your jacket".

"Your ego doesn't need anymore stroking, dear sister." Cassian quipped sarcastically, picking up the conversation without pause as he too rounded the corner and entered the room. "And, my even dearer mate is upset with me so she told me she'll be leaving me tonight for our beloved- her words not mine- High Lord of Autumn".

Azriel hummed his acknowledgment, not wanting to voice anything that may incidentally draw himself into the middle of their squabble.

Eris would probably think she looked drab in the linen dress.

"Linen is the fabric of the working class, Azriel," Eris drawled, a mischievous grin lifting the right corner of his mouth.

Even from his position on the leather tufted couch on the opposite end of the room, Azriel could see the mirth glimmering in Eris's eyes from where he sat behind his grand mahogany desk. Azriel twisted away from the sight to look back into the depths of the crackling fireplace that warmed the High Lord's office.

"You're just a snob", he shot at Eris, not bothering to turn around again.

He heard him snort. "Linen is a lightweight, breathable, porous fabric. It is designed to be worn by those working the fields. It's not supposed to be fashionable- I'd look like a fool wearing linen to a dinner with my court representatives. Apologies for knowing the intricacies of garments and how they relate to socio-economic class."

Azriel couldn't help himself. Throwing an arm across the back of the couch he twisted to look back at Eris again.

"Lightweight, breathable, porous fabric? You're a snob and an ass." He secretly delighted in the look of glee that flashed across Eris's face at the insult. "Why even ask for my opinion then? If your own was so decisive."

"I like to hear what you think." Nothing but truth burned in the amber flames of Eris's eyes.

"Thank you, Azriel." Nesta shot sharply at him. She lowered herself gracefully onto the couch opposite of Mor. Not allowing space on either side of her for Cassian and his wings, leaving him to settle in standing next to Azriel.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked over at his brother who leaned in and said, "Nice jacket, Az. You look like a proper little prince of Autumn in it".

Azriel scoffed, taking a wide step away from his brother before quickly twisting his body to punch Cassian in the arm in retribution for his gibe.

Nesta guffawed from where she perched on the couch. Composing herself, she remarked, "At least he made an effort! You look like you're ready for a visit to Windhaven."

It was true. Cassian donned a standard set of his leathers, albeit cleaner and newer than his usual ones.

"Whatever. I'm not making an effort for the prick," Cassian shot, impudence lacing his tone. "It's an Equinox celebration that the entire court is invited to, at most we'll see him to shake his hand before he moves on to others he deems more worthy of his time."

He wasn't wrong. Like Calanmai in Spring, Grianstad in Winter, or Litha in Summer, denizens of Autumn flooded to their court's seat during Mabon to celebrate the equinox and participate in the Great Rite. It's a tradition, Azriel heard, that even Beron nurtured and encouraged. After all, a fruitful turnout for a Great Rite produces a wealth of magic for the court. Azriel is sure that another strong motivator for Beron's patronage of the event were the swaths of young fae females that showed up clambering for his attention, hoping the magic of the Rite would choose them for their High Lord. Even the deep-seated fear and corruption that Beron plagued the land with wasn't enough to dim the honor of being selected by whatever powers governed the Rite.

This year, for the first time, it would be Eris's turn to lead the Great Rite. He would pair off with a lady and together they would fuel enough magic to inundate the land until the next Mabon. The thought settled like glass in Azriel's stomach.

"Even then," Cassian continued "he'll likely only deign to be touched by you, Nesta. The rest of us are too beneath him for an actual handshake."

"Speak for yourself, Cassian," Mor chimed in indignantly.

Nesta hummed in agreement and added, "He'd probably give Azriel a handshake. After all, he's the closest with Eris out of any of us at this point."

"We are not close," Azriel growled at her defensively.

He immediately regretted his tone when he saw the trepidation in her eyes. He felt like his father.

"Is your father still alive?" curiosity clouded Eris's face from across the chessboard between them.

Azriel's eyes flickered up to him for a moment to take in his demeanor before refocusing on the board as he took one of Eris's black marble bishops with his gleaming, white knight.

"How is that a pertinent question?"

"How is playing chess pertinent," Eris countered.

"As the official liaison between the Night and Autumn court, it's my duty to make sure our allies are properly schooled in all forms of strategy," Azriel arrogantly replied. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his grin from spreading across his face. After six months of working with Eris as liaison between their two courts, he had come to enjoy the haughty banter the pair fell into in each other's presence.

"Azriel," Eris dead-panned.

Azriel would never admit to the shiver that ran through him at the sound of his name in Eris's mouth. Shame washed over him at the mere acknowledgement of the sensation.

"He's dead," he at last replied to Eris, dryly.

"He gave you those burns?"

Azriel only shook his head.

"You're ashamed of them." An observation, not a question from the High Lord.

Azriel settled his face into a sheet of neutrality. His centuries-old mental barriers slamming into place as the topic of conversation entered an area he had no interest in going.

Playing his turn, Azriel hoped to end the game quickly now. He shouldn't have stayed this long anyway, was only there to assess the durability of the security wards around Forest House as a courtesy to Eris.

Quiet blanketed them as the pair finished up their game. Azriel refused to raise his eyes to look at Eris.

"Beron would have healers erase all the scars he etched on me. For five centuries."

"I don't care, Eris." Cruel words that did not reflect the truth. He did care- deep down in a pocket of his soul that he never let see the light of day- he cared about what Eris had to say.

Azriel still refused to raise his gaze up to the High Lord sitting across from him.

"He would erase everything he did to me. No proof that I lived. No proof that I suffered. No proof that I survived. All my torment is trapped inside my head with no evidence that it happened, no outlet for escape... I wish he had left them... but that was probably the point of healing them in the first place."

Eris's declaration cut deep through him, burning through the layers of his defenses in a rage of fire.

He stayed for another round of chess.

Azriel ran a scarred hand down his face, mortification riding through him in waves.

"I'm sorry, Nesta, I didn't mean to snap."

Nesta shook off his words with ease. "I only mean to say, you literally are closest with him," she pressed on "the rest of us haven't even seen him since his crowning ceremony eleven months ago. You're the only one meeting with him anymore."

Of course. He was such an idiot. Of course that's what she meant.

Cassian came up behind him, clamped his hands on his shoulders, and jostled him jovially. His brother's voice boomed behind me, "Don't worry, Az, we know you still hate the lordling as much as ever. We'd never dare suggest otherwise." Azriel could've sworn he heard an undercurrent of sarcasm lacing his brother's tone.

But he didn't hate Eris. Didn't hate him at all. Dreaded the looks on his family's faces when they realized just how much he didn't hate Eris Vanserra anymore.

That was the other part of the reason he agreed to join the visit today. For the past eleven months he'd been working as the Night Court's liaison to Autumn, having taken it over from Cassian, he's found himself... inexplicably drawn to the High Lord. Perhaps in the absence of conflict, Azriel was subconsciously poking around for danger and adrenaline. Eris made his blood boil and he was addicted to it. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

Mor was looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"We should go." Was all he said to the room.

The females got up from their respective places on the couches and together they all trundled through the receiving room out into foyer.

"Guess Rhys and Feyre don't want to see us off," Mor observed.

"Ten gold marks they're both dead asleep upstairs. Nuala told us that Nyx has started climbing out of his crib at night and that Rhys and Feyre can't leave him unattended for even a second," Cassian added, laughing.

The four of them headed out to the front courtyard, not wanting to check and risk waking the parents up. They cut across to a point that would put them outside the wards encasing the River House.

Nesta grabbed Cassian's hand. Feyre, in her free time, had been teaching Nesta how to winnow. The eldest sister became adept at it rather quickly and could even carry Cassian along with her over great distances.

Together, they winnowed away to the Autumn Court.

....................

A thrum of voices chattering around him was the first sensation Azriel perceived as his shadows dissipated and left him standing in an area of woods on the outskirts of the Forest House.

The next sensation to follow was an aroma of smoked meat, spun sugar, and baked pastries.

Surrounding him, and stretching out as far as he could see, were merchant stands and food stalls. There seemed to be no coordination with how the stalls were organized. They were dotted randomly throughout the woods, the sea of stands interspersed with giant oak trees that comprised this section of the forest.

Waves of people bustled around him, side-stepping the obstacle of his body in order to reach their next destination.

He snapped his wings tight into him to avoid any unwanted contact.

Azriel looked over the heads of the fae surrounding him to try and locate Mor, Nesta, and Cassian. There had to be thousands here. His eyesight found no end to the mass of people.

At last, he spotted the three of them already together a few hundred paces away, ogling the vendors. He made his way over and heard the last snatch of what Mor was saying.

"- seen these only in Montesere." Her voice was filled with awe.

They were huddled around a table laden with glazed pottery. Plates, mugs, and bowls all painted with rich, vibrant jewel tones.

"Eris reached out to a few territories on the continent to invite local artisans to come sell their wares at this year's Mabon," Azriel confirmed, sidling up beside Mor. "With Calanmai being... not what it used to...with everything going on with Tamlin...Eris is trying to pick up some of the slack."

Mor's face twisted in surprise at his words.

"And I think he's trying to set a good precedent. After all, Beron only allowed upper-class and high fae craftsmen to set up booths here and apparently he even took a cut of their sales," Azriel scoffed out. "Eris didn't limit who could participate this year. He told me a lot of local lesser fae farmers are coming and selling excess crop from the growing season that just concluded- I think he might've gone a bit overboard with how many he's permitted though."

Mor nodded silently, smirking in amusement at him.

Realizing how much he'd just prattled on about Eris and his booths, Azriel felt his face heat up.

He focused his attention of the pottery in front of him, suddenly very interested in inspecting the intricacy of the handiwork.

Azriel pointedly avoided Nesta's stare that was burning a hole through his head. He had easily just proved wrong his statement earlier about how close him and the High Lord had become.

"So...is that where Eris lives?" Nesta's attention had shifted away from him and she was turned around, pointing to the Forest House in the distance. It's oppressive size seemed to have stunned her. Azriel knew from experience that it took around three hours to get from one side to the other, having done the entire walk with Eris a few months ago.

Azriel shook his head, refusing to foolishly prattle on again and reveal precisely how entrenched in Eris's life he really was.

"From what Azriel's told me, he now lives in the High Lord's manor. It has sat vacant since his grandfather. I think it's somewhere on the other side of the Forest House," Mor fills in for him. "Though from the crowd that's gathered around the south entrance, I'm assuming Eris is likely over there now."

Indeed, there was a massive congregation of people milling around the wide, stone stairs that led up to the grand south entrance of the Forest House. The massive wooden doors at the top landing were thrown open. Though due to the row of guards flanking the stairs and entryway doors, Azriel couldn't make out if Eris was up there.

It hit him then.

The hundreds of fae gathered around the steps, the thousands more that wandered through the festival, the countless guards and sentries patrolling the area- they were all here for Eris. Eris Vanserra, the bane of Azriel's immortal existence, the High Lord of Autumn. Eris was a High Lord now; no longer a pestering lordling with dreams brighter than his own damn hair.

