#I haven’t read enough on that topic to say. But it sure does seem to mark the end of an era.

[specialagentartemis]

The Trojan War marks the end of the Age of Heroes.

Hercules, Theseus, Jason, Perseus, Atalanta, the great demigods and heroes of legend, they are all interpreted as being in the generations before the heroes of the Trojan War. Jason and his Argonauts sailed with Achilles’s father. Nestor was a lover of Hecules’s in his youth, but by the time of the Trojan War, he is an old man. A different tradition has Hercules’s great-granddaughter marrying Achilles’s son. And Perseus was Hercules’s ancestor, a hero of the era even before. The leader of the Cretan contingent of the Trojan War was the grandson of Minos, of Theseus and the Minotaur fame. Odysseus sees great heroes and their wives and children in the Underworld. The generations before the war are full of these great mythic deeds.

But there are almost no stories of great deeds and godly heroes after the Trajan War, no descendants of the Greek kings doing great things. The children of the heroes of the Iliad were popular topics of plays in the Classical world, but the stories emphasize the personal dramas rather than the great and mythic. And their children pass into “history,” becoming claimed historical, normal ancestors of the Classical world.

The war destroyed Troy, but it also brought to an end the great heroic age of the Greeks. It was the beginning of the end for everyone.

[triptuckers]

feelings that flicker - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x mutant!reader (reader has the ability to manipulate and control electricity) Summary:  remy thinks you have trouble controling your powers, but there’s something else going on Warnings:  none! Word count:  1.6K A/N: to think this is the third fic I’m writing today and I also finished reading the darkness within us and read and finished what moves the dead… no wifi making me do crazy things lmao enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

as remy walks into the kitchen, he notices the lights briefly flicker and the coffee machine starts beeping furiously.

‘oh, fuck!’ you say, abandoning your breakfast as you bolt over to the coffee machine.

you put your hands on either side of it and concentrate, making sure the machine’s temperature goes back to normal. remy waits for you to step back before reaching for the coffee pot.

‘I’m not gonna burn my mouth now?’ he says.

‘nope, you’re all good.’ you say, briefly smiling at him before you go back to your breakfast. 

jubilee gives you a knowing smile as she nods her head towards remy. you elbow her in the side, shooting her a warning glare. you never should have confided in her about your feelings for remy. it’s bad enough you nearly lose control whenever he enters the room. you don’t need jubilee to start dropping hints around him.

remy doesn’t seem to notice any of it, as he’s rummaging through the kitchen in search for breakfast. you ignore jubilee’s not so subtle nudges as you continue to eat your breakfast.

for the remainder of the morning, no lights flicker and no coffee machines overheat.

as you go on about your day, teaching some of the kids, remy has been thinking hard.

those flickering lights haven’t gone completely unnoticed to him. every time he enters the room you’re in, the lights flicker and if there’s some sort of machine or electronic device, it also acts up. the same thing happens when you enter a room he’s already in.

the electric stove that suddenly turned on in the kitchen. the tv turning on while no one was holding the remote. beasts’ many monitors that all started beeping at the same time – and you apologising over and over, making sure there wasn’t any damage.

and always those flickering lights.

but he knows you regularly go to the danger room to train. mostly with jean, storm and jubilee. occasionally scott calls for the entire team to have a training session, and remy always watches you closely during those sessions.

you never seem to lose control during a simulation. and he has yet to see you lose control in the field. 

if anything, he’s impressed by your abilities. 

the things you could accomplish never fail to amaze him. in his opinion, you’re one of the best and most amazing x-men he’s ever seen. not that he would ever admit that out loud. the teasing would be endless. and he doesn’t want to embarrass you. 

still, it doesn’t sit right with him the way you sometimes slip up. 

is it something about him? does he bother you somehow?

he’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the conversation stops when he enters the kitchen again in the afternoon.

remy looks up to see jubilee, scott and jean. he raises a single eyebrow in question, but no one explains anything, and jubilee starts talking about the latest session in the danger room she did with roberto.

while getting a snack, remy can’t help but to think he was a topic of conversation before he walked in.

‘hey cyclops, you gon’ work with y/n on controlling her powers?’ he says.

scott frowns at his words. ‘why would I?’

‘she always loses control when I see her.’ remy points out. ‘just this morning she nearly made the coffee machine overheat and combust. jubilee, you were there.’

‘have you ever seen her lose control during a mission?’ says scott.

‘non, but it doesn’t make sense why she would lose control in the kitchen and not when there’s people actively trying to kill us.’ says remy.

at his words, jubilee chuckles.

‘you never noticed?’ she says.

‘noticed what?’ says remy, confused.

‘jubilee, he’s a man. they never do.’ says jean, before turning to remy. ‘she only ever slightly slips up when you enter the room. why do you think that is?’ she says gently

‘que? only when I enter the room? why? I thought she was just jumpy, maybe I move too quietly?’ says remy.

‘come on, gambit, use those brains of yours, you’ll figure it out.’ says jubilee.

remy starts thinking out loud. ‘she only slips up when I’m in the room. or when she walks in and I’m already there. she never loses control in the field. oh, merde, does she like me?’

‘there you go! took you long enough.’ says jubilee.

‘she likes me?’ mumbles remy, smiling to himself. 

‘she’s in her room.’ says jean pointedly.

‘oui, yeah, merci.’ says remy, a bit dazed as he leaves the kitchen.

he had never once considered you might like him, and that that’s why you lose control. it makes sense now that he knows. in the field, you’re too concentrated on staying alive to focus on where he is and if he’s near. 

and he did notice you seemed to blush a lot whenever the lights flickered. you thought it was just embarrassment that your control slipped, but what if it was about him?

of course he’d noticed you when you first arrived at the mansion. how could he not? you were beautiful and he’d seen you demonstrate your powers when logan asked about it. 

now that he knows all of it, he doesn’t get how he didn’t see it before. clearly everyone knew but him? but why hadn’t you said anything to him?

as he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees the door to your room ahead. 

what was he even going to say to you? maybe he’ll just start by asking you about your powers, maybe you were aware of why you lose control.

he knocks on the door.

‘coming!’ he hears you say.

‘it’s me.’ says remy.

the light spilling onto the hallway through the gap near the floor flickers slightly, and remy smiles to himself. 

you open the door and smile at him.

‘remy!’ you say. ‘what’s up?’

since that conversation earlier with jubilee and jean, it’s like he sees you in a different light. your hair is up, and the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up. when he looks closely, he sees a slight blush on your cheeks. 

‘just came to check up on you. and tell you the coffee machine is okay.’ he says.

‘oh ha ha.’ you say sarcastically. ‘thanks very much for that update.’

you step aside to let him in. he notices the workbench in the corner of the room, scattered with various pieces of machinery. a steaming mug shows that you were working on something.

‘did I disturb you?’ he says.

‘not at all, I was just messing around.’

‘you control electricity, right?’

you frown. everyone knows about everyone’s abilities. there aren’t any secrets about powers.

‘and create it, yes.’

‘and you’ve been training for a long time.’

‘yes? what are you getting at, remy?’

‘why do you lose control when I’m around?’ he says, not dancing around it any longer.

‘I don’t.’ you say, hoping he doesn’t see through the lie. 

there’s no way he knows, right? he can’t. unless, of course, he talked to jubilee. damn that girl and her traiterous mouth.

‘come on, chéri, don’t deny it.’ says remy. 

you briefly look at him before you reach out to toy with some of the machinery on your workbench. you mumble something remy can’t hear, so he steps closer to you.

‘what was that?’ he says.

you swallow and look at him. ‘I have issues controling my powers whenever I’m around someone I have very strong feelings for.’ you admit in a soft voice. ‘it’s how I knew I was a mutant in the first place. I nearly electrocuted my first boyfriend.’

‘strong feelings, hm?’ says remy, stepping even closer to you.

‘remy, I’m trying so hard not to burst every light in this room right now.’ you say. ‘you’re making it very difficult like this.’

‘like what?’

‘like this.’ you say, gesturing to the small amount of space between the two of you.

‘but you admit you have, in your words, strong feelings for me?’

‘yes…’

‘parfait. I have strong feelings for you too, chéri.’

your eyes snap up to his upon hearing his words.

‘please tell me you’re not messing with me.’ you say. ‘because if you are, it really isn’t funny.’

remy lightly shakes his head. ‘non, I would never.’ he says. 

you notice how close his face is to yours and take a tenative step back, but your back hits your workbench. 

‘nervous?’ he says.

‘no.’ you say.

the lights in your room briefly flicker.

remy smirks at you. ‘the lights say something different, chéri. would the lights explode if I kiss you now?’

you feel a blush on your cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’ you say softly.

‘want to find out?’ says remy, leaning closer.

‘yeah.’ you manage to say.

remy closes the remaining space between you, pressing his lips against yours. you’re glad the workbench is at your back, because you’re sure your knees have given up on you. 

you feel how his hands come to rest on your hips. through your closed eyelids, you can tell the lights are indeed flickering, and you can feel remy smile against your lips.

but you don’t give a damn about those lights. because remy lebeau is finally kissing you. you couldn’t care less if all the lights burst in the mansion. it’ll be worth it.

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[hard-core-super-star]

During an interview with Hailee, someone asks reader to marry them, and Hailee isn't too happy about it.

it it cool that i said all that? [H.Steinfeld]

pairing: hailee steinfeld x actress!reader

summary: doing interviews with your girlfriend is all fun and games until someone gets too comfortable with their questions.

warnings: none, just fluff; a speck of possessive hailee; two dashes of (not-so) secret relationship vibes; awkward interview moments that gave me second-hand embarrassment while writing

wordcount: 1.1k

a/n: does anyone else remember when comic-con was a big deal? yeah, me neither. so, instead of a convention-type vibe, i went the talk show route. [specifically stephen colbert because he's the only host i can honestly say i like] slowly but surely getting through all of my requests but the urge to write alpha!kate pt. 2 is starting to take over my life so...don't be surprised if i disappear for a few days and then post it out of the blue.

* * * * * * *

There are only a few things more nerve-wracking than having to sit in front of a room full of people and answer questions you’re definitely not prepared for despite all the time you’ve spent overthinking. The only thing that could possibly make that situation more anxiety-inducing is having to do it next to someone you’re dating…in secret.

It’s not a well-kept secret by any means but the lack of confirmation from both parties is more than enough to have fans from both sides analyzing every single comment that gets exchanged. You don’t really mind it, even though sometimes you feel like there’s a target on your face. 

A target in the form of looks you can’t hide and smiles you don’t share with anyone but Hailee.

Okay, so maybe you’re incredibly obvious about your feelings for her but it still took her until after you finished filming Hawkeye to realize the truth hiding beneath all your stupid jokes. It would be easy to make fun of her for being so oblivious if you weren’t exactly the same way.

It took more than a few tries but the two of you eventually gathered enough courage to be honest with each other leading to the start of quite possibly the most chaotic but most rewarding relationship you’ve ever had. Just because most people in your life haven’t caught up yet doesn’t make it any less amazing.

The thing no one prepared you for, though, is having to do talk show interviews while avoiding the topic of said relationship. It’s not like either of you is genuinely trying to hide the truth, it’s just easier to explore your developing feelings when there aren’t a ridiculous amount of eyes trained on the pair of you.

Eyes that sometimes don’t quite know how to read the room.

Which brings you back to your current situation.  You and Hailee are sitting slightly too close together while doing another interview where you have to dance around spoilers while trying to get people excited for Hawkeye.

It turns out, you don’t actually have to do much since seeing the two of you together seems to be more than enough to get people talking about the show.

“So, y/n, I know this is your first time doing an interview like this and I don’t want to scare you away so how about we get some questions from the audience?”

The crowd erupts into cheers and you can’t help but let out a nervous laugh even though you already knew this was going to happen. Being notified ahead of time still isn’t enough to stop you from worrying about what this segment will bring.

“What’s the worst that could happen right?” You joke, sharing a look with Hailee who merely shakes her head at you.

Of course, the list of “worst things that could happen” is quite long when it comes to people asking you whatever they want.

And right now, the way the brunette hasn’t let go of your hand since you sat down is definitely at the top of everyone’s list of questions. You’re sure no one is surprised by how affectionate she can be sometimes but it’s unusual to see her happily holding onto someone in a room like this one.

You swallow down your nervousness in order to focus on the questions that get thrown your way. Most of them are, in all honesty, softballs. Things like,”What was your favorite part about shooting Hawkeye?” and “Who’s the strongest Avenger?” 

You’re thankful for the easy questions until the humor your responses carry inspires some…bolder comments. Stephen lets everyone know the next question will be the last and the lucky fan who’s chosen takes her chance.

“Marry me?”

The easy atmosphere of the room leaves you completely unprepared for the question and the only real response you can offer at first is a laugh. A laugh that earns you a grin from the bold fan and a glare from your unamused girlfriend.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply with a shrug. “My manager will email you my schedule.”

Your response is just as unexpected as the question which just makes the audience laugh harder.

There’s a slightly smug look on your face that disappears the second you turn to look at Hailee.

She’s an actress, and a fantastic one at that, so she hides her emotions well. Unfortunately, you’re an expert at reading her and the lack of a smile on her face tells you all you need to know.

“Too bad you have a very busy schedule,” she says through a chuckle that sounds more forced than anything you’ve ever heard out of her.

“True, true. I’m a very responsible dogsitter and I don’t think Martini would be fine with me leaving her for so long.”

“Does she get jealous easily?” Stephen clearly picks up on you trying to change the topic but Hailee’s not done voicing her displeasure.

“Her owner does.” The words are a mere mumble but the microphone picks her up loud and clear.

Your eyes widen and her comment renders you utterly speechless. It’s not that the words are a complete surprise, you just can’t believe she actually said that in the middle of an interview.

She realizes what she said a few seconds later and her soft eyes meet yours. There’s a layer of nervousness in them that she can’t quite hide and the sight makes your heart clench. You can’t do much to reassure her though so you merely squeeze her hand three times and let the interview continue.

The minutes feel like hours but you eventually wrap up and are allowed to go back into your shared dressing room. Hailee all but drags you inside and you close the door behind you once you're in the safety and privacy of those four walls.

“I shouldn't have said that,” she blurts out, her hands emphasizing her words and the anxiety they carry. “I just, I don't know what came over me. It was stupid and I’m-”

“Lee.” You quickly cross the small space between you and grab onto her slightly shaky hands. “You don't have to apologize, everything’s fine.”

She blinks a few times but the action doesn't get rid of the genuine surprise that's etched onto her features. “You…You're serious?”

“Incredibly. I thought it was cute that you got jealous like that.”

Her usual playful energy comes back the instant she realizes you're not upset. And it very quickly becomes clear she's not actually upset either.

“Excuse me, I wasn't jealous. I just thought it was a lame question.”

“Mhmm, right.” You let go of her hands in order to wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close. “I'll make sure to remind you of that if I ever propose.”

She leans in to kiss you until her brain catches up to your joke. There's a hint of a pout on her lips that makes you chuckle.

“What do you mean if?”

You don't bother with replying and instead kiss her again, knowing your actions will be more than enough to soothe her worries.

[br4inr0tx]

HI I’ve been looking for someone that writes for the thanksgiving movie ever since I watched it. Masked slasher/voice changer do things to me.

Anyways can I request HCs with John Carver and someone he’s had this eye on for a while nearing thanksgiving? Feel free to get creative! Hope you have a good day :]

Sure thing! I feel the exact way about slashers..Urrhrghrh I love this man so much y’all I’m going to be SEARCHING for John Carver roleplayers AAAAA (character ai just doesn’t satisfy me enough ig 😓)

Happy Thanksgiving <3

tw - MASSIVE THANKSGIVING 2023 SPOILERS, stalking, death, manipulation, deception of gore, kidnapping.

Eric Newlon…

• Eric has had his eyes on you for a month now. He’s been very careful, as he knows all too well about how the smallest of details can ruin absolutely everything. You simply just don’t know it yet.

• The John Carver killer stalks and records his victims as you know. I’m retrospect he’s had his eyes on you longer then you think. Watching and carefully planning every detail.

• And you wouldn’t even have a clue.

• It’s around Thanksgiving time. You get around enough to know a few kids in town, and talk to people. Maybe, you even reminisce about the lives lost a year ago.

• It pains you to know that nightmare is all coming back. Faces you recognize are found missing or dead, and it’s been freaking you the fuck out.

• Not to mention those posts you keep getting tagged in are so very unsettling. Your name at a table with other chairs and names of people you may or may not recognize. The anxieties just kept coming and coming..

• Luckily, Sheriff Newlon has been there to help you during these rather compromising times. He seems to always know the best thing to say when you’re stressed out, and it’s kind of nice. You hind yourself recently stopping by his office just to spend time with him while he does research, and let me tell you, he eats the attention it right up.

• He assures you, nothing will hurt you when you’re with him. He won’t let this deranged killer harm you. You’re too sweet to lose. He jokes about how he could care less about those other foolish teenagers, but is he though?

• At work recently you’ve had these people you can’t stand. They never get their work done and seem to get away with it, along with being unserious and silly all the time. It hurts to focus most of the time..so frustrating. Their newest topic is bringing up last year’s incident too, which heightens your anxiety.

• Recently..they haven’t been showing up to work. Sure, you could use a few days without them, but now with this all going on? You can’t help but have a bittersweet feeling about it all.

• You decide to stay with Sheriff Newlon, or as he ushers you to say, Just Eric. It calms your nerves for the most part as he talks about things to get your mind off this whole mess. He promises you it fucks with his head too.

• After a minute Eric groans, shaking his head at the computer. “I gotta go copy some papers, I’ll be right back.” You nod, sitting back in your chair as you waited for his return. A long awaited return, too.

• You start to daydream, staring off at the walls aligned with case after case tied to the recent events of murders. It sent a shiver down your spine.

• You stood up, walking over to the pinboard and reading all of them. One paper caught your interest in particular, and as you picked it off the wall you knew exactly what it was. Your co-workers..they were tied to this. They went missing just like the others, and one of their purses was found on the side of the street with everything in it, from identification to money, like their only purpose was for the person themselves to be taken..

• You cringed hard reading it all, and as you tilted the paper upwards to bring it into more of the light in Eric’s dim room, the reflection on the plastic sleeve gave you quite a fright.

• After a quick turn around, you saw him. The John Carver Killer. As soon as you made a move he strikes, grabbing you and shoving you right against the desk and over it with your hands above your head, and with his free hand a Chloroform filled rag shoved roughly against your mouth and nose.