Azriel knew this, of course, had been working one-on-one with Eris for months to help ease the transition into his new role. But being here, it all felt more real.

The Eris he played chess with last week in the study of his manor home while they drank out of a shared bottle of wine was the same High Lord who now ruled the court he stood in and drew the crowd of thousands surrounding him. The same High Lord who seemed to already have the admiration and respect of many, given the throng waiting to greet him.

The crowd awaiting Eris seemed to be largely comprised of females, no doubt hoping to be the lucky maiden selected to help him complete the Great Rite that began after sundown.

Azriel's shadows thrashed around him at the thought.

"Well, let's go get the greetings over with. One of Eris's weasly guards probably already informed him of our arrival," Mor said bluntly, stepping away from the table of pottery.

Azriel steeled himself with a breath and dropped into step next to her as the four of them weaved their way through the festival-goers and headed for the south entrance steps.

He was thankful for the push of the crowd that slowed their journey down.

A wave of anxiety flooded through Azriel, causing his stomach to clench. His lungs wouldn't expand to take a full breath and it was making his surroundings spin. He felt like he was standing on the precipice of a battle that he was guaranteed to lose.

Why was he nervous?

Azriel willed his centuries of training to take over and took a deep breath to release the tension that seized him.

He pulled at the high-neck collar of his jacket, hoping to loosen it. It felt like a leash growing tighter with every step he took towards the Forest House.

Eris was going to mock the jacket, he was sure of it. He was going to call Azriel 'a want-to-be Autumn aristocrat fool', he never should have let Mor dress him in this.

He just hated seeing Eris. Hated the male's all-knowing gaze that could tear through Azriel's defenses without a thought. Mor, Cassian, and Nesta were going to see it. They were going to see the way Eris could pick him apart and expose a layer of Azriel he never showed. They were going to witness first-hand just how much the Autumn High Lord affected him.

As they reached the rear of the crowd huddled around the bottom of the staircase, Azriel's eyes darted around the top trying to spot the High Lord.

He couldn't see him. Where was he? Was something wrong?

And as much as he was dreading speaking to the male, his absence made Azriel's stomach drop even further.

His mind whirled with unexplainable anxiety.

He needed the Cauldron-damned crowd to get out of his way so he could get up there and see if something was wrong.

Fae tended to retreat willingly away from Azriel. His oppressive height, writhing shadows, and intimidating wingspan conveyed what he usually didn't need words for. It seemed the prospect of catching sight of the new Autumn High Lord distracted the fae in front of him enough that none marked his presence behind them.

"Move," Azriel's deep, menacing voice broke through the thrum of sound. He felt no inclination to add pleasantries to his request.

As the fae closest heard him, they turned to look at the source of the sound and scrambled back at the sight of him.

With ease, Azriel marched through the pathway that opened for him and led Mor, Nesta, and Cassian to the stairs.

Five flights made up the grand entrance and by the second landing Azriel still couldn't catch sight of Eris.

Desperation quickened his pace.

At last he reached the third landing, coming into view of the palatial wooden doors of the Forest House thrown open at the top. And there he was.

Eris.

A full breath of air whooshed into Azriel's lungs as he finally gazed upon the High Lord.

Eris's beauty was undeniable. It was almost laughable the way he made everyone around him look simple. A God stood amongst fae-kind.

In the afternoon sun, Eris's hair glowed like living flames; the ends of those fiery locks pushed back behind his pointed ears. Those very ears were adorned with a handful of small golden hoops in the upper cartilage, drawing Azriel's eye to trace along their curve.

His beautiful, wicked face was twisted into a wry grin in reaction to whomever he was speaking to. Azriel couldn't tear his eyes away from the High Lord to check. With his unmarred porcelain skin, Eris appeared to have been carved from marble.

Azriel's eyes continued their journey down the slope of Eris's neck, taking his time to trace its length. He was surprised Eris couldn't feel his gaze burning into him.

The male wore a billowing white silk shirt whose neck hung open to reveal a hint of the muscled chest that lay underneath. He wondered what more lay unexposed. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark, well-tailored pants- very well-tailored pants.

On top of his ensemble, Eris donned a cloak whose hemmed reached to the bottom of his boots. The garment was a rich, velvety maroon, with gold details running down the sides of the opening.

Perfectly put together as always. Eris was skilled at wielding clothes like a weapon, he always knew how to arm himself properly for the occasion. And today he looked so damn regal and powerful, commanding the attention of everyone around him.

As if finally registering the weight of his observation, Eris turned and caught sight of Azriel and the others.

A wide smile broke across Eris's face.

Azriel's head whipped around to look behind himself. Who the hell was Eris smiling at? Mor? Nesta? Had someone else followed them up the stairs?

Cassian and the two females had come to a stop behind Azriel, no longer ascending the stairs.

When had he stopped walking?

Azriel looked back and the smile that had cut across Eris's face was gone. The male was now biting his lower lip, keeping it still.

Cassian gave him a push from behind before sliding around Azriel to take the lead with Nesta.

"Let's go you fool," his brother said to him gruffly.

The shove and command from his brother broke Azriel out of his reverie. It must be the magic of Mabon that entranced Azriel when he was regarding Eris. The magic flows most acutely through the High Lord after all. Azriel had become as spell bound as the hoard of fae below him.

Azriel resumed his climb, drawing nearer and nearer to Eris.

As Cassian reached the final landing ahead of him and approached Eris, Azriel heard the High Lord say in greeting, "Well, if it isn't my favorite court. Behind the four others. I'll be generous and put Tamlin at the bottom of my ranking."

Still an asshole. A beautiful asshole.

"You're look very pretty today. I like what that jacket does for your eyes." Azriel chuckled at his brother's words. Cassian had learned well how to get under Eris's skin.

Eris sneered at him, not responding, before turning his gaze to Nesta. His expression lightened as he looked to her. "Nesta, you do yourself no favors with the company you keep."

To Azriel's surprise, Cassian chuckled good-naturedly at the High Lord's remark.

"It's lovely to see you again, Eris." replied Nesta, politely. "I think you might be right. I find myself occasionally regretting my refusal of your proposal."

Eris nodded his head in the mockery of a bow before replying sarcastically, "At your earliest convenience Lady Archeron, I will eagerly make you my bride." His eyes glittered with derision.

Nesta chuckled, curtseying before Eris, before grabbing Cassian's hand and pulling him out of the way.

Eris shifted his attention to Mor. "Morrigan, I must say I did not anticipate your appearance today."

"Eris," Mor nodded in greeting. "It's been a while since my last visit."

Visit is not how Azriel would categorize it.

She continued, "I wanted to reacquaint myself with the court and I heard," her eyes shot to Azriel, "that this event was not to be missed."

Azriel's face twisted. He said no such thing.

"Hmm," Eris hummed as his gaze quickly darted to Azriel, "Well I'm happy you could attend. I hope everything is up to your standards."

Perfectly cordial, the two of them. They had come such a long way.

Mor gave no reply before bowing out of the way.

She turned to Azriel, squeezed his arm and said quietly, "We'll wait for you at the bottom of the steps."

Why? He didn't voice the question aloud.

He turned to face Eris who was glaring pointedly at the spot on Azriel's arm that Mor just touched.

Azriel stood in silence, waiting. After a moment, Eris's stare rose to his.

"Azriel."

"Eris."

More silence.

Eris's gaze darted down Azriel's frame, taking him in.

With surprise lacing his tone, the High Lord said, "Your jacket... I like it."

Azriel's brows shot up his face.

"The color. It suits you. I don't think I've ever seen you in something other than black. I appreciate that you made an effort with my court's style," Eris added on. Genuine sincerity shone in his face.

Azriel merely nodded in thanks.

A slight weight lifted off of Azriel's chest at the High Lord's words. Why did he give a damn what Eris thought about his clothing? It was humiliating. Why did he have this irritating need to impress him, to get his approval?

Azriel wanted to run away from the knowing glint in Eris's eye, the ghost of the smirk that danced on his lips, like he knew exactly the effect his comments would have on Azriel.

Planning to do just that, Azriel spun on his heels angling to catch up with the rest of his companions who already reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Wait." Eris's voice stopped Azriel in his descent.

The Illyrian turned to look up at the High Lord who now descended the few steps Azriel was able to make.

Eris came to a stop on the same stair as Azriel. They were eye level. How had Azriel never realized the two of them were the same height? Perhaps it was due to Eris's new commanding presence, it was now impossible not to be aware of every detail about the High Lord. Azriel tried desperately to tamp down the flush in his cheeks.

Eris continued on, cool confidence lacing his tone, "I'm heading out to tour the vendors, would you join me?"

A lifetime of stoicism is the only thing that kept Azriel from reacting visibly.

There was a crowd of people waiting to meet the High Lord. More dignitaries were set to arrive, surely Eris had to wait to greet them.

But Eris was looking at him with such an earnest expression that Azriel couldn't find it in himself to care about what duties of his might take precedence.

"Is that... a request or a command, High Lord?" Azriel responded after a moment, keeping his features neutral.

Eris's eyes narrowed slightly.

"A command. I don't want you off on your own scaring away all my visitors"

Laughter broke from Azriel's mouth before he could catch it.

The corner of Eris's mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

That wouldn't do.

"No, thank you." That should humble the High Lord. Azriel took off down the flight of steps at a much quicker pace this time.

Silence. And then, "No?!" Eris called after him.

The smack of boots against stone rang out as Azriel heard Eris follow him.

Azriel made it down two flights, nearly halfway to the bottom, before Eris caught up. He could see Mor, Cassian, and Nesta looking up at them from below.

Eris grabbed his arm. His cheeks were flushed and eyes a bit wild as he demanded, "You really won't come with me?"

His arm tingled under the hand grasping it.

"Ask nicely."

Eris huffed out an exasperated laugh.

"-Azriel!" That was Mor's voice this time from two flights below.

He could see Eris's face bunch up in frustration. The grip on his forearm tightened infinitesimally.

She called up at him, "I promised Emerie I'd get her something so I'm going to go look around. Alright?"

Azriel nodded in understanding. It was then that he realized Nesta and Cassian had already peeled away and were reentering the thick bustle of the festival.

At his assent, Mor followed after them.

His attention returned to Eris.

"Azriel. Would you please join me?"

He was quiet for a moment, before, "Yes... what about them?" He nodded at the throng waiting for Eris.

The hand on him gripped hard and then Eris was winnowing them in a spark of heat and light.

..........................

They reappeared on the outskirts of the Forest House's northern side. A few hours walk from their last location.

The festival stands and crowds were sparser here. But in a small field of grass close to the northern entrance of the estate, a group of children were playing. Squeals of delight rang in Azriel's ear as the children ran around, tossing a ball between themselves. His shadows jumped at the shrill noises, darting out as if they'd investigate.