• In the hysteria there wasn’t much you could do. Anytime you struggled he’d grip your hands a little tighter as a warning. So much so he managed to crack your knuckles and almost even bend them in an awkward direction. That was until you finally fell asleep.

• When you woke up, you were at the front of the table, your hands tied behind your back. You weren’t gagged, but by the looks of your surroundings and the way the light shines through the boarded up windows nobody would hear you if you screamed anyway..

• What’s more, those pesky co-workers are around the table with you, all dead in different creative ways.

• John Carver appears behind you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “Isn’t this nice, Y/N? Everyone together, just having a nice dinner?” His head lowers right next to your ear. His voice sounded somehow robotic, perhaps because he was a voice changer. “Just like a Thanksgiving should be, right?”

• He sighs, like he had an amazing little daydream. The way his hands ran down your shoulders too..it’s the same way the sheriff used to. “I know you’ve been feeling lately..and I know you appreciate the true meaning of Thanksgiving. I made you something special, no strings attached..”

• You’re favorite meal, whatever that may be, was right in front of you. It looks delicious too..not any sort of gore or cannibalism you’d expect from the bodies all around. How would he know something that specific like your favorite food though? “Open up..” He feeds you the food himself, not trusting you just yet to let you go.

• If you don’t want to eat, be that way. He can warm you your food back up if you change your mind, but don’t ever say he didn’t have good hospitality.

• “You remind me of someone I used to know, Y/N..” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, feeding you another piece if you decided to play along. “So kind..not like those others who only care about themselves.”

• He keeps explaining everything he likes about you..even down to the smallest detail, which shakes you to your core. “

• “In fact, this year, I’m thankful for you. <3”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Love your Bale Batman shop girl series! Was wondering how shop girl would feel if Catwoman or some other kick-ass woman came on the scene?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Sure thing! I did go with a different kickass woman, since Catwoman does show up in the Nolan trilogy

Warnings: Light angst; fluff added for tasty goodness

You don’t really worry about the tabloids anymore. At least, not in the way that you used to. Michelle still sends you the odd article, but it’s usually accompanied by several 😂 emojis (the most notable is the one that suggested that you, Bruce, and Liz are in a throuple, and Grant is your collective beard). Whatever the press says about Bruce becomes white noise. 

But…What the press says about Batman still tends to seep through. 

You can’t help but notice the Gotham Gazette where it’s spread open on Rose’s desk. She’s turned away from it, reading through the approval form that you’ve brought over to her. You can’t help but reach out, turning the newspaper toward yourself and eyeing the grainy image of Batman. Your brow furrows as you draw the newspaper up to get a better look, scanning it more closely. He’s tied up in what look like vines, and nose-to-nose with a stunning, smiling, partially-masked woman. 

“You haven’t seen that yet?” Rose asks, glancing up from the document. “It’s been all over the papers for weeks.” 

“Has it?” You ask dazedly. You’ve managed to miss it. You haven’t been following mentions Batman as closely on social media since you started your new job—you just haven’t had time. 

“Mhm.” Rose folds her arm on her desk and leans in, peering at the picture. “Apparently it’s a real love-hate-cat-and-mouse kinda thing. Hot, right?” She waggles her brows. “I’d love to see what’s under that suit.” 

“Which?”

“Either.” 

You force a smile at the sight of Rose’s salacious grin, but you can’t help glancing back down at the article and skimming it. You commit the name to memory and make a mental note to look her up on your phone when you get back to your desk—

Poison Ivy. 

--  

It’s probably not much of a surprise that Bruce hasn’t mentioned her to you. For the most part—apart from the odd knowing glance, the bruises on his body, and the night he spilled into the penthouse half-dead—he keeps that side of himself to himself. Alfred doesn’t discuss it with you, either, and perhaps that’s why he seems so surprised when you slam your laptop shut as he comes into the kitchen that Saturday morning, hiding your googled articles of Poison Ivy and Batman. 

Alfred’s brows raise, and you offer him a nervous, guilty smile as your face goes hot. You know that you weren’t fast enough—you’d been so honed in on reading that you hadn’t heard him until he was passing right behind you. 

“...Is he awake yet?” You ask lightly, desperate to break the awkward silence. 

“Only just.” 

“‘Kay.” 

“It seems you and Master Wayne are researching similar topics these days,” He comments, swanning around the kitchen counter and setting down the empty breakfast tray. 

“Oh?” 

“Mm. She's proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.” 

You consider for a moment. You could let the conversation go, of course. You’re certain Alfred wouldn’t press it. But: 

“Has he got any leads?” 

“A few,” Alfred nods, bracing his hands on the counter, “Though I would recommend asking him about his ideas and methodology.” 

You bristle before you sigh and slouch dejectedly, resting your chin on your hand. 

“He doesn’t talk about that stuff with me, Alfred.” 

“He doesn’t like for you to worry.” 

“I worry whether he tells me or not. Not knowing just makes me worry more.” 

“Then perhaps that’s something you ought to tell him.” 

You glance up at him warily, and some of your nerves ease as he gives you a warm smile. 

“Now,” He straightens, clapping his hands together and looking around the kitchen. “Despite the hour, Master Wayne is tucking into his breakfast. Shall I get something together for your lunch?” 

You consider for a moment, eyes darting down the hall before you stand, shaking your head. 

“Let’s put a pin in that. I think I’m just gonna…Go steal some of Bruce’s toast.” 

Alfred smiles knowingly, giving you a wink before you turn fully from him and head down the hall. 

-- 

The blackout curtains have been raised just enough to let a little bit of light into the room, but it’s still quite dim. You can see the empty smoothie glass on the bedside table, and the plate of toast that Bruce has put on the wide headboard behind him. Bruce looks preciously rumpled, scrubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. You can see a few light bruises on his bare chest and arms, but nothing too egregious. His eyes are still narrowed with sleep as he lowers his hands, and his hair looks as ruffled as a baby bird’s. He perks up as you come in, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you come closer. 

“Hey, baby,” He murmurs, opening his arms as you climb into bed beside him. 

“Sleep okay?” You ask, cuddling into his side. 

“Fine. I thought you were seeing Michelle for brunch.”

“Got moved to drinks this evening. She had a work thing come up.”

Bruce hums in understanding, tucking you close and pressing a kiss to your head. You bite your lip, grappling with how to bring up the conversation. 

“Late night?” You finally ask lightly. You're relieved when you don’t feel Bruce tense, or reel away. He just rubs his hand gently over your arm.

“Mhm.” 

“Later than usual?” 

“...About on par.” 

“Mm.” You eye the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before you hedge: “Hope you don't mind my asking–” 

“It’s fine—” 

“—You’ve just seemed a little tied up lately.” You give Bruce a sly, teasing smile, and it widens to a grin when you see him fighting back his own smile. 

“Is that why you came in here?” He asks dryly.

“Of course not. I saw Alfred bringing you toast.” You straighten up, reaching over his shoulder, taking up a piece, and biting into it. Bruce chuckles, and you grin as he leans into you, nuzzling against your neck. You hum as you chew, your skin prickling at the feeling of his thickening stubble. 

“How’s it going, anyway?” You ask. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You have any leads?” 

Your stomach drops when you feel him go tense. He sighs softly, leaning away to get a better look at you. You reach back, setting the toast down and dusting crumbs from your fingers before you fold your hands in your lap, waiting patiently. After a few moments, you can’t help but wring your hands subtly as Bruce observes you, and then lowers his gaze to the sheets. 

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you,” He finally admits. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep from shifting and fidgeting with nerves. 

“Can I ask why not?” 

Bruce pushes a sigh out through his nose, giving a small shake of his head. 

“I can’t keep it out, huh,” He mutters. 

“Well…You did for a while. Didn’t go so well,” You remind him lightly. Bruce nods, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he mutters, “I know.”

You tentatively reach out, resting your hand atop his. He turns his hand over, taking a gentle hold of yours. 

“I’m not asking you to make me a suit and teach me to fight, Bruce. I just want you to let me in.” 

His lips twitch with a smile as he reaches up, cupping your cheek and sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“I think…That her name is Pamela Isley. She’s a botanist.” 

“Why is she doing…what she’s doing?” 

“That’s what I still need to find out.” 

You nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you.” 

He hums, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for another long, warm kiss. 

“That’s never happening,” He adds as the kiss breaks. You frown, brow furrowing. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Making you a suit, teaching you to fight.” 

You pout, cocking your head to the side. 

“I ought to know how to at least throw a punch, right?” 

“We’ll see about that. It’s a slippery slope,” Bruce chuckles, patting your cheek before nodding over his shoulder. “Eat your toast.” 

Next Part

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[wishfulwithwine]

Twin Flames : Chapter Seven

Eris Vanserra x Archeron Sister Reader

“You are a peace and a flame, you steady me and stir me all at once” - butterflies rising

“I don’t want to just love you.  I want our souls to merge and burn brighter  than any star found in this universe”  - Lola Lawrence

The youngest Archeron sister, loved and protected by all her sisters and the Inner Circle, is mated to the hated heir of the Autumn Court. Will they find peace, or burn in the flames?

Warnings: series will have cursing, smut, violence, ptsd, alcohol, and other possible triggers. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF MINOR. 18+ ONLY

Series Masterlist

photo from pinterest

It had been almost a year since Night Court had seen Y/N or Eris.

After the war it seemed like the couple just disappeared. 