A pleasant, carefree atmosphere hung in the air.

"It's so... different here now," Azriel said carefully.

So different from Beron.

Eris hummed quietly in confirmation at Azriel's words. He wistfully watched the children play. "Rhysand once advised me that change is slow in our world and to prepare myself accordingly. I've personally found that it's only slow if you don't care to try hard enough."

Azriel's eyes narrowed at the slight jab to his brother.

Eris pulled his attention from the children and dropped his hand from where it still wrapped around Azriel's forearm. Azriel hadn't registered it was there but the cold it's absence left in its wake sent a shudder down his spine.

Leaves crunched under the heels of their boots as the pair walked leisurely into the festival.

"You think you care more than Rhys? Care more about your court?" The comment rubbed Azriel the wrong way, he couldn't let it go.

"I think Rhysand cares an awful lot about Velaris. I know he sacrificed greatly to keep them safe from Amarantha. But a High Lord's duty is to the well-being of everyone in his court, not just those he favors."

Azriel stopped in his tracks. "Don't speak about it as if you have any idea."

"Don't I?" Eris said, stopping with him. His brow quirked up on his face. "Aren't I one of the few that can now judge him?"

"You know nothing of the Night Court. Since when were you an advocate for the rights of Illyrians?"

"It's not the Illyrians about which I'm concerned."

Azriel's mouth dropped slightly, "The Court of Nightmares? You can't be serious. Keir has gotten to you."

Eris whooshed out a frustrated breath. "Keir is a pest. But he's not the only one that lives there. You forget that I have experience at Hewn City, not only now, but from before."

Rhys had snuck Cassian and Azriel into Hewn City earlier that morning. It was the first time Azriel had been anywhere but the steppes of Illyria.

His shadows writhed over his wings, something in the bowels of the mountain called to them.

The three of them stood a few hundred paces from the entrance to the Court of Nightmare's receiving hall.

She was in there. Mor.

She was in there with Keir getting introduced to her new captors, the Vanserras.

It was the reason for Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel's visit today. Mor would never admit it, that beautiful, proud female, but Azriel knew she was terrified for the encounter. He had practically begged on his knees for Rhys to take them there so they could keep an eye on her.

The grand obsidian doors that kept Mor from view creaked open suddenly, startlingly the three males.

They stood straight, imbuing confidence into their features. Despite being barely of age, the three of them refused to cower under the presence of Keir and the Autum High Lord.

Beron Vanserra exited first, Keir keeping at heels like an overexcited dog. Pathetic.

A few paces behind was Mor, eyes blazing as she kept her stare straight forward. And there he was.

Eris.

His cruel, cold beauty matched his reputation.

The second Azriel laid eyes on him, he felt a searing hatred for the male tear through his chest.

Azriel had hated before; hated his father, his half-brothers, the camp lords that shunned him. That hatred had been iced-cold, settling inside him like a stone. It followed him everywhere and pushed him to work harder, fight harder.

What he felt now, staring at the Autumn male before him, was a passion so bright it ached deep inside him. It set his blood on fire.

As if sensing Azriel's glare, the princeling's eyes slid over to him. Eris's mouth parted slightly, eyes widening, as he looked at him. The shadows often taken people by surprise.

Azriel sneered at him before tearing his eyes away to look at Mor. As she passed Azriel, she gave him a reassuring nod. She was alright.

He shot her a gentle smile in return.

He kept his attention on her as she walked away but had the odd sensation of another stare burning into him.

"I don't think you went there more than once," Azriel scoffed.

"I was enough."

"Enough for what?" Azriel grew exasperated.

"Enough to see that Mor was not the only young female desperate to escape that prison. She was just the only one that had a lifeline out of there. Rhysand condemns everyone in there for the crimes of their ancestors. For the crimes of Keir and his ilk. I know monsters lurk in every shadow corner of that gods-forsaken place but it's Rhysand's responsibility to not abandon those that need help. Who want something better."

That immediately shut Azriel up. He looked to Eris's face and saw a passionate fury on it, saw a look of someone who related intimately to about that which they spoke.

"Perhaps you're right." Damning words from Azriel's mouth. But today was not the day to delve into it, to process just how much a part Azriel played in keeping those people trapped within the confines of the Court of Nightmares.

A slight burst of guilt churned his stomach.

Eris observed him with an understanding he didn't deserve.

"Anyway," Eris shifted the topic onwards, "I am hungry." He made a show of looking around the booths around them as they walked. "What interests you?"

Azriel shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever doesn't have a line."

"Why would I want the food that doesn't have a line. Don't you think that would suggest it's not worth eating."

Azriel rolled his eyes and said, "Nothing can be that bad. Food is food."

"Very well. But if it is bad you still need to eat it all." Eris said and took off towards a food stand that stood patron-less.

As the two of them approached, the man standing behind the stand's counter eye's widened. A High Lord and an Illyrian shadowsinger marching towards you was likely an intimidating sight.

A basin of cooking oil bubbled away behind the stall, lit by a large fire kindled underneath. On a small table next to it two trays were filled; one with a rough flour mixture and one with beaten, uncooked eggs. A container full of wooden skewers sat next to it. On the ground, off to the side was an ice-box whose lid was firmly shut.

"My lord!" The stall's operator rose from his stool and gave Eris a sweeping bow.

He then merely jerked his head at Azriel, saying nothing. A look of contempt flashed across Eris's face at that.

Eris shook the look off his face and smiled stiltedly in greeting to the vendor. "We are looking for food, sir. What are you making here today?"

"Amazing," the vendor exclaimed, "I am the premier maker of fried Autumn frogs!"

Azriel watched Eris's brows shoot up his forehead.

That explained the lack of line.

Now that Azriel looked, he saw a crudely painted wooden sign depicting a frog skewered onto a stick. He should've been paying better attention on their approach.

"Wonderful." Even centuries of courtier skills couldn't stop the trepidation from slipping into Eris's voice.

"We-," Eris darted his eyes over to Azriel and he could see a dark humor glittering on the High Lord's face, "We will take three, please, one for me and two for my friend. He's very hungry."

Azriel stomped on the male's foot as soon as the vendor turned to start preparing their order.

"Food is food," the High Lord whispered at him, wincing in pain at his foot.

"I'm not even hungry," the Illyrian hissed back.

"Too bad, you are now." The High Lord chuckled at his own antics.

They stood there waiting for their food. Azriel scowled as he watched the frogs get dipped in the batter and then dunked into bubbling oil.

He was deeply regretting his earlier statement.

Eris slid a few silver marks onto the stall's table as Azriel grabbed two of the skewers from the vendor. He'd let Eris grab his own.

The pair strolled away, eyeing the food in their hands.

Azriel gulped before braving a small bite from the fried meat. He swallowed roughly.

"So?" Eris questioned.

Azriel contemplated for a moment before replying, "It's... not that bad." He went in for a second bite.

Following his approval, Eris raised his own skewer to his mouth and took a sizable bite.

The High Lord's face dropped at the taste that met him. His stare burned through Azriel with fury as he slowly chewed and swallowed the large bite that was in his mouth.

Azriel threw his head back roaring with laughter.

Eris chucked the food into a nearby trash bin, "That. was. disgusting," he seethed. "Why did you say it was good."

"You deserved it you ass." Azriel threw his skewers into the bin as well.

"It was sour!?"

Azriel continued to laugh.

Eris's eyes softened imperceptibly as he looked down at Azriel's smile. It sent a jolt through Azriel's system.

The two of them wandered on, appetite gone.

They stopped at many stalls along their walk. Eris thumbed through heavy, fur garments on display from a Winter Court seamstress. Azriel weighed and handled Raskian throwing knives brought from a merchant on the continent. The pair chuckled at a table that displayed men's silk undershorts, saying they were going to send a collection to Helion. Eris grimaced when Azriel reminded him his mother would be on the receiving end of the silk shorts, the male's amusement dissipated immediately. Azriel had to drag Eris away from buying a dozen handmade leather collars for his hounds. Eris did end up buying a thin silver chain bracelet from a local Autumn crasftwoman. It was made from a metal found only in this court, Eris told him, and the metal is the only known deterrent to the fire magic the flowed through the blood of Autumn court fae.

"It's incredibly hard to find, near impossible to forge into something wearable, and gods-damned expensive as a result. I can't explain to you how it works, just that it'll lessen the effect of fire magic on the wearer. The Mother balances all things she creates."

Eris pivoted towards him and in the blink of an eye clipped the bracelet around Azriel's own wrist. It sat right below where the scars on his hand faded into unmarred skin.

Azriel gaped at the High Lord.

"Well it's not like I need it," Eris said in response to his expression. "I am the Lord of fire. It's not exactly going to hurt me."

Fluttering ignited within Azriel's chest, it tickled along his ribs.

"Will it protect me from you?" He meant the question to sound coy but it came across strained.

Flames flickered in Eris's irises as he said, "Nothing could stop me from reaching you, Azriel."

Azriel's heart ponded painfully within him. "Your fire, you mean?"

"Yes, my fire." The flames in his eyes shuttered and he took a step away.

They strolled on.

It was impossible to miss the way passersby looked at Eris. Hunger. Longing.

It reminded Azriel that nightfall was rapidly approaching, only two hours away. The notion saddened him.

"How does tonight work. For you?" questioned Azriel, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Eris smirked in amusement at him, "When two people are attracted to one another, Azriel, they do something called-"

"You ass," he growled, cutting Eris off, "What's the ritual? I know Calanmai has a cave, Summer a beach cove, Winter... I don't know- a glacier? What's the landmark of choice for Autumn."

"A tree."

"A tree?"

"Yes. A tree. Don't give me that look, I didn't pick it. There's a large oak tree at the center of Autumn, I'm told it's been there since the court's creation. It's said to be the center, the beating heart, of all magic here. A load of nonsense but it's tradition at this point. I've seen it a few times. It's this massive thing, so large that a hundred people wouldn't be enough to line its entire perimeter. According to my father, it's hollow inside. I'm not sure how that works out. There's ancient wards around the oak that only allow the High Lord to approach or winnow inside the tree. And that- that is where the magic happens." Literally and figuratively.

"A magic sex tree?" Azriel said crudely.

"It's no worse than a magic sex cave. Certainly better than a glacier. Or snow bank. We should really find out what it is in Winter."

"Well I feel bad for whatever poor female gets chosen for you tonight. She has your company and a floor of dirt to look forward to." Bitterness laced Azriel's words and he hoped it sounded like contempt for the High Lord.

"Don't sound too jealous now, Azriel." The fire was back raging in the High Lord's eyes, "After all, no one said it had to be a female."

Azriel couldn't help it as his attention dropped down to Eris's full lips at the words. Dropped to look at the High Lord's muscled body hidden beneath his clothing. Azriel wondered what his skin tasted like, if it was sweet and woodsy like the cinnamon and sandalwood that wafted on his scent.

"Unfortunately," Azriel choked out, "I will not be here to see the lucky chosen person. Female or male."