At first, no one thought anything of it that no one had heard from them considering every court had focused on their own court’s rebuilding after the war and the Night Court made sure to stamp out the rest of the rebellion. However, it seemed that once the dust had settled and people were returning to normal lives, Y/N and Eris were still nowhere to be heard of which concerned the inner court that Y/N and Eris were MIA. 

There were no mentions of them in any Autumn Court communications and Azriel’s network of spies were silent that front.

It wasn’t given much attention until Beron had brought another one of his son’s to a meeting, rather than Eris. Everyone knew Beron barely trusted Eris, but Eris was the one he trusted the most. For Eris to not be accompanying Beron to meetings meant either that Eris was doing something more important, or something had happened to Eris?

“We can’t just barge into Autumn Court demanding something without proof. Beron said that Eris is busy with other matters” Rhysand said, although he wasn’t believing the words Beron said either, especially with the facial expression he had made.

It was dinner with the Inner Court, and after a meeting with some of the other court High Lords, everyone was suspicious. Eris not taking Beron’s side was not something that happened, and after not hearing from the couple in so long, everyone was getting concerned. 

“You’re not serious? Azriel says his spies haven’t seen or heard from them since the war. Nothing!” Cassian said, angrily.

“What if they’re in trouble? Beron wouldn’t say anything and risk his court’s appearance” Feyre said logically, looking directly at her mate with worry evident in her eyes. Rhys sighed, looking to Azriel.

“Nothing?” Rhysand asked, confirming.

“They’ve been missing from Autumn celebrations, no appearances at Autumn markets. There’s been no activity outside of Eris’ house. No one in Autumn has seen the couple since the war” Azriel confirmed, which made everyone’s stomach drop.

The sisters all looked to each other, then Feyre and Rhysand stared at one another.

“We can’t all storm in to see them. It’ll cause suspicion that we’ve been spying on them” Rhysand said.

“Then why don’t we go. Just the two of us - we’ll say we hadn’t given the couple a wedding gift” Feyre said. 

“If Beron asks why it wasn’t sent earlier?” Rhysand asked, thinking this all through.

“Does she even know our father died?” Nesta asked, bringing up another topic that made everything more suspicious. 

“If she knew, she would’ve reached out” Feyre said.

“Or she’s not able to” Cassian said, suspiciously. 

“Okay, a wedding gift is respectful enough to not raise concerns about our spying. We could say we thought Eris would be at the meeting and was going to bring it then. Alright, we’ll go to Autumn then tomorrow” Rhysand said.

“Do you really think something has happened to them? Would Beron…?” Feyre whispered, pulling Rhysand into another room to discuss.

“No. Beron isn’t that stupid to try something. I don’t know, but the tattoo is there so it hasn’t been broken” Rhysand said, frustrated without more knowledge but brought Feyre into his arms to comfort her. “She’ll be okay. Y/N will be okay” 

“Azriel, stop pacing or else you’ll make a hole in the floor” Mor commented, watching him walk back and forth. He stopped, looking to her with swirls of darkness in his eyes, as he also took in the concerned looks of Cassian, Nesta, Amren, Varian, Elain and Lucien. “We’re all worried about her too”

“What if Beron found out about her powers? What if she’s getting tortured? Eris is good at lying and playing a part” Azriel said, thinking of all the horrible scenarios Y/N could be in. 

“It would be too obvious for them to just disappear like this. Beron’s smarter than that” Varian chimed in, from where he was sitting. 

“We will find out tomorrow when Feyre and Rhys go and see” Cassian added, seeing the anxiety creep up in his mate Nesta, as he wrapped an arm around her.

Azriel clenched his fists, remembering the moments of Y/N and him alone each night, cuddled together. Remembered her bright smile, always warming him up. 

———

Eris never let you out of his sight after you told him you were pregnant - which was both sweet and annoying. You didn’t hate all of the attention, but there were so many changes that happened so quickly in the time, you were beyond emotional. Everything had changed so quickly from when you found out you and Eris were mates, to getting married, to the war, and then pregnancy - you felt that things were finally settling, despite the rollercoaster of pregnancy you were dealing with. 

Eris had announced the pregnancy to the family that night at dinner, although that is where the spread of news ended.

“No one - and I repeat, no one - besides this family will know for the time being. We have just finished a war, and I will not be having Y/N and my heir in any dangerous situations for now” Eris all but snarled at his brothers, before looking to his parents. Everyone looked shocked - well besides Serah, staring at you, as you rested a hand gently on Eris’, calming him as best as he could. There didn’t need to be added family drama after a war. This was supposed to be good news.

“Congratulations! This is blessed news! Eris, you should be thrilled Y/N so quickly. Your mate has a very healthy womb. This is great news for Autumn Court. Of course, with how unstable everything currently is, we will wait to announce. There is no need to have Y/N and my grand-heirs in danger” Beron said, focusing on you and smiling, full set of teeth on display. You shifted a bit uncomfortably under his strong gaze, as well as hearing his comments, lowering yours to your belly. His smile was looking more sinister with each minute. Eris squeezed your hand, feeling your discomfort through the bond as he rubbed it gently.

“Thank you” Eris nodded, looking to some of the more gossipy of his brothers, staring them down with a fiery stare. 

“You two will move into the castle. The south wing has everything that you will need and I’ll get additional guards to station” Beron demanded, before looking at his other sons. “You all will keep your mouths shut, or you will all get 200 lashes any of you repeat anything. Y/N will be under all of your protection as well. If she needs anything - you boys will get it for her. Damian, you will be taking over Eris’ physical position when we have intercourt relations. Eris, you’ll do your position from here, but you will not need to leave Y/N. Y/N and this baby is our top priority. I don’t think I need to tell you how rare children are, and how blessed our family is. Eris, you did not disappoint on your duties as my heir” Beron stated, the closest thing to a compliment Eris would receive. 

That was eight months ago and still no one outside of the Vanserra family, guards and doctors knew. Beron had moved you and Eris into the castle, giving extra protection of guards wherever you went. This was the future of Autumn Court. Babies were rare, and Beron made sure that you were always protected. The hounds, who typically lived with Eris at his house, were also now living at the castle, as they would bark incessantly when away from you. 

It surprised the whole family how involved Beron had become with the pregnancy. He would linger around, making notes of things that could help with your symptoms, and seemed almost happy talking about the new generation of Vanserras. It was undoubtedly creepy when he’d touch your belly, stare at your body unabashedly, and ask about intimate details about you. No one knew what to say or do but everyone was uncomfortable.

Serah had explained during her years of being pregnant, it was the best time of their marriage. Beron was fixated on her belly, and she reasoned that it was just a pregnancy thing for him. Beron would be a grandfather, a very rare title now with the wars and scarcity of children being born. 

Despite being moved into the castle and having guards surround the two of you all the time, Eris was plagued with nightmares: images of you losing dying and being bled out, someone kidnapping you, kidnapping the babies, torturing you. You would wake up to his trembling and sweats, and you’d wake him up to get him out o this head.You’d do your best to get him to sleep peacefully, or stay up as long as you could to talk him through it, which would end up with more guards or further plans to add protection to your house.

In general, the pregnancy was not a breeze so far, with the nausea, drowsiness, swelling, heightened emotions and the cravings. You weren’t put on bedrest yet, but you knew it’d be coming soon, considering your size and how terrible some days felt. You craved typically fall and autumn foods, no surprise to anyone. 

“This baby is definitely Autumn Court” One of Eris’s brothers joked at family dinner, when the chef arrived with a special plate for you - macaroni and cheese with red pepper flakes and hot sauce coating the top, alongside apple slices with cinnamon. 

You blushed, looking at your food a tad embarrassed, before Eris reached a hand over to your knee, caressing it lightly. You were still getting used to the dynamic of the Vanserra family, but overall, everyone seemed to welcome you as Eris’ mate and wife. 

“Any normal person, all that spice would burn your mouth” Another commented, the usual stiff air of family dinner disappearing when everyone chuckled.

“It’s exactly what I ate when I was pregnant with all of you. The chef knows the recipe very well by now” Sarah commented, smiling at her children.

“I remember you loved all those covered apples from the market” Beron commented, looking to his wife, remembering the fond memories. Serah smiled softly - when she was pregnant, those were days he never abused her. Showering her with gifts and her cravings, it was some of the happiest moments of their relationship.

“Oh those sound good” Y/N said, looking at Eris with wide doe eyes.

“I’ll get them for you” Eris said, nodding as he smiled at her.

“They have them dipped in caramel, chocolate, cinnamon and some other toppings as well, I believe. Your mother loved the caramel and cinnamon ones” Beron added, and Eris nodded. 

It was surprising how well Beron and Eris were acting, but Beron was thrilled about Y/N’s pregnancy, and no one was going to start questioning now. 

“I want to tell my sisters before everyone else finds out” You stated, crossing your arms as you looked at Eris. Your belly was so large that you could rest your arms on your belly. 

“I don’t want you traveling to the night court, especially not in your condition” Eris replied back, trying not to argue but he was overly protective of you. You hadn’t been able to leave the castle or your home since you found out, and besides feeling stifled, you missed your sisters. You understood Eris’ dilemma but you weren’t budging. You had been surrounded by only Eris and his family for months, and you wanted your sisters. 

“Eris, I don’t care how but I’m seeing my sisters. What if they came here?” You asked. Sighing, Eris ran a hand through his hair, thinking of the possibilities. 

“We’d have to get it approved by my father” He said.

“Then I’ll ask him tonight at dinner” You replied.

“And then there’s Rhysand. Do you really think he’ll let his High Lady come here?” Eris asked.

“Eris, I swear to god I will walk there myself if I have to” You said stubbornly. Eris looked at you,  sighing, as he closed his eyes to think of the possibilities. “I haven’t seen my family since before the war. You know what? I’m sure Azriel or Cassian or Rhys would love to fly me there” You said, knowing how much that would push him over the edge. 

“You’re not going! We’ll ask Beron tonight” Eris said, sighing, pulling you in close to him. You tilted you head up to gaze at your husband.

Some days, you could just stare at Eris, in surprise of how you got here and how you managed to get such a wonderful husband, You knew no one really knew the real Eris like you did, but you couldn’t help but love him more.

“I love you” You said softly, as you watched his face soften and glow.

“I love you too, little flame” He said, cusping your face in his hand to give you a knee-weakening kiss. You all but melted into his arms.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door. Eris sighed, reluctantly leaving you to open the door. Surprised, you saw one of Beron’s personal guards, Stanton, at the door, coming in looking a bit shocked.

“The High Lord and High Lady of Night Court are here to see you both” He said, and Eris turned to you, surprise evident on his face.

“To see us? Eris did you-?” You asked, confused. 

“No. Tell them we’ll be there in shortly” Eris said.

“Your High Lord wants me to escort you back. I’ll be waiting outside” Stanton stated, and you raised an eyebrow but Eris nodded. Stanton closed the door behind him when he stepped back outside. What Beron wanted, Beron would get.

“They’re here?” You asked surprised, although you couldn’t help but hide the excitement of seeing your sister again.

———-

What is taking them so long? Feyre thought to Rhys, as they waited for Eris and Y/N to appear. It seemed that Autumn had expected it to take a few minutes, so they were all currently sitting in one of the formal living rooms instead of the normal throne room. There were a few plush couches, and Rhys was surprised to be in that room, as he had never entered it before on his dealings with Autumn Court.

I don’t know, but Beron’s acting very different… Rhys replied honestly, as Beron waited with them, watching them with fixed eyes as he seemed to study them harsher than normal. If Rhysand wasn’t as powerful as he was, he’d be definitely threatened with how hostile Beron currently was. 

Suddenly, they could hear commotion outside of the room, the guards moving to the door, as everyone stood up in anticipation. Rhys noted that it was surprising they were using the doors instead of winnowing.

“My apologies on your wait, High Lord and High Lady. It takes a lot more time to do normal tasks as of late” you said, with a glowing smile as Rhysand and Feyre stared at you in shock, as you walked to them, with Eris directly at your side. Feyre’s face erupted into a wide smile, once the shock ran off.

“Oh sister! Congratulations!” She said, opening her arms to bring you into a tight hug, before both Beron and Eris stepped in front of you. 

You tried not be upset as, you put a hand on Eris’ arm, and looked to Beron, who glanced down at you.

“It’s alright, we understand. Males are very protective of their offspring and lineage” Rhysand said, giving both males quizzical looks, before sitting on the couch with Feyre. You and Eris sat on another couch, while Eris gave his father a look.

“I believe Damian had mentioned there were some heated arguments that could only be settled with the High Lord, father” Eris said, and Beron looked at you, the Night Court guests, and then back to Eris.

“Your brother can’t do anything right. You look beautiful as always, Y/N” Beron said, surprising the Night Court by rubbing your belly softly before winnowing away. Eris wrapped his arm around you belly, a physical layer of protection that he had been doing now out of habit. Rhysand and Feyre looked at you and Eris expectantly, confused by everything.

“My apologies on the wait, truly. You look stunning Feyre, and Rhysand, ever so handsome” You said, with a wide smile. Eris stiffened a bit, but he knew deep down he didn’t have anything to be jealous of.

“No, you look beautiful. Seriously, you look glowing! Congratulations sister” Feyre said.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. Congratulations, both of you. How far along are you?” Rhysand asked, looking to Eris. 

Your belly was the largest pregnancy belly he had ever seen, and you looked ready to pop, but that would have put the conception before the wedding.

“She’s eight months. Got pregnant right after the wedding” Eris said, with a smirk as he looked at you. You blushed, remembering those days before shaking your head at him.

“How’s it been? I’ve missed you so much” Feyre said, and you reached out a hand to hers, holding it tightly. 

“It’s been… fine” You said, as Eris snorted, shaking his head.

“Don’t lie to them, little flame” Eris teased, before looking at the others. “It’s been a rough pregnancy. She’s carrying twins”

Rhysand’s jaw dropped, as he looked to Y/N’s belly in awe, and Feyre looked at him confused.

“Are twins not common?” Feyre asked.

“I have never met a faerie set of twins or know of any. You two have certainly been blessed” Rhysand said. “My healer Madja is available for you if necessary, and if you need additional protection, Night Court is here for you. The babies will be family, after all” 

You smiled, then winced as you felt them move within you. Eris looked at you concerned, as well as Rhys and Feyre.

“They’re active ones. Here,” You said reaching for both of their hands, as Eris stiffened, doing his best to calm his protective nature. You looked at Eris, with a raised eyebrow daring him to do something. “They’re fine, Eris. This is their aunt and uncle. They will not hurt me or them” You said, and Eris sighed, with a nod, before you placed a hand of Feyre’s and Rhysand’s on your belly where the babies were kicking.

“Oh my gosh” Feyre commented, feeling the kick. Tears were lining your eyes, as well as hers. “You’re having a baby, babies” Feyre corrected, as more tears poured from your eyes.

“Tissues!” Eris shouted to a guard, who immediately handed you some to wipe your eyes.

“Sorry, double the babies, double the heightened emotions” You said, with a chuckle, as everyone looked at you.

“We brought you a wedding gift, but we were worried since no one has heard from you” Rhysand explained, and Eris nodded.

“We’ve been keeping this a secret. Beron moved us into the castle for extra protection, even before we knew about the twins, and no one else outside the family knows. Now, I’m surprised Beron let you to see us, but no one  can know” Eris said, with a glare that could kill. You put your hand on Eris’ arm, to calm him down, brushing warmly on your bond.

“I want my family to know. It is unreasonable to ask them to keep it to themselves and not tell my sisters that I am pregnant. That they will be aunts. I’ll accept bed rest if we have a dinner to tell them?” You bargained with Eris, knowing how desperately he wished you wouldn’t move around anymore. Eris sighed, looking to you. 

“You know it’s really not up to me” He said, and you smiled a half smile. 

“I’ll ask him” You said, rubbing Eris’ hand. “I’ll ask and hopefully we’ll have dinner tomorrow or the next day. Oh! The dresses! I almost forgot” You said, excitedly, looking to Feyre. “I can’t go outside, so I’ve made a few dresses for you, our sisters, Mor, Amren and Madja. Please take them” You said as you motioned to a staff member to get the dresses.

“Oh you didn’t have to” Feyre exclaimed, when he came back with a large box filled with dresses.

“It was a nice distraction from feeling like a whale” You said, with a smile, as Feyre peaked in the box, seeing the dark fabrics and sparkle.

“I thought I was a distraction” Eris teased, unable to keep his thoughts in around you. You chuckled, leaning over and giving him a kiss.

“You are the best distraction, but you are not available all day, my love” You said, before turning back to your sister and her mate.

“That is very kind of you. I will happily pay for these” Rhysand said to Eris, seeing how happy his wife and her sister were.

“No need, Rhysand” Eris said. “It makes her happy” He added, looking at you.

“This is a very different Eris. One I’m happy to know” Rhysand said.

“It’s Y/N, she makes me… she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me” Eris said honestly, the love evident through his eyes.

“There’s no one I would’ve asked to be the father of my children, my love” Y/N said, tearing up again. 

“I swear, your hormones are going to kill me” Eris teased again, not wanting to cry in front of Rhysand - despite being his mate’s brother-in-law.

“How is everyone?” Y/N asked, switching topics.

“Everyone’s recovering. Nesta and Cassian are mates - they bonded after Nesta recovered from her difficulty processing our father’s death in the war” Feyre explained, watching Y/N’s face as it turned to shock.

“Father… father’s dead? In our war?” She asked confused. Eris raised an eyebrow at Rhysand, not remembering.

“Yes, father came in with his ships as help… Rhys, could you show her?” Feyre asked, before Eris got concerned.

“Do we - Do you want to see it? Do you want to see what Hybern did?” Eris asked, holding Y/N’s hands and looking at her. 

“I… no. I don’t. He’s dead. He came and helped in the war, and now he’s dead” Y/N stated, coldly. “Nesta struggled?” You asked, trying to not break out into more tears.

“Yes, but now she’s training” Rhysand said, delicately.

“Cassian’s always had a thing for her, yea? Two hot heads” You said, shaking your head, as you wiped off tears. “How’s Elain? Is she feeling better?” You asked.

“She’s much better. Lucien’s been helping” Feyre said, with a quick glance to Eris at the mention of his brother.

“I’m happy for them. I’ve missed you all so much” You said, emotionally.

taglist:

@historygeekqueen @rachelnicolee @percyjacksonspeen​ @fall-myriad​

[callmewishful]

Gautier Family Week in full swing! Cute little family piece to start :)

.—.