"What?" Eris sounded frantic.

"I'm not staying. Mor and I are leaving before nightfall. Nesta and Cassian are the only ones remaining."

Eris stared at him, eyes wide, searching Azriel's face. "Are you serious? You're leaving? Why did you come?"

"You invited us. Mor was adamant on coming and I didn't want her to come alone, Nesta and Cassian aren't much for company." It was a lie, one that Azriel spouted again.

"Then where is your precious Morrigan?" Eris made a show of looking around them.

"I'm here if she needs me."

"You really came here only for her?" Devastation etched across Eris's face. Azriel refused to read into the expression but his shadows were jumping around him, slithering out as if they wanted to wipe that look off the High Lord's face.

"Why do you care anyway? What's it to you if I stay and find some stranger to fuck in the woods and add a little magic to your Great Rite. It doesn't interest me." The words were a barrier to hide the war raging inside Azriel; to hide the feelings ripping away inside of him desperate to get out.

Eris looked away from him and stared up into the vibrant canopy of leaves above them. The setting sun shone down through the branches, making his fair skin glow. He seemed to be counting every leaf on the oak that towered over them. As Eris got lost in the scenery above them, Azriel took a moment to map out every detail of his face.

Eventually Eris said, voice controlled, "You're right, I don't care. I'll be preoccupied with someone else anyway."

Eris glared at him, staring deep into his soul, as if he could see the animal that went wild inside of Azriel at his words.

They walked for an hour longer, finally approaching the south entrance again. Their conversation was noticeably more stilted.

The disgust from the fried frogs had abated but Azriel found he was no longer hungry for an entirely different reason.

The sun was cresting the horizon. Soon it would set completely and the Great Rite would begin. He could feel the magic thrumming in the air, ready to break free from the confines restricting it.

He looked at Eris next to him. The High Lord looked agitated, twitchy. The magic must be beating away at him as the Rite's beginning drew nearer.

Now that he had his gaze on him, Azriel couldn't look away. There was a magnet inside of him drawing him closer as if its match was inside the High Lord. He understood now why people went mad during Great Rites, this heady sensation made him want to disregard all expectations and let loose. Azriel wanted to lean in and taste the sweat beading up on Eris's skin.

Unknowingly, Azriel had taken a few steps closer to Eris who darted his attention over to him. He wanted to keep those amber eyes on him- didn't want anyone else to come in between them. He wanted to feel Eris's burning palms running along the skin under his jacket. Wanted to feel those lips against his neck, sucking marks for everyone to see.

Azriel needed him. He couldn't let anyone else have him- not tonight.

He was going to tell him as such, "I-"

"Azriel!"

The call from Mor broke through the haze Azriel was lost in.

"What? Azriel, what?" Eris grabbed him by his jacket bringing his attention towards the High Lord again.

Azriel wanted to step into the fire inside of Eris's eyes and burn.

"Azriel" Mor's hand clamped down on his shoulder as she said his name a second time.

He turned to look at her.

"It's nearly nightfall, we should go. I'm feeling pretty drained, do you think you can winnow both of us back? I don't think I can make it the entire way?" she looked up at him expectantly.

He needed to go. He couldn't leave her here alone. He looked back at Eris.

The High Lord looked like he was seconds from dropping to his knees to beg Azriel to stay. The hand holding his jacket twisted tighter.

"What were you going to say, Azriel?" Eris sounded manic.

"I need to go, Eris"

"Yes. Okay." He looked crestfallen. His hand still gripped Azriel's jacket.

"You need to let go."

The High Lord actually shook his head no in response to that.

"Of the jacket. You need to let go of my jacket." Azriel felt like his heart was ripping out of his chest. Desire was swallowing him whole.

He at last dropped his hand away.

Azriel spun on his heels, grabbed Mor, and winnowed away without glancing back.

.…........................

Azriel bid Mor goodnight in the dimly lit foyer of the River House and dazedly made his way up to his room on the second floor of the home. Dropping onto the foot of his bed, he propped his elbows on his knees, stuffed the heels of his hands into his eyes and pressed so hard that a constellation of lights popped into his vision.

He needed to get up. He needed to fly. He needed to lay down. He needed to get drunk. He needed to go to sleep. He needed to scream until there was nothing left in him. He needed to curl up and cry.

There was an animal inside of him clawing to get out, ripping at his chest so hard he swore he could feel it tearing underneath his ribs.

What was wrong with him?

After a few minutes there was a knock on his door and Azriel jolted up from the hunched position he'd been in.

Peering in through the cracked doorway was Mor. When she met his gaze, she gently swung the door open the rest of the way. It was silent for a moment as she looked over him as he remained sitting on the foot of the bed.

"You should go back", Mor whispered delicately into the depth of the room.

Azriel's brows furrowed. He just stared at her, tried to read her expression. There was nothing but quiet contemplation on her beautiful face.

"You should go back", she repeated, simply. Mor's assessing gaze tore into him. He could feel the truth she wielded cutting through him as they looked at one another.

Azriel said nothing. Couldn't choke out the words and only shook his head.

Mor at last entered the room fully and crossed over to where he remained sitting.

She gently grasped his face between both of her hands and angled him up to look at her. Her fingers were delicate and soft against his skin as her thumbs stroked short arcs soothingly against his cheeks. There was a time that he would've killed for a touch like this from her.

Now all Azriel could think about is what the same touch would feel like under wider, stronger, warmer palms. If there were fiery amber eyes looking back at him instead of warm brown ones.

His eyes pricked at the thought and he attempted to duck out of Mor's grip, cowering at the weight of everything he felt.

"You're the one who asked me to leave with you. Why should I go back," he asked her, staring at the tile underneath her shoes.

"I wanted you to have a few moments alone, away from the Rite's magic so you could clear your head and think without it influencing you."

His shook his head again, "I don't want to go back."

"Yes you do. You know you do."

"I don't want to want to go back." He looked back up at her.

"You don't need to be afraid of it anymore, Azriel. We love you, every part of you. No matter what you choose." This was the Morrigan of Truth who spoke to him now. The fae who saw every facet of the world around her with uncharacteristic clarity.

She didn't elaborate before heading back out of Azriel's room and down the hall. She left his door open.

Azriel sat there. He counted to a hundred before standing up and hurtling out the door and down the stairs. He rushed out into the front courtyard, made his way to the ward boundaries and winnowed away in a swirl of shadows.

.…........................

The hum of a crowd didn't meet him this time as his feet touched down in the Autumn court for the second time that day. The buzzing of insects and the rustling of wind blowing through leaves were the only sounds that kept him company.

He didn't recognize the land where his pesky shadows deposited him. He intended to go back to the same spot he originally left.

He felt, more than he heard, someone winnow into existence behind him.

Azriel drew his blade and spun around, expecting to find an attacker awaiting him.

It was Eris.

His hand holding the knife went limp and dropped down in shock.

"How did you find me so quickly?" he asked.

"I could find you anywhere you go, Azriel."

His name was butter in the High Lord's mouth. He wanted to grab Eris and taste the tongue that said his name like that.

"You came back." Eris's pupils were blown wide as he looked Azriel up and down. He'd become a creature of the Rite, the power making him more monster than male.

Azriel's blood rushed in his ears in response.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"I need to hear you say it." The male clawed back control to ask that question. To hear Azriel give his consent.

Azriel let him stew in silence, driving Eris mad. He was nervous to let the words out of his mouth.

Growing impatient, Eris said, "Azriel."

"I want you... Eris. I want this. I want you."

With a groan at his words, Eris rushed to Azriel and slammed his lips into his.

The first press of Eris's lips against his own was like a lightning strike. It made Azriel's skin burst to life with the power of it.

Azriel slid his hands into the silky red strands of the male and held him close. He angled the male's head to the side to deepen the glide of their lips along one another.

Eris's hands, which had gripped his waist, moved down underneath Azriel's jacket to brush along the skin of his lower back. His hands burned a path along Azriel's skin, just how he imagined they would. At the sensation, Azriel let out a small groan.

Eris used the opportunity to slide his tongue into Azriel's mouth. His tongue stroked along Azriel's own, sending a shiver of desire down his spine.

The taste of Eris was better than he ever expected; it made him feel high. He barely drew a breath, not wanting to part from Eris's mouth for more than a second. His taste was more gratifying than air.

Azriel pressed his front into Eris until they were fully flush, his hardness pressing into the other male's own.

"Azriel, fuck," Eris backed away for a moment to murmur on his lips. "I need- I need-," he didn't finish that thought before leaning in to give more sucking kisses to Azriel's bottom lip.

A broken groan escaped Azriel as the High Lord bit down on his lower lip, his cock growing harder in his pants.

Eris pulled off him again and grabbed Azriel's face between his hands to keep him still. That didn't stop Azriel from chasing his lips for more.

"Have you been with a male before?" Eris asked him.

"I'm 545 years old, Eris, of course I've fucked males."

Eris growled at the statement, eyes blazing. He grabbed Azriel's ass and dragged him back in for a few moments.

Panting to catch his breath, Eris said, "That's not what I mean." He squeezed his ass for emphasis.

Oh.

No, he hadn't. Not that it didn't appeal to him but he could never give someone control of him like that. But looking at Eris, into the face of the male he'd grown to know so well the past year, Azriel didn't feel the same trepidation that tended to hold him back. Azriel realized that he actually trusted Eris. He wondered when that happened.

"I want to." With you, only with you. He hoped his eyes conveyed the truth he wouldn't speak.

Eris leaned in and gave Azriel a gentle kiss before winnowing them away.

They reappeared inside the hollow of a massive tree. It must've been the oak Eris spoke about before.

It smelled mossy and the air was damp inside the trunk. As Azriel predicated, only dirt lined the floor.

Eris conjured a couple faelights that rose above them and sent a gentle glow cascading down upon the pair.

There was a beat thrumming in the air. It pounded so loud through Azriel that he felt his heart skip to match its beat. The sound made his head swim with a heady sensation.

He saw Eris in front of him similarly affected.

His gaze dropped to see tenting at the front of Eris's pants. His wings twitched with the arousal that flooded him in response. He needed him. Now.

Always knowing what was on Azriel's mind, Eris hooked a finger through one of Azriel's belt loops and dragged him back toward him.

Instead of his mouth, this time Eris ran his lips down Azriel's throat. They were delicate kisses that sent goosebumps over Azriel's arm. The male seemed to be savoring the pounding of Azriel's pulse beneath him. When he reached the soft hollow between his neck and shoulder, Eris sucked hard.

Azriel's knees buckled beneath him. Only Eris's strong arms supporting him kept Azriel up as the High Lord laid claim to the sensitive spot.

Azriel shoved at the coat draped around Eris's shoulders. The maroon garment thudded to the dirt floor with success.

Once that was gone, Azriel slid his hands under Eris's silk white shirt and traced along his back and chest. Though Eris was leaner than him, shapely muscle lay underneath his clothes. He had been general of Autumn for close to five centuries, the training required for that now showed in the strong chest and abdomen that Azriel's fingers ghosted down.

Eris moved on to sucking a matching mark on the other side of his neck. Azriel's head fell to the side as he let out a low, deep whine at the sensation.

"You taste so good," the High Lord whispered into his skin.

Azriel rolled his hips against Eris's in a desperate search for friction. Eris snapped his fingers and the entirety of both the males' clothes disappeared.

A wobbling sound left his mouth as he took in the sight of the naked male against him. Eris's muscled, pale chest and long lean legs made his mouth water. He wanted to taste every inch of him. He pushed Eris to the ground and did just that.

Azriel nipped and sucked down the male's chest, leaving marks and savoring the taste of his skin. He paused when he reached Eris's cock. Where Azriel was long, Eris was thick.

He bent down aiming to take him in his mouth when he was stopped.

"No." Eris's chest was heaving. "I can't- don't want to finish yet. If you take me in your mouth, this'll be over far too quick."

Azriel smirked, leaning down to lick a long stripe up the underside of him anyway before leaning back on his knees.

Eris followed him up and pushed him down onto his back. The male settled between Azriel's legs and looked down at him.

"Is this okay for your wings?"

Azriel never let his wings get trapped like this. In his centuries of taking lovers, would only ever be on top. But the sight of Eris above him made his cock twitch and blood heat, and Azriel knew it was alright.

"It's fine."

Spurred on by his confirmation, Eris bent down and took Azriel in his mouth without preamble.

Azriel shouted a groan at the warm sensation of Eris's mouth around him. He worked Azriel slowly, tongue dragging along him. Eris was looking at him, watching his every reaction with blazing eyes.

After a minute, Azriel started to feel a tightening in his lower stomach. He was already so close.

Just then, Eris's hand that rested on his thigh, slid over to press into the area beneath Azriel's balls. Questioning eyes looked to him and Azriel nodded his approval.

A bottle of oil appeared out of thin air into Eris's other hand and Azriel felt a zap of cleaning magic rush through him. Convenient.

Eris pulled away to pour oil onto the fingers of his right hand. After slicking them up, Eris grabbed one of Azriel's thighs and pushed it up out of the way. He then ducked down and took Azriel in his mouth again while gently pressing the tip of his pointer finger against Azriel's hole.

The Illyrian let out a choppy moan and the High Lord slowly pressed his entire, long finger into him. It was a weird sensation. Neither pleasant or unpleasant, just new. Eris's mouth continued to move up and down him, keeping the pleasure stable. After a few seconds Eris moved the finger within him, steadily withdrawing and pushing back in.

Azriel relaxed around the finger after a few moments and felt Eris's middle finger push in to join it. He hissed at the slight burning sensation that went with it. The High Lord shot him an apologetic look.

Both fingers pressed in all the way together and repeated the same cycle of moving slowly to loosen Azriel up. The only noises were the sounds of Eris's mouth on his cock, the slide of the fingers inside him, and the gentle moans coming from his mouth. As Azriel once again relaxed around the fingers, Eris pulled off him.

He gave Azriel a wicked smirk before curling his fingers up and brushing along a spot that he hadn't yet touched. Azriel's legs spasmed at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him.

"Gods, what was that." he moaned out.

"You must not have been pleasuring those male's very well if you don't know what that is, Azriel."

Eris started thrusting his two fingers harder inside of him, keeping steady pressure on the spot.

Azriel threw his head back, moaning loudly.

Eris pushed a third slicked finger in. The burning only heightened his pleasure this time.

Azriel drew his second leg up as Eris rammed his three fingers into him, no longer taking Azriel in his mouth. He didn't need it. The High Lord's fingers alone felt amazing.

Azriel's hole eased around the three fingers and was taking a fourth appendage in no time. He felt stretched so wide. The amount of fingers Eris had stuffed into him allowed him to brush roughly against that spot every time. Knees drawn up, Azriel's eyes rolled back into his head as he laid there getting fingered by the High Lord. His hands clenched at the ground above his head.

The drums of the Great Rite thrummed around them. The sound clanged in Azriel's ears. The closer he got to finishing, the louder they grew. They reached a deafening crescendo before Eris's movements came to a stop inside of him.

Azriel groaned out in protest. He was about to cum from Eris's fingers alone. His hips thrusted uselessly as he tried to get him moving again

Eris leaned down and sucked Azriel's lips into a kiss. "You're not cumming until you're on my cock, you big bat." He slipped his fingers out of Azriel.

Eris sat back and started slicking his cock up with oil.

"I want you to start off riding me," he said, "that way I know you're in control in the start. The magic is getting to me, I don't know how much longer I can keep it contained and I don't want to hurt you."

The sentiment thrummed in Azriel's chest.

He swung a leg over the male and settled up against his chest. Eris was sat up, a hand on the ground behind him to prop himself. The other was still stroking his cock.

Since the males were the same height standing, Azriel rose over him a bit while sitting in his lap. He leaned forward, unable to resist the temptation of kissing Eris.

When he pulled back, Eris was giving him a look that knocked the wind out of him. There was a well of desire and admiration in his eyes. No one had ever looked at Azriel with such raw longing before.

He felt Eris line himself up behind him. The head pressed against him and Azriel rocked his hips back slightly. He had to press hard to get the tip to pop in and when he did, he released a long whine at the burn.

Azriel gripped the High Lord's shoulders tightly. His features twisted at the discomfort and he stayed motionless for a while. With one hand still holding himself, Eris raised the other to rub along Azriel's lower back.

Eris tilted his chin up and recaptured Azriel's lips. It proved a welcome distraction and shortly Azriel was rocking his hips again, taking more of Eris's cock in him.

The hand Eris had on his lower back was gently pushing him down on every rock, increasing the pace at which Azriel took him. It was the only sign of desperation from the High Lord.

Once Eris was far enough inside him that he didn't need to guide his cock in anymore, his hand reached around Azriel's front to press a thumb against the skin between Azriel's balls and hole.

The jolt that shot through Azriel was similar to the one from the spot inside him. With a renewed desired, Azriel pushed down into the press of Eris's thumb. As his hips chased the pleasure of the pressure, Azriel was surprised to find himself meet the jut of Eris's hips below him. He had taken him to the hilt.

He leaned into Eris's neck and moaned loudly at the feeling of the male's cock fully enclosed within him.

"Fuck. So good Azriel. You're so good."

Azriel was stretched so wide on the base of Eris's thick cock. He felt the tip deep within his stomach.

In that moment, Azriel was completely owned by the High Lord.

He raised his hips up a few inches and dropped back down. Eris let out a rasping groan and tightened his arms around Azriel.

Azriel's shadows wrapped around the pair as he began to ride Eris in earnest. Eris's cock scrapped deliciously along that spot inside of him and Azriel rode him hard, addicted to the feeling.

His full, leaking cock bounced forgotten beneath their stomachs.

"You're riding me so good, Azriel. You feel fucking amazing." Eris groaned into his ear.

The praise made Azriel's skin flush. He wanted to erase every fae from Eris's memory. Make him forget anyone that wasn't him.

He bounced mindlessly on Eris's length. Content to stay like that, wringing the helpless moans from the male's mouth.

But the pressure on his thighs grew to be too much and Azriel still needed it harder. He couldn't ride Eris's cock hard or fast enough to get what he wanted.

"Eris," he moaned deeply. "More. I want more."

"Gods, Azriel. Anything. I'll give you anything you want."

"Fuck me, please."

Without pulling out, Eris flipped him onto his back, showing care for his wings. He hooked both of Azriel's legs over his arms and placed his hands onto the dirt floor in the gap between Azriel's waist and wings. He then started pounding so hard into Azriel that the Illyrian saw stars.

The feeling of the full length of Eris's thick cock pistoning in and out him rendered Azriel speechless. All he could do was grip Eris's back and moan into the air in the hollow of the tree.

The beat of the Great Rite's drums resumed, matching the rhythm at which Eris fucked in to him. The slap of their pelvises reverberated in the enclosed space.

Eris dropped his legs and lowered himself on to his forearms by Azriel's head. The shallower angle made him grind furiously against that spot along Azriel's walls. Eris nipped at his lower lip, panting into his mouth.

"You're so gods damn perfect Azriel."

Azriel moaned at the words.

The drums raced around them.

"So. fucking. beautiful." Each word from Eris was interrupted by a brutally deep thrust.

"I wish I could fuck you all night but I'm so close," the High Lord continued on.

Azriel nodded in agreement, wrapping his legs tight around Eris's hips. He didn't want the male pulling too far away from him, not now. He hole was squeezing sporadically around Eris's length.

"I-" Azriel couldn't get anything out, too busy moaning.

The drumming was reaching a crescendo again. It rocked against Azriel's skin.

"What is it." Eris brushed kisses along Azriel's jaw as he fucked him.

The beat around them was deafening.

"I feel so good, Eris-" Azriel groaned out the male's name.

It must've been from witnessing the delirium of Azriel's pleasure that he caused but at his words, Eris shouted out a long surprised groan. Azriel felt the male's cock twitching inside of him and his thrusts stuttered to quick, deep jabs. Heat bloomed within Azriel's stomach from the High Lord cumming.

At the sensation of the pulsing warmth of Eris's cum inside him, Azriel felt his own cock start to shoot. He grabbed himself moaning as his strokes heightened his finish.

As Azriel plummeted down into his orgasm, the drums of the Rite's magic pulsed through him. The beat matching the rhythm of his heart hammering inside him. Azriel's legs tightened around Eris as they both rose and fell through the waves of their pleasure, creating their own rhythm that sang with the magic of the night.

Fingers still dug tightly into the pale muscled back above him, Azriel's release came to an end. His legs dropped and relaxed to the ground as all his strength flooded away. He felt Eris's cock give one final kick inside him before he too finished and relaxed fully down onto Azriel's front.

The thrum of the magic in the air came to a stop, the sounds of the woods rushing in to fill the silence left by the drum's departure.

They laid there, Azriel wasn't sure how long, catching their breath. He closed his eyes, laid his head back, and enjoyed the warmth of Eris pressed against him.

The pressure on his wings soon became too much and he shifted, pushing slightly at Eris's hips.

With a groan, the male on top of him pushed up onto him arms, staring down between them as he pulled out. Azriel hissed at the sensation.

"M'sorry," Eris murmured, rubbing a hand down Azriel's thigh soothingly.

Eris Vanserra was rubbing his thigh.

Hundreds of fae showed up tonight with the hopes they'd be the lucky ones selected to sleep with the High Lord. And here Azriel was, in the middle of some historic magical tree, spend dripping out of him, getting his thigh rubbed by Cauldron-damned Eris Vanserra.

It was completely fucking surreal.

Azriel giggled. He didn't think he'd ever giggled in his life.

He felt drunk on the atmosphere. Maybe this was an after-effect of the magic's let-down; after the high of Rite abated you were left feeling delirious.