“Dad?” The door was half open before the small voice said, “Oops!” and it was shut once more. Three small knocks followed.

Matthias shook his head. He’d reminded Miklan about this often, though the rambunctious boy was rarely better at remembering. “Come in, Miklan.”

The little boy knew he had done wrong because the first thing he muttered as he approached his father’s desk was “Sorry.”

“We speak about this often, Miklan. What if I had been with company?”

“Yes, Sir.” Miklan nodded, pressing his lips together. He kept his eyes trained on his father and Matthias was glad to see that at least that lesson had sunk in well. In fairness, Miklan had always been confident and unwavering enough to have no trouble maintaining eye contact, unless he was in trouble as he was now. “I’m sorry.”

“You are forgiven. What did you need, Little One?”

“Where’s Momma?” The brightness in his eyes was quickly replaced, blissfully unaware of the sharp pang to his father’s chest at that phrase.

Miklan stared at him expectantly; Matthias usually held many answers for him on a multitude of topics…Why are horses tall? Why are weapons shiny? Why doesn’t the fire last forever?…it had been an interesting few years, to say the least. They, of course, had discussed what happened to Miklan’s mother numerous times before. Miklan was often plagued with nightmares as a younger boy and those usually prompted questions of where she was and what actually happened. Matthias tried to keep those conversations short in order to occupy his mind with better thoughts. Though he thought he had sufficiently detailed to Miklan where his mother actually was, at least enough to ward off future questions.

He swallowed the pressure in his throat, “Miklan, we’ve talked about this. Your mother is-“

“No, not that Momma.” Miklan shook his head and half rolled his eyes at Matthias. As if Matthias could read his mind and know who he’d truly meant. “Momma Phe! Where is she?”

Momma…Phe. If Matthias said those words brought comfort, he’d be lying. The knowledge that Lia was so easily…replaced was even harder to acknowledge. How could a woman who loved Miklan so furiously be erased from his mind in three short years?

Of course, it wasn’t Miklan’s fault. He had been young when his mother passed and Matthias always carried the knowledge that Miklan would struggle to remember his birth mother. He couldn’t say it made the day that had come too soon any less painful.

“Are you allowed to call her that?” Matthias finally asked his son. Phelan had not been in their lives long and Matthias didn’t wish to put any undue pressure on her. She was already testing out the possibility of being a Margraves wife. Sure, being a mother to Miklan seemed to come naturally to her, but calling her mother sounded much more final. As much as he wanted her to decide yes, she needed to be able to decide if this wasn’t the life she wanted.

Miklan shrugged, “I dunno. She reads me stories and tucks me in and plays with me like a Momma.”

“Nieve does those things too.” Matthias reminded him gently, “You should ask Phelan if you’re allowed to call her ‘Mother’ before you do so.”

“Why?” The ever-present question on Miklan’s young mind.

“Because she is not your mother. And it’s polite to ask permission before thrusting a title upon her.” When Miklan did not ask any follow-up questions, Matthias continued, “Now, I’m not sure where Phelan is. I haven’t seen her yet today. Have you checked the study?”

“I checked everywhere!” The boy groaned dramatically, raising his arms up and letting them fall against his legs. “She’s missing!”

“She is not missing. Have you asked Tabitha if she’s seen Phelan?”

Miklan sighed, “Yes! And she hasn’t so she’s missing!”

Matthias copied his son’s actions, “Have you checked her room?”

“That’s rude.”

Well, that lesson almost stuck, “It’s rude for you to barge in without being invited. It is not rude for you to knock and ask to come in.”

Miklan gave him a skeptical look, as if Matthias hadn’t made the rule and was just changing the law Willy-nilly. To avoid further back and forth, Matthias stood and held out his hand, “Come. We will go check on her.”

This seemed to be what Miklan was truly after, based on the way he smiled up at his father and cheerfully exclaimed, “Ok!”

They started with the library. If Phelan wasn’t working or with Miklan she could often be found there. When that was empty they made their way to other places Phelan was known to frequent. It wasn’t until those were void that Matthias began to worry. Phelan was not the kind of person to sleep past this hour and she certainly wasn’t the type to disappear without saying anything. Maybe Matthias had misunderstood Miklan and she was actually missing.

He knocked twice on her door, releasing Miklan’s hand to do so. The ‘told you’ look on his son’s face after she didn’t answer right away did not ease his worries.

“Phelan?” Matthias knocked again, a bit louder this time.

He pushed the door open slightly, just enough to see if the room was lit. This didn’t stop Miklan from gasping like his father had committed a crime, loudly proclaiming, “That’s rude!”

Matthias shushed the boy, opening the door a little more, “Phelan?”

It was obvious, then, that she was actually still asleep. The lump in the bed wiggled slightly, sheets rustling as it did. Miklan rushed in from behind Matthias, throwing his arms up on the side of the bed to try and reach her, “Momm-oops! I mean, uh, Phe! You’re alive!”

Matthias shook his head, rolling his eyes to himself before taking a couple steps in to pull Miklan back.

Phelan was certainly awake now with the yelling. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gave the little boy a small smile. Matthias fell into her line of sight next and seeing him jolted her alive. “Is everything alright?”

Her voice sounded awful; scratchy and hoarse. Matthias rose his head up in understanding, “You are not feeling well.”

“I’m fine.” She certainly tried to appear as much, moving to get out of bed before Matthias stopped her.

“You are ill. We apologize for disturbing you. Miklan hadn’t seen you yet today and was worried. We should’ve checked with one of the assistants.”

“What time is it?” Phelan ignored his words, glancing out the window to see how far the sun had risen.

“Nearly noon.”

She apparently hadn’t expected this, eyes wide as she went to get up again. When she was stopped a second time she settled on apologizing profusely for oversleeping, explaining that she’d only meant to sleep a few minutes more.

Matthias shook his head, the smallest of smiles on his lips, but one that Phelan had learned to find months ago, “You are apologizing for nothing. If you are ill, you should rest. Come, Miklan, let us get Phelan some soup and medicine.”

Only Miklan returned minutes later with a tray containing soup and some medicine. He was rushing, as he always was, sloshing a bit of soup as he lifted it up to her, “Oops! Don’t worry Momma-oops, I mean, Phelan! I’ll clean it!”

She couldn’t help laughing, even it did cause her little twinges of pain in her throat and a coughing fit. Miklan returned yet again with a full bath towel for a gold coins worth of spilt soup. “Don’t worry Momma! I got it!” He put the towel under the bowl after she lifted it, then paused as he remembered something, “Oops, I mean Phelan. Sorry. Can I call you Momma?”

“Honey,” she ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, “you don’t have to ask. Of course you can.”

“I told him I didn’t! But Dad said I did. I’ll go get books to read and Beary!” Miklan dashed off before Phelan could get a word in. She didn’t want to get him sick, but Miklan was insistent that she needed snuggles with him and his stuffed bear, proudly exclaiming, “We gotta snuggle and read when we’re sick! I feel better when we do so you will too!“

It was hard to argue with the logic of a five year old sometimes, especially when the warmth in her heart told her he was right. They spent the day in the comfort of the covers, reading and napping as they pleased.

Matthias stopped by often, but only lingered when the sound of Miklan’s outside-inside voice was silent. He watched her run her fingers through his son’s wild hair, the boy tucked up right against her as though she’d disappear. Matthias supposed it was a reasonable fear, all things considering.

They were lucky to have found her; one that filled the gaps they had for so many years now. She was a quick study, worked without complaint, took excellent care of Miklan; always patient and kind with him - Matthias knew he was fortunate.

But, as he held the worn square of paper between his fingers, he wondered why his heart couldn’t quite agree.

[usermischief]

♜Pairing: Briles (+ Isaac) ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Isaac Lahey ♜Tags/Warnings: Briles established relationship, alpha!Brett, explicit sexual content ♜Words: 6187 ♜Kinktober 2023: Sharing

ao3

a/n: I wish you a very happy birthday, @amatchinwater! 💖

———

sharing is caring

“Hey, you got a minute to talk?”

Stiles looks up from his files, quirking a brow as he studies Brett for a moment. “Sure?”

After closing the door behind him, Brett quickly crosses the distance and crouches down next to Stiles’ chair. There are only two instances when he acts like this; wanting to make peace after an argument, or when he wants Stiles to ask for a favor. They haven’t fought in a while. “You remember how we talked about that an alpha has to sometimes take care of their betas?”

Stiles raises his brows. “And how you’re not a fan of that tradition. Yes, I remember.” The first time Brett brought this topic up, Stiles had already read all about it — and he decided to date him anyway. He's aware that intimacy and physical contact have a very different meaning for werewolves, but he’s also aware that humans becoming members of a pack slowly changed the meaning of sex, especially for the alpha couple. Apparently, human mates turned the alpha more possessive and aggressive towards others and even the members of their own pack. Stiles could write a whole dissertation about how goddamn stupid it is to think a human getting involved with werewolves can’t protect themselves, but since Brett is against a lot of old traditions and never excluded him from anything dangerous, he didn’t have a reason to do so yet.

“That didn’t change.” Brett pulls his shoulders up and sighs.

“I can feel a ‘but’ coming.”

Brett grimaces a little. “It’s about Isaac.” They’ve talked a lot about Isaac in the past few days. Although he’s been with them for almost two months, it seems like he’s not fully integrated into the pack. There’s a distance there, one that’s been plaguing Brett. No pack activity seems to change that.