Eris took one look at him and started laughing too. They were definitely delirious.

Leaning his weight forward into his forearms again, Eris rested his forehead against Azriel's collarbone as laughter kept rocking his frame. Azriel buried his face in the silky red hair below him, chuckling into it.

With deep breaths, they both collected themselves.

Eris rose up onto his knees and glanced down between Azriel's legs.

"Fuck," Eris groaned, throwing his head back," You need to close your legs or I'm going to be ready for round two in a few seconds."

Azriel burst into laughter again, kicking Eris away from him.

"Gods," Eris moaned as he clambered to his feet. He reached a hand out for Azriel who took it and forced Eris to do most of the work pulling him up.

Azriel wrapped his arms around Eris's hips, the other male grabbing his bicep and throwing his second arm around Azriel's neck.

Silence weighed down on them as they stood facing each other. Eris's thumb left a path of heat in the arcs it swiped along Azriel's bicep. His other hand played in the short cropped hair at the base of Azriel's head.

With the high of the night seeping from his system and Eris's hands tracing warm paths along his skin, Azriel felt his eyes start to droop.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Eris whispered, lips only mere inches away from Azriel's own. Anything louder would've felt like a shout in the calm atmosphere around them.

Azriel nodded in assent, he wasn't sure any words would make it out of him.

He leaned forward capturing Eris's lips in a delicate kiss. They stayed like that, mouths moving slowly together, until Eris pulled again with one last nip to Azriel's lower lip.

"C'mon," he murmured, backing away from Azriel. With a snap of his fingers, Eris magicked both of their clothes back on.

Azriel walked up to press into Eris's front again and raised his hands to straighten the male's cloak which skewed haphazardly on his shoulders.

"Magic is not a precise science," Eris justified.

Mustering up the energy to speak, he replied, "You're such an ass."

Cackling, Eris winnowed them away in a crack of flames and light.

...........................................

The large rustic living room of Eris's manor was blessedly cool.

Warmth prickled along Azriel's skin, it felt like the sun was beaming down on him. He'd lived most of his life at a temperature that matched the night-time air on a crisp autumn night. This was a welcome change but an odd adjustment.

Azriel had a feeling the fire lord with him had something to do with it.

His eyes traced the wooden beams that led to the top of the room's vaulted ceilings as Eris moved around the kitchen in the distance.

Shuffling alerted Azriel to his entrance back into the living room.

He eagerly accepted the tall glass of water Eris handed to him and chugged it in one go, spilling a good portion of it down his chin.

"Brute"

Azriel glared at him through the glass.

"Didn't stop you from fucking me."

Eris's eyes darkened at the words, the right side of his face was lit up from the moonlight pouring in through the sizable windows that framed the woods outside. The High Lord only shrugged, grinning wildly.

His own grin grew in response. This was probably the most he'd smiled in one day. There was an ache in his cheeks from his overuse of the action; mindlessly he rubbed at the sore spots.

"Get used to it," Eris said.

Azriel didn't know if he meant the fucking or the smiling. Both would be fine, he figured.

They stumbled upstairs, giggling like a pair of drunk younglings every time Azriel's wings caught on the stairs. He was usually much better about keeping them raised but his body felt like it'd been sitting in the birchin for an hour- every muscle loose and tired.

Eris's bedroom was large and its foundation was laid by the same rich, dark wood that Azriel had loved in the kitchen. On the opposite side of the bedroom's entryway was a wall of windows and a glass door that led out to a partially enclosed terrace.

In the moonlight, Azriel vaguely deciphered a few plush couches and ottomans clustered together out there. They were enclosed by concrete columns that lined the terrace's perimeter. Enough space was between each column that, if Azriel wished, he could climb the railing and sail out over the autumnal canopy on his wings.

"You look like you're plotting your escape." Eris's sharp gaze tracked Azriel's own. He'd always been able to read him like book much to Azriel's chagrin.

"A good fighter always has an exit strategy."

A flash of sadness crossed Eris's expression at his words. There- and then gone- before Azriel could truly register it.

Reality began crashing in around him, settling a heavy weight on his chest.

To distract himself, he stepped onwards into the room and continued his assessment of the space. To the right was a massive fireplace framed by a large picture window on either side. Azriel saw the glow of faelights at the Forest House in the distance. There were two leather armchairs placed in front of the fireplace.

The left of the room held a palatial bed, wide enough to comfortably fit two winged fae if desired.

It was a wonderful space. If Azriel had ever desired to design his own, it likely would've looked a lot like this. It was nothing akin to Feyre and Rhy's palatial, overly ornate estate, or the soulless sandstone interiors of the House of Wind. Eris's room- his house- was warm and inviting, it beckoned Azriel in like a moth to a flame.

Eris, having followed Azriel into the room, continued on, "There are stairs up to the roof... if you wanted to know other escape options. It'd probably be easier to take off and land there."

Azriel turned to face the male behind him and asked, "Why do you have stairs to your roof?" Odd indeed for a male who could never and would ever be able to fly himself.

"Why not?" Eris wouldn't meet his eyes then.

But Azriel knew. Deep down he knew, had always known.

The roof. The two armchairs in front of the fire place. The dining chairs carved for wings. The male's burning gaze that was able to melt away centuries of ice that coated the outside of Azriel's soul.

He knew what it all meant, used to be terrified of it. Yesterday afternoon he feared it so much he could hardly breath.

He wasn't scared anymore.

And Eris knew too. Had likely known far longer than Azriel- he was always so clever.

Eris had probably figured it out forever ago and let it rot away inside of him. Trapped in his mind, tormenting him like the scars from his father that would never mar his skin.

"Centuries, Azriel," Eris muttered. It was as if the fire-blooded male in front of him, who still would not look at Azriel, could read every thought that ran through his mind. Could he?

Silence settled around them. Eris's attention focused on the dew fogged window next to them. He looked fixedly at the Forest House lights gleaming in the distance.

"I've wanted you- this- for centuries," Eris ground out. The truth, at last.

"I have known for centuries." Each word out of Eris's mouth sounded pained.

Azriel walked up to the male, reached out a scarred hand to gently grab his chin and turned his face towards him.

He traced every inch of Eris's face with his thumb. The strong jaw that framed everything. The sharp cut of the cupid's bow on his full lips. The long, straight bridge of his nose. The flushed cheeks that burned under Azriel's touch. The constellation of freckles that dotted his porcelain skin. The permanent crease between his brows, the only sign of mortality on his beautiful, immortal face.

He looked nothing like Azriel but looking upon him was like gazing into a mirror.

"All this time? Everything?" Azriel whispered. He couldn't find it in himself to elaborate, desperately hoped that Eris would once again understand what he meant.

"Everything. Always. It was always you." Eris's brows cut together, a look of sorrow and desperation overtaking the face under Azriel's thumb.

A small whimper escaped Azriel's lips but he clamped down on it.

The small sound must've been enough for Eris because it seemed a dam broke inside of him with the way his next words poured out.

"From the first moment I saw you at Hewn City, I knew Azriel. I could feel it so deep in my bones that it ached. But the engagement to Mor had already been finalized and I had no clue what to do. I knew you loved her, saw how you looked at her. I felt sick. My mate-"

Another whimper broke from Azriel's lips at the word. Eris spoke it with such finality and confidence.

At its utterance, a key clicked into place deep inside Azriel's chest and opened a truth that he had known all along.

"My mate," Eris continued "was in love with the female I was set to marry. Quickly, I grew to realize Mor's desperation for freedom, the truth about herself she kept hidden away. I couldn't help her. Azriel, you have to believe me. I tried. But, I had so little power to fix the situation. Leaving her there- in the woods, leaving her to her freedom, it was the best I could do. I thought she would understand. I thought you would underst-" Eris's voice cracked on the last word and he ducked his head down out of Azriel's hands to hide it from view.

Composing himself with a deep breath, Eris raised his head and continued on.

"I never imagined my actions would lead to you hating me for centuries. I thought I'd have a chance to explain. I thought you- Mor- Rhysand- anybody- I thought somebody would understand that if I helped her, she would have become a ward of my court. Trapped there. Keir knew; that's why he left her in my woods. Eventually I realized it was for the better- you hating me. I was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. I still had no power against my father and if he ever suspected, ever got a whiff, of what you were to me, he would have tried to kill you. He most certainly would have killed me. And it all would have been for nothing. I knew I did the right thing after he executed Jesminda. She was harmless, so innocent, a member of his own court, and he still killed her for the crime of being a lesser fae in love with my brother. It was then that I decided to never do anything but make you hate me. I wanted you as far away from me as possible. I could handle the torture my father inflicted upon me but the one thing I'd never be able to bare was him hurting you. Not you. Never you."

Eris's voice shook as silent tears cut across his cheeks. Azriel wondered how he could still be so beautiful while he cried.

"You were this precious thing that the Mother had blessed me with and the only thing that mattered to me was keeping you safe. And the only way I could do that was by keeping you far away from me and the reaches of Beron. Then everything with Amarantha happened. Forty-nine years under there and Azriel, you were the only thing that got me through it. Knowing you were safe, wherever you were, and that you were out there. I made a vow to myself that if I lived through the ordeal, if I ever managed to be free, I'd fix my wrongs. I didn't want to die knowing you still hated me. I wanted to see you, at least once, look upon me with something other than loathing. But then I got addicted to it- addicted to you not hating me anymore. Addicted to being with you, speaking to you, learning about you, playing gods damned chess with you. I crave it more than I crave my next breath. Five hundred years of torment and the past year has made every second worth it. I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

Azriel's vision blurred from the tears flooding in his eyes, mind whirring as he tried to process the weight of Eris's confessions. No words came to him. Instead, he leaned forward into Eris's shoulder and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed, releasing centuries worth of sadness and pain and loneliness that had built up inside him. He found a comfort in the crook of Eris's neck that he'd felt never anywhere else before.

It was as if his soul knew he'd met his mate all those years ago in the depths of Hewn City and had been decaying inside him ever since, growing sick at the distance that separated it from its other half. As Azriel leaned into the warmth of Eris, he felt a small part of his frozen, sad soul started to heal.

Eris said nothing, stroking a thumb across the back of Azriel's neck. He leaned more heavily into the sturdy support of Eris's body with each soothing swipe.

"Let's go to bed," Eris whispered into his ear once the sobs stopped racking Azriel's body and his choppy breathing evened out.

There'd be more time to talk tomorrow. The darkness of the night felt too fragile for the words they would need to share, the decisions that needed to be made.

Eris turned his head and gently brushed his lips across Azriel's. They fell in to one another, deepening the kiss before pulling away to catch their breath.

Eris ran the hand that was on the back of his neck down his arm, fingers ghosting across the sleeve of the dark green jacket Azriel wore. At the cuff, he danced along the black sewn embellishments before finally trailing down to tangle his fingers with Azriel's.

Wordlessly, he pulled him towards the bed.

When they got to the foot of it, Eris raised his hands up and began unclasping the silver buttons that held Azriel's jacket closed. He then reached around his back and unbuttoned the ones that ran from the bottom hem to the base of his wings.

"I really do like this jacket on you," Eris whispered into the depth of the silence.

"I knew you would," Azriel murmured back.

He said nothing about the disbelief that twinkled in Eris's eyes. He knew Azriel too well.

Kicking off his shoes and shucking down the tight black trousers he wore, Azriel rounded the bed to the right side closest to the wall of windows. Behind him, he heard Eris also undressing.

Azriel lifted back the heavy duvet and stretched out on his stomach, hoping to give his wings some reprieve from the pressure they'd endured that night. The cool cotton sheets tempered the burning he felt inside of him.

Eris climbed in next to him and laid on his back.

Turning to face the High Lord, his High Lord, he reached out a hand to grasp the wrist that lay closest to him and stroked the delicate skin there.

At the contact, Eris slid over underneath Azriel's outstretched wing, moving closer to him as their gaze locked.

Fire blazed deep inside his amber eyes. It felt like an old friend; one that had scarred him long ago but would never again.

They probably should've bathed, should've eaten something, should've talked more. But the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon flooded Azriel's senses, seeping the energy from his body. All he could do was watch the fire dance in the eyes next to him and think about how Eris smelled like a long-lost nostalgia that he'd finally found.

For the first time, sleep welcomed Azriel with open arms and he felt at peace.

[philtstone]

title: check yes, juliet

Summary:

It doesn't matter that Juliet is a freshly-minted, top-of-her-class field agent (alright, so she hasn't actually been in the field yet) or one of the few women working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's cutting edge check fraud department (just last week, their 20-year-old coffee maker broke and they ran out of number two pencils to mark up their overhead projector notes with): every time her mother calls, all she does is lament that her beautiful, intelligent daughter isn't meeting any eligible bachelors.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Maryanne sighs eventually. “All O’Hara women fall for liars, Julie. It’s our curse.”

Juliet has to wonder if she didn't scoff at her mother's claim a little bit too soon.

my brother & i had the earth shattering realization a month ago that the plot of "catch me if you can" (2002) is almost to a tee just a mildly alternate psych timeline and that thought has lived in my head rent free to such an insane degree that eventually 14 thousand words poured out of me in au fic form. im posting it so as many other people as possible can see the vision. and also because im sure theres one person other than me who revels in early seasons shawnjuliet's frankly insane levels of chemistry, lol. enjoy!

READ FULL FIC ON AO3

Excerpt:

“Your average bounced check would be routed to the bank it originates from, so you’d only really have a few days in one place before you were discovered. This guy’s been filing off the routing numbers, changing ‘em somehow – so cleanly and neatly that it’ll take a real sharp eye to notice. It’s all about the branch you’re cashing it in. A check cashed in at Chase Manhattan with the one changed to ten’s gonna bounce halfway around the country before anyone figures out it’s rotten, and by that point this asshole is long gone. The numbers go East, Central, West – you see how they cover 0-60, 70-80, and of course they require a special kind of ink to be recognized as real checks, which you’d all know if you’d read the report I circulated …”

Juliet doesn’t notice the full cup of orange juice in front of her until it’s too late. 

Her head’s still full of Carlton’s two hour long briefing this morning, during which she learned more about check fraud than she’d have ever thought a single person could in one lifespan. Certainly not Juliet, who’d originally studied literature at Florida State. Then again, back then she’d have never expected to end up an FBI agent, either.

Then there’s the wired, tense feeling in her gut that probably won’t go away ‘til this sting is over and they bring in the pathetic local guy Carlton’s been tracking for the last week. His MO is pretty girls in pastel dresses, which made Juliet the right man – woman – for the job. At least maybe doing this’ll help the guys in the office take her seriously as a field agent. And, well … she does love a nice peachy pink cardigan. The color goes well with her complexion.

“This idiot’s no real con man, he’s just a clown who can’t be bothered to work an honest job. Child’s play compared to the real thing. ” Carlton tends to pause here, angry that he’s got to acknowledge it like that – the real thin g. “ You know what they’ve been calling him in the papers these days?”  

Him . Always him. They don’t have a name on the subject yet, despite over a million cashed in fraudulent checks. Juliet hums and nods so her partner feels acknowledged. 

“ The skywayman . Pathetic. Like he’s some magician or something, instead of a two-bit liar who thinks he’s smarter than me. ”

“This isn’t personal, Carlton ,” Juliet says tiredly. “ It’s not like he knows who you are to be deliberately toying with you.”  

“Oh yes he is. I know he is. I know him .”

Her hands aren’t quite shaking, because that would be stupid; this guy, their local guy, shouldn’t have a gun on him, and if he does he’s not the type to shoot a woman. Juliet focuses on the paper in front of her and tucks a lock of her hair behind one ear. A window of ten minutes – that’s what Carlton said. Unlike Carlton’s unsub nemesis, they know plenty about this one. He’ll come in, dressed like the middle-aged schlub he is, loose tie probably, gray slacks, thinning hair. He’ll notice her, buy her a soda she’ll accept with a faulty check and then pick her pocket for the cash. The string of pearls at her neck makes her a sweet college girl whose parents have money. She mentally forces herself to stop chewing her lip and instead moves her right hand down to her lap, where she can pick at her nail polish without anyone seeing. 

“Well, obviously we wanna catch him,” Agent Dobson says, when they’re a third of the way through the morning briefing and half the room is asleep or dreaming of lunch. Juliet, of course, has been furiously taking notes. He means the Skywayman; he means the real thing. “But you gotta admit, Lassiter, there is a bit of a magic show to a good con, isn’t there? The press has that one thing right.”

“It’s not magic. It’s lies and deceit and a healthy helping of audacity, and a damn good typewriter. O’Hara, write that down. We’re gonna go through that list of makes and models again, see what we can come up with.”

Deep breath. Her purse, orange to match the cardigan, is in her lap. The gun’s in the purse. She’ll draw it, but not to shoot. This is the kind of work she’s begged the Chief for, and she’ll be just fine.

Maybe Juliet would feel less desperate to prove herself if this diner wasn’t in Miami, and her father didn’t gift her the only string of pearls she owns.

A voice clears itself quietly above her.

“Uh, excuse me? Hi, yeah, hi. That’s my seat.”

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[lilmissdarlee]

GARDEN FOR THE DEVOTED. | XAVIER ONE-SHOT.

IMAGINE.. You go to relax after a long night, and find a vase of pretty flowers, awaiting your attention...!

TAGS: Xavier x Reader, fluff with a dash of angst, drabble/one-shot, mentions of flower meanings, little plot, no proofread since it's 1 am, references to Xavier's antidotes + lore, implied established relationship NOTE: Mostly js bland metaphors, it's been a while since I wrote anything i also just love Xavier.. WORD COUNT: 1632

After a long night of fighting wanderers, the thought of going to the balcony to rest sounded enticing; you, your teacup full of your favorite blend, and the calm of the early morning. You found yourself humming a forgotten tune as you steeped your tea, the moment of relaxation lowering your guard.

So, imagine your surprise when you found a vase of flowers on the ledge of your balcony, awaiting your attention. 

Surprise melted to curiosity as you approached the vase, intrigued to see what the oddity held. 

It seemed to be a bunch of sunflowers, with a single card nestled between the damp petals. It waa a dainty card, plain with silver embroidery. On it, in fine cursive, it read;

“Sunflowers – loyal love, adoration. I would follow you for a millenia if it meant to be by your side, to be able to see a field of sunflowers follow the sun, like how I glow at your side.”

You knew it was silly, to be touched by a simple meaning and a romantic quote, from someone you didn’t even know. Yet, you couldn’t help the bashful smile that filled your features, blossoming like the sunflowers in front of you in the grace of the light.

The message seemed to be handwritten, with a lot of care upon closer inspection. There was no notable smudging, and then you noticed it. 

There was no signature, or parting note. Nothing. Even the handwriting was too neat to notice any giveaways.

Such an important detail to be left out feels too purposeful, and you huff, biting your lip.

Whoever left these flowers, they must be someone you know.

… someone you knew quite well, maybe. 

You can’t help the smile that comes back upon the second glance at the flowers, and as you return to your peaceful morning, you take the vase and put it on your table. Something to join your rest, as if it were a placeholder for the person who left the flowers.  

And akin to the flowers, you had no idea the light was watching from afar, watching with great fondness as you seemed to glow.

The sun will always want to see the flowers bloom, no matter the meaning nor pathway they choose to grow.

However, for Xavier’s special flower, for you, he notices how you seem to grow on your own. You have your own source of light, of energy that has even the sun drawn to you.

Following the first arrival of your first gift, you couldn’t help the small buzz in the back of your mind, that forgotten child-like wonder that kept you on your toes. 

You knew it was unlikely, to be gifted something as kind again. But said gift left you smiling like an idiot that day, so much so Tara asked you why you were reminiscing while faxing papers for your weekly report on missions.

You shake the embarrassing memory away, to instead focus on going to your sliding door which led to the balcony. 

And, to your delight, there was a new surprise!

Instead of the ledge, it was found on your table, next to the sunflowers from the previous week. The gorgeous flowers still lay in a similar vase, but it was more pink tinted, and bore white trimming along the top.

This time, the flowers of choice were pretty carnations, held together by a thin pink ribbon. You go forward, absorbing the gentle fragrance which was the newest visitor to your patio. You feel your eyes close on instinct, simply enjoying this.

Enjoying the subtle affection behind the gesture.

On the tip of the bow, was another note. You almost squeak, your fingers finding the edge to lift the card so you could read.

“The carnation – affection, admiration. I find myself seeing little things to appreciate about you. The strength in which you fight, your courage to stand for what you believe in, and how your laughter lingers in my mind, like how my affection lingers no matter the time.”

Eyebrows rising, you glance up from the note, almost expecting to see the person behind this all, ready with confetti and a big sign to read: “It’s me!!”

…

There was no such thing, sadly. You now owe Tara money.

Minor disappointment pricks at your conscience, the ongoing mystery of who is leaving you grasping at straws. 

Well, who wasn’t really the issue, honestly.

It was why said person decided to go incognito as the real core of the knot in your stomach, as you grabbed the base of the vase, hugging the carnations close as you went inside.

Just a rooftop away, the light watched the mixed response to it’s latest gift, the corners of his mouth deepening. He knew you loved the flowers.. So why..?

That same light that keeps him wanting to nurture you, to keep you close. But if he were to smother you too much, you would simply wilt from too much warmth, and leave the sun to rise the next day without the lovely heart of his garden.

Every moment Xavier spends with you, he fears to burn you, to make you wilt too fast. He has spent so many years watching, so to be this close was like sending a rocket out into far orbit.

However, no matter how careful Xavier is, he finds flowers tend to wilt on their own. There were so many what-if’s and possibilities to see you wither up, to see you forgotten like the millions of plants which die come the season change.