“So,” Stiles says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “you want to sleep with Isaac?” It will bother him, he’s not ever going to deny that. But he is also not going to stop Brett from doing it if he considers it absolutely necessary. Stiles did inherently agree to a more or less open relationship when he decided to date an alpha and continued to date him after they talked about everything.

“No.” Brett turns the desk chair Stiles is sitting on and slips between his thighs. Although Stiles isn’t a werewolf, he can’t deny that seeing Brett kneeling between his legs is doing things to him. It’s not a position an alpha would put themselves in usually, but Brett has never put himself above him in any way. They’ve always been equals, especially when it comes to decisions for the pack. “Isaac’s been in two other packs with you.” He straightens a little, just enough to wrap an arm around Stiles’ waist and pull him closer to the edge of his seat. “It’s possible he’s followed you to this one. It wouldn’t be the first time a werewolf instinctively anchors himself to a former pack mate, and with everything you two have been through…” he trails off, raising his brows.

Stiles blinks. “You want me to sleep with Isaac?”

Brett hums in agreement.

For a few moments, Stiles simply stares at his mate. Part of him still waits for the gotcha-moment, but Brett doesn’t really make these types of jokes. He probably mulled this over for at least a week, trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. Issue is, there is no best way to bring something like this up. Stiles has absolutely no idea what to say. Isaac is attractive, no doubt, and he totally would’ve been down to sleep with him — if he weren’t in a very committed relationship. Agreeing to this now feels weird. He clears his throat and runs his fingers through Brett’s hair. “What does Isaac say?”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

Stiles draws his brows together. “And you’d be okay with it?”

“I’ll be in the room.”

“Babe.” Stiles puts two fingers underneath Brett’s chin, tipping his head a bit further back. “That’s not what I asked.”

Brett grimaces and ducks his head, cheeks flushing slightly. It’s such a rare sight, something that happened the last time the day Brett asked him out for the very first time. He’s been so awkward and unsure back then. This side of Brett startled him all those years ago, it’s not any less surprising now. “You know I love you, right?”

The smile slips from Stiles’ features as the words sink in. Nothing good ever starts with ‘you know I love you, right?’. Absolutely nothing.

“No.” Brett is instantly alert, straightening and reaching up to cup his cheeks. “No, don’t go into panic mode. I just want to—” he cuts off and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. “I’d hate to see you with somebody else, but watching you and Isaac... I don’t know.”

Stiles blinks as realization dawns on him. “You’d be into that? Watching me and Isaac have sex?” He’s not exactly turned off by that admission. It’s more that he’s confused. Although Brett isn’t outright jealous, he’s proven to be very possessive which, again, is on par for mates. Stiles can feel the same tug of possessiveness whenever Brett is close with someone else. So, hearing this is surprising.

For a moment, Brett studies him and presses a finger to his bottom lip.

Out of instinct, Stiles pokes it with his tongue.

“No,” Brett admits then, shaking his head for good measure, “watching you be good for my beta— making him feel good, welcoming him... that’s what I’d be into.” There’s a hint of something unspoken, of something Brett has never outright said or asked him, but something that’s been floating around in his mind, nonetheless. Nature versus nurture. Brett is undoubtedly raised to fit seamlessly into the human society. That does not mean he isn’t fully in tune with his werewolf, and that side of him got stronger after becoming the alpha. There are little things that are standing out. He’s more protective, less reckless, almost responsible, and he started proving that he could provide for Stiles as well as the pack.

But there’s something else too.

Although Brett would never dare to treat Stiles as anything but his equal, he’s become increasingly frustrated when Stiles outright defied him. After all, he is the alpha, the leader of the pack. Brett’s word is law.

That’s how his wolf wants it.

Stiles cocks his head to the side. They both know he’ll never submit to Brett or anyone. That’s not who he is, and Brett would never dare to force him. Thing is, Stiles has often thought about finding a compromise, a way to ease Brett’s wolf without compromising their everyday life. “You want me to be a good boy?” Although Stiles has been thinking about it for a while, hearing these words out loud is still a bit jarring.

But Brett’s eyes flash red for the fraction of a second, proving that Stiles hit the nail on the head. He licks his lips and pulls off the chair on his lap within a second, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “I love you,” he tells him, lips brushing over his neck. “You’re so good for me.”

Stiles chuckles. “I know, but I still have to work.”

“Take a break.” Brett nips on his skin, looking up at him with an almost wolfish grin.

“Go talk to Isaac,” Stiles insists, cupping Brett’s jaw to gently push him away from him. “We can continue this when I’m done working.” The disapproving growl is not lost on Stiles, but he refuses to act on it. The only place he’ll ever consider to submit to Brett will be in the bedroom, and he can growl and hate it as much as he wants. “Priorities.” Stiles kisses the corner of Brett’s mouth.

Brett growls once more for good measure, but he relents. “Fine.” For an alpha, he knows how to act like a petulant child. 

— — —

“Isaac’s here.” Brett slips into the guest bedroom and raises his brows. “You got out your best clothes, huh?” Scrunching up his nose, Stiles looks down on himself. He’s wearing one of Brett’s old college’s shirt and boxer briefs. Surely not his most attractive attire. “It’s comfortable,” he says with a shrug, “and I figured I won’t have to wear my clothes for too long anyway. So…” he trails off with a shrug.

Brett pulls him close by the hem of his shirt. “Are you still cool with this?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a bit more time for prep?”

Stiles squirms a little. “I did that in the shower.” The deal was for Brett to get him in the mood, but Stiles does not exactly need any help with that.

Chuckling, Brett grabs his ass and pulls him closer. “Excited to sleep with Isaac?”

That answer is ‘yes, very’, but it feels wrong to admit that. He doesn’t want to lie either, so he ducks his head instead.

“That’s normal, you know?” Brett grabs his chin, still smiling genuinely. “You’ve been in three different packs. You’re bound to feel an intense connection with him. I’m surprised you two never had sex before.”

Even though Stiles’ view on sex is pretty casual, it’s nothing against a werewolf’s opinion on sex — outside of a relationship that is. They’re usually pretty loyal once they found a mate. “Are you okay with this?” Stiles raises his brows. It’s going to be weird to have Brett watch them the whole time, but he gets that his wolf would never allow anything else.

Brett kisses him briefly. “I love you.” Smiling, he steps back. That’s not exactly a ‘yes’, but before Stiles can point that out, Brett has settled into the corner of the room. With the only light source being the left of two lamps on the nightstands, the armchair, and with that Brett, is almost shrouded in shadows.

“You look like a bond villain,” Stiles informs him.

Brett flashes his eyes.

“Now you look like a demon.” Stiles shakes his head when Isaac knocks on the door. Softly, almost as if he hoped it would go unheard. Stiles mouths ‘be nice’ before moving to open the door. They all agreed that this could be stopped at any time, but Stiles still would prefer it happened before starting anything. After all, Isaac has a hard time fitting in already. There’s no need to make this anymore awkward.

Isaac blinks at him, hands pushed deep into the pocket of his pants. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hey.” Stiles steps aside, gesturing for Isaac to come in. “Ignore Brett. He’s being a dramatic asshole.”

Although Isaac chuckles, he’s clearly nervous when he glances at his alpha. He briefly nods at Brett before turning back to Stiles. Neither will be able to ignore Brett, but it’s probably still going to be the best if they at least pretend not to notice him. “You look…” Isaac trails off and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Like I just rolled out of bed.” Stiles closes the door with a chuckle. He gets the feeling that Isaac is not going to be the one to make the first move. It’s not surprising, and to be honest, Stiles expected that. He rolls his shoulder and crosses the room. Flirting isn’t exactly his forte, but he’s pretty good at all the other stuff. Getting Isaac out of his shells should not be too hard.

Hopefully.

Stiles grabs his shirt by the back of his neck and pulls it over his head, tossing it in Brett’s general direction.

Isaac’s eyes widen slightly, but his gaze wanders over Stiles’ body regardless.

There used to be a time when Stiles would’ve shied away from it, yet Brett worshipping every inch of his body certainly did wonders for his confidence. That’s why he’s slipping onto Isaac’s lap without hesitation. “Hey,” he whispers again, chuckling softly as he bumps their noses together.

Isaac doesn’t respond, body stiffening slightly. Still, he grabs Stiles’ waist and tips his head back enough to give easy access to his mouth.

An opening Stiles surely isn’t going to miss. He cups his jaw and kisses him. As much as he’d love to ease Isaac into this, they are on a bit of a time limit here; Brett’s patience isn’t endless. So, Stiles grinds against Isaac, feeling elated at the soft gasp he gets in response. This whole thing may happen under Brett’s watchful eye, and there is a reason they’re having sex to begin with, but Stiles doesn’t want Isaac to think Stiles isn’t into it.

Because he is.

As confusing as the request was at first, Stiles can’t deny that he wants to have sex with Isaac.

But the werewolf stays passive even though he allows Stiles to deepen the kiss and starts kissing him back.

“You can stop at any time,” Stiles reminds him between kisses, “it’s okay.” Although, admittedly, it would suck.

Isaac shakes his head. “No, it’s just—"

It’s just Brett.

“Ignore him.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Isaac mumbles and scrunches up his face adorably.

Thing is, it’s really not. Stiles doesn’t have to be a werewolf to be fully aware of Brett staring at them. “Focus on me,” he tells Isaac, sliding one hand between them. “Just me.” He palms Isaac through his jeans, loving the way his eyes flutter and his lips part for a soft gasp. “Just. Me.” Smiling, Stiles kisses him again, and it seems as if Isaac’s courage follows his hard-on.

Finally, he slides his hands down to Stiles’ ass and deepens the kiss by tracing his tongue with his own. About fucking time. Brett isn’t the most patient of people, and he’s certainly not going to wait forever until Isaac got his shit together. He’d rather fuck him right in front of him to show him what he’s missing out on.

Stiles moans into the kiss.

That thought really shouldn’t be this much of a turn-on. Yet, here he is. Stiles gets the weird feeling that he’s going to learn a lot about himself today — and he’s not going to complain about it. Brett and his sex-life can only be improved by this; not that it isn’t fucking amazing already.

“You’re still very dressed,” Stiles mutters into the kiss. Not that getting fucked in clothes doesn’t have its very own appeal, but Stiles does prefer to have his partner naked. There’s something about the skin-on-skin contact that cannot be beaten by anything else.

Isaac gets to his feet, lifting Stiles without any issues, before tossing him onto the bed with a grin. Looks like someone’s gotten a bit more comfortable.

Good.

Without wasting a second, Isaac strips down to his boxers. His body is to die for, his dick a hard outline against his tight boxer briefs. He’s painfully attractive, and if Stiles is entirely honest, he can’t wait to get his hands on him — to taste him.

Stiles licks his lips and inches to the edge of the bed. Beckoning Isaac to come closer, he sits back on his heels. This is about Isaac. This is about making Isaac feel comfortable, about making him feel good.

For a second, Stiles cuts his gaze to his boyfriend, who stays unmoving in the corner of the room. His eyes are trained on him. Stiles wonders if Isaac can feel it too, the heaviness of those blue eyes; the way it’s making him feel hot and cold — the way it makes him want to please Brett. He wants, no, needs to hear him say he did good.

Still looking at Brett, Stiles hooks his fingers under the waistband of Isaac’s boxer briefs. There’s a nod. Short. Almost curt. And it snaps Stiles back into the moment. He looks up at Isaac, who stares down at him, wide-eyed. His hands are frozen in mid-air, like he stopped himself halfway through running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. When Stiles pulls his boxers down, Isaac, too, snaps back into motion. He curls his fingers into Stiles hair, guiding him towards his dick.

Moaning, Stiles wraps his lips around the tip. Heat rushes through his body when Isaac curses above him, voice nothing more than a breathless whisper. His fingers twitch in his hair, and something about the impact fills Stiles even further with the insane need to please. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t have the urge to be a little shit. He wraps a hand around Isaac’s dick and takes him deeper into his mouth, flattening his tongue against the underside of his dick. The tangy taste makes his mouth water.

He bobs his head, making sure to pay attention to every part of Isaac’s dick, tightening his lips around the tip — taking as much as he could and more each time until he pulls his hand away and grabs Isaac’s hips with both.

Isaac runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair almost like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands otherwise — until his grip turns near painful when his dick hits the back of Stiles’ throat.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Stiles pulls back again. It’s best not to push his gag reflex. Stiles looks up at Isaac, flushing with pleasure at the bright yellow eyes staring right back at him. It’s entrancing and almost as hot as Brett’s red eyes.

Almost.

“Isaac.” Although Brett’s voice is light, a ripple of unease cuts through the other wolf as he turns his head to look at his alpha. Brett approaches him, face unreadable even though his dick is so hard it has to be uncomfortable in those jeans.

Stiles pulls away and sits back on his heels, shifting uncomfortably as he watches both werewolves.

Brett says something Stiles can’t quite catch, but Isaac merely nods, shoulders relaxing again. To Stiles’ surprise, Isaac’s even grinning when he locks eyes with hm again. That’s new. Isaac’s been nervous around Brett on the best of days. No wonder. After all, his track record with alphas isn’t exactly the best. The poor guy probably worried Brett would rip his head off since Scott threw him against a wall twice for simply liking Allison; yet here he is, about to fuck his alpha’s mate.

Werewolves.

“Someone’s impatient,” Isaac informs him, nodding in Brett’s direction with a sly grin.

Brett rounds the bed. “So cocky already.” His gaze is locked on Stiles, burning with both heat and amusement. “Looks like,” he continues, his voice dropping to a low whisper, “someone’s got a magic mouth.” Chuckling darkly, Brett wraps his fingers around Stiles’ throat and pulls him up until he can brush their lips together. “I love you, gorgeous,” he all but paints the words against Stiles’ mouth. “You’re doing so well.”

Stiles keens softly, reaching up to pull Brett down for a proper kiss.

“No.” Brett grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s still Isaac’s turn.”

A shudder runs down his spine. Isaac’s turn. It should make him feel weird, instead it makes his dick twitch in his already too tight briefs. There’s a part of him that still fully believes he shouldn’t be this excited about fucking Isaac. He’s in love with Brett.

And yet.

Dragging his thumb over his mouth, Brett lets go of him. He doesn’t sit back down in his corner, however. Instead, he gets comfortable on the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs spread open almost invitingly.

Stiles nearly loses his mind as he forces himself to turn away from him again. Brett is doing it on purpose, he knows that. He wants to push him, like the asshole he is. But Stiles is not going to cave. Two can play this game.

Isaac looks at him, hands awkwardly in the air like he’s not entirely sure how to continue now that Brett is right there, which is most likely the exact reason Brett did it. His methods may be questionable, but they usually work.

It’s annoying.

Stiles pushes the thought out of his mind. For a few heartbeats, he studies Isaac’s face – the dirty blonde curls hanging into his forehead, his sharp jawline, the bright blue eyes, and his mouth, so damn kissable. He all but lurches forward and does just that, pressing their mouth together in a greedy kiss that’s too much teeth for a couple of seconds. Stiles buries his fingers in the soft curls, pulling Isaac down and closer to him.

That’s all it takes to get Isaac right back where he left off. His hands are on his ass almost immediately. Kneading. Pressing and grinding their dicks together in a delicious way.

But he’s really not in the mood to drag this out any longer. “Fuck me,” Stiles whispers, about ready to beg him. He hasn’t needed anyone inside of him as desperately since the first time he slept with Brett – and the time after that, when they finally solidified their mating bond. The first month after the mating bite, Stiles had more sex than other people have in their whole lifetime. 

Isaac breaks the kiss and pushes Stiles onto his back, his mouth hot on his neck and shoulders and chest as he kisses his way down Stiles body, nipping his skin but never risking leaving a mark. He not deterred by Stiles’ fingers in his hair or nudging Brett’s foot with his elbow. His chin brushes against his dick, and his stupid curls tickling the inside of his thigh make Stiles whine.

“Please,” he begs, tugging in Isaac’s hair. “Please, please, please.”

Isaac chuckles.

Hot breath hits the wet spot on Stiles’ boxers. The sensation makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

But Isaac doesn’t tease him any longer. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ boxer briefs and pulls them down, tossing them into the corner of the room. As Isaac crawls back between Stiles’ legs, his gaze jumps from Stiles’ dick, to his face before he seemingly locks eyes with Brett.

There’s a new tension in the room, and suddenly, Stiles realizes that he’s in bed between two very lethal werewolves. This whole thing stands and falls with everyone being on board with everything that might happen – even someone stopping this.

It really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. Right now, if Brett were to allow it, Stiles would happily be fucked by them at the same time. That would certainly do wonders for the pack bond. Stiles shudders at the thought, clenching around nothing. He really needs someone to fuck him in the next couple of minutes, or he will do it himself. Stiles cranes his neck, looking up at Brett. His face is near unreadable, eyes ever so slightly narrowed – like it hits him only now what’s about to happen.

“Please,” Stiles whines, reaching a hand back. Awkwardly, he pats Brett’s thigh, fingers ghosting over his sweatpants until he’s able to palm his dick.

The moment he does, Brett’s fingers curl around his wrist in an iron grip. “I think I said no, didn’t I?” Oh, that’s his alpha voice. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Although he doesn’t look at him, Stiles knows this command is directed at him. But he can do that. He can totally do that if it means Isaac can fuck him in the very, very near future. Stiles rolls onto his stomach and hoists himself onto his hands and knees. Today isn’t about intimacy, not really. This is happening to forge a connection, to force Isaac to stop holding back.

Brett tosses Isaac a condom and locks eyes with Stiles. His fingers run over Stiles’ cheek, making him shudder with the touch alone. Brett smirks as he presses his thumb against Stiles’ bottom lip.

Almost out of instinct, Stiles pokes it with his tongue.

“He’s ready,” Brett’s voice is nothing more than a whisper. “You can fuck him.”

That seems to be all the permission Isaac needs. He grabs Stiles’ ass, spreading him open, and for a few seconds, nothing else happen.

Stiles can feel heat creep into his cheek at the thought of Isaac just staring at his ass – a thought that’s flying out the window when Isaac’s dick finally joins the fun. He grinds against him, hellbent on teasing Stiles just a little longer. Clenching his teeth, Stiles shoots him a look over his shoulder. “Isaac,” he snaps, “if you don’t-”

The press of Isaac’ dick against his rim cuts him off. “I’m sorry?” His voice is innocent sweet, almost like he isn’t on the verge of fucking him. “You were saying?” He pushes in, and they both moan loudly.

Stiles