So, this is his way of trying to show his affection for you from afar, without having to bear the burden of long conversations. 

Xavier was still a man of many secrets, and he wasn’t ready to bare all his light on you, the flower he adored to the galaxy and beyond.

The following night, you heard a gentle tap on your balcony window. You feel your brows furrow, gathering your robe closer as the chilly breeze blows against you.

There was the light, who instead of being lit by the sun, was instead luminated by the moon. His honey-coloured locks seemed silver in this ambience, plucked from the cosmos which laid in his eyes. Said vast universes were hidden, though, as his back was turned to you, to instead gaze at the sky.

“Xavier,” You breathe, “What brings you here? It’s a bit too late for a nap.”

The man laughs, as soft as satin, carried on the wind which brushes through your hair. You fight the urge to smile, still filled with curiosity. 

“No, I am here with my final delivery,” Xavier responds, and finally turns, gracing you with the galaxy.

In his grasp was a bouquet of Forget-me-nots, held together with white tissue paper and a black bow. There was no card this time, but instead a man who seemed to be drawn with the finest ink.

“Forget-me-nots,” He recalls, stepping closer to you with a single long stride, “Said to mean remembrance, loyalty..”

Xavier easily fills your personal space, joining you where you stood in front of your open door. The light from inside coloured you in warm colors, a contrast to how your face was alight with cool tones. 

Always the contradictory, one he was quite fond of.

Xavier brings his free hand to cup your chin, gazing into your eyes as his own softens further, as if he was sharing all the secrets in the solar system.

“And true love,” Xavier almost breathes, so close you could feel his breath fan against your face, “I hope to always remember you, my starlight.”

You smile, similar to the first smile he saw when he first gave you the sunflowers, and a ghost of the one he saw a certain student give him under a meteor shower, or one of a regal queen.

No matter who wore the smile, it still made his slow heart fill with affection. 

The kiss was gentle, soft. Xavier was always quite warm, his lips like a welcome home after an exhausting day. You lean into him, your arms leaving the robe around you to instead rest against his chest. Xavier easily accepts you into his proximity, holding you close with one hand. 

After a long moment, you break apart. You kiss his nose, mirth in your eyes.

“Next time, just give me the flowers straight up,” You complain, “I like you better then some fancy note.”

Xavier hums a non-answer, leaning down to rest his head on top of yours. “Of course,” Xavier agrees, always giving into you as easily as breathing. You lean into him, taking in the sweet smell of the forget-me-nots which mix with Xavoer’s own scent, which is one of your favorites. 

Xavier has seen the rise and fall of seasons so many times it became familiar. At this point, it should have gotten old, but you never fail to enchant him. 

He hates not being able to protect you from the unknown, or even most commonly, yourself. But oddly, it’s a part of the beauty that is you, something fleeting that he cannot help but want to hold, but always gets away if he tries too hard.

So, he’ll enjoy being allowed in your personal sanctuary, where you grow into the wonderful person you are, and in return, you get to feel the constant warmth which is your sun, your star.

Cause it’ll be a long time before the sun dies out, but it’s too short of a time for the arrival of the next seed to blossom.

“This is my 214th spring on Earth, but I am glad I can share it with you, watching you.. Glow. The sight never fails to make me fall for you all over again.”

[actuallysaiyan]

||Love Like Blood|| Chapter Three: Red, Blood Red.

Chapter Three: Red, Blood Red

warnings: mentions of abusive parent-daughter relationship, mentions of menstruations, teacher abusing power, some violence, swearing, use of cursed technique, Nanami isn't in this chapter

pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Sorcerer/Carrie White!Reader

summary: the days that follow, you learn that you have a special connection to your power. through reading up on it, you realize maybe your power is very special. Miss Callahan serves up detention like it's nobody's business.

a/n: it could be a while before Nanami shows up again, but I promise the pay off while be amazing!

dividers by: @/benkeibear/@adornedwithlight

Taglist: @tsukimefuku @kentocalls @erebus-et-eigengrau

@beneathstarryskies. @sparklynightm4re @seireiteihellbutterfly

Masterlist

The days that followed were very difficult for you. Having to stay home during PE after having been excused from it for a week, it didn’t seem to make things better for you.

Momma had been a little less on edge with you. She seemed to think she could pray it all away. You busied yourself with sewing, drawing and reading. 

These were the little things you were allowed to do that weren’t considered a sin. Momma lets you have some hobbies, but not many. She  claimed that if you were to think too deeply on certain things, that’s when your mind would drift away from the good Lord above.

And so your afternoons were spent inside the cold, frigid house you had come to call your home. Momma had made sure you’d stay home for a week off school. As she had put it, you needed to pray for forgiveness and being at school with all the boys would do you no good. Whatever that meant. 

Still, you enjoyed the time you had at home. With every passing day you spent at home, you would cross it off on the calendar in a dark red marker. It almost became comical to you in a way.

Red…blood red. 

You would laugh every time you even thought about the incident in the locker room. Oh how you had been so clueless then. But you knew now…oh how you knew it now. Monthly menstruations.

They hurt, yes. But it was all natural. Even if momma thought it was because you had been tainted. You found some books at the library that you read up on as much as possible without her finding out.

The other part of your stay at home was to practice that power. The new, yet felt familiar, power. The aura that glows every time you flex that muscle in your mind.

It made your heart race. It makes you sweat and feel cold all at once. You wonder every time you do this if you’ll ever find the origin of this power.

The aura glows a bright, hot pink now. It’s steadier every single time you use this power. It forms almost a hand-like shape. It grips things, moves them, shakes them around.

But it does other things. You begin to wonder what else you could do with your newfound power. You begin to wonder if there are others out there like you as well. It would be an awfully lonely existence if you were the only one.

Some of the books you got from the library tell you about this power that some people have. They talk about the TK gene and you think that maybe you could have it. Telekinesis. 

Telekinesis (or Psychokinesis) is the paranormal ability to move or manipulate objects or people with power of one's mind.

You had read that line over and over and over again. It was almost like your own private mantra. Something almost like a prayer. There was a part of you that wondered if maybe there was something more to this power.

Why did you have a glowing aura? None of the other reports of TK that you read mentioned anything about a colorful aura. Perhaps it could be your own personal touch to your new power.

Whenever you used your mind and you flexed, the aura grew bigger and brighter. And you had even started to notice the way the pink was turning into a deep and rich purple hue.

Maybe as you continued to flex, you would find that different things would come about this power. And then…then you would show them.

You’d show them all.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

On Monday morning, the girls walk into the gym. The memory of what happened to you in the locker room is all still fresh in their minds. Here they are, dressed in their gym attire.

Miss Callahan walks towards the gaggle of girls. She’s not impressed with them, not one bit. A sharp blow of her whistle gets everyone’s attention.

“Roll call!”

Some of the girls seem to pep up at this. Most of them just stay seated on the bleachers. As Miss Callahan calls their names, they all diligently call out “present”. The gym teacher then marches forward and looks at all of them.

“What a nice bunch of to-be graduates you are,” she says in a snarky way. “Must be nice to know you’ll be going to prom soon too.”

Nobody dares to say a word. They all know where this is going, but they don’t want to push their luck either. It was almost like Miss Callahan could see right into their souls and see how some of them carried guilt about what had happened. Mainly Skye Smith.

“I bet most of you already have your dates thought up and probably have your gowns. Am I right?”

The silence was deafening. Miss Callahan was growing even more impatient with this group. But she’d be able to whip them into shape. She could do that.

“I bet Skye Smith is going with the lucky Toby Robinson. Am I right?” 

Skye looks down, “Y-yes. Yes we are going together.”

“And you, Helen, probably going with your steady man…Reggie?”

It goes a bit back and forth for a bit. Then Miss Callahan’s eyes happen upon Cait Hall. Oh how this young woman thought herself untouchable because of her lawyer father.

“Who’s your lucky guy, Cait?”

Cait rolls her eyes and mumbles, “Beau Noble.”

“What was that? Couldn’t hear ya.”

“Beau Noble!”

Miss Callahan moves away from the group of girls. She would make them pay for what they did to you. The fear in your eyes, the way you seemed to be so deathly afraid of what had happened to you. She couldn’t shake those thoughts from her mind. She dreamt about it, night after night.

“You know, looking at the lot of you, I don’t think any of you realize what a shitty thing you did on Friday! Do any of you stop to think? No, I don’t think you do!”

Cait picks up her purse, trying to storm out. Miss Callahan is quick to stop her. “Don’t you dare. You need to stay put.”

There’s an aggression in her voice that causes Cait to stop and pull back. She sneers and makes her way back to the bleachers, cursing the teacher in her mind.

“I think all of you really need to have a good, long moment of self-reflection. Cause I don’t think any of you truly realize just how terrible you were.”

Even if the words don’t quite register, the punishment to come will definitely make them all nervous. Natasha looks at Cait, and Cait rolls her eyes once more.

“I know what you all think of her! You think she’s ugly. Well guess what! You’re all ugly. I saw it on Friday morning.”

The girls all look down. Except for Cait. Cait, who always has to have the last word, is ready to fight back whatever punishment this bitch of a teacher has in store for any of them.

Miss Callahan pushes the clipboard behind her and looks up at all the girls. She knew exactly how to make them think twice about pulling some shit like this again.

“The office has decided on the appropriate punishment for you young ladies.” Miss Callahan begins. “Now you’re lucky because they decided on something much softer than I had planned.”

Some of the girls seem nervous now. They wonder what Miss Callahan and the office were going to dish out. Skye Smith wishes she could turn back the clock. The guilt is weighing so heavily on her now.

“My idea had been a suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.” There’s almost a playfulness to her tone as she watches them gasp and look shocked. 

“But since the office likes you young ladies so much, they decided it would be best if it was just a week-long detention.”

This seems to put the class of young women into high spirits again. Miss Callahan smirks, placing her hands on her hips. The clipboard in her hands almost looks menacing in its own right now.

“It’s going to be detention with me! And oh do I have so many drills for you to run! So many wrestling mats to be cleaned.”

There’s an air of disappointment and Cait Hall gets up, gripping her purse once more. She looks determined to leave once again.

“Then I’m not gonna come,” Cait says in a defiant tone.

“That’s up to you, Cait. That’s up to any of you, really. Skipping detention garners the punishment of the suspension and refusal of the prom tickets. Do you understand me now?”

The words coming from Miss Callahan frightened most of them. There were a few snickers from Natasha who watched as Cait Hall finally seceded.

“Now that you all understand, get dressed!” Miss Callahan finishes it with a blow of her shrill whistle.

Cait Hall seems to want to stalk off. The rest of the girls begin piling into the locker room. 

“This isn’t over! Not by a long shot!” Cait cries, angry that she’d have to face the music for the issues she caused.

And with that, they all go get changed. 

Skye Smith turns to face the blonde. “Just shut up, Cait.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

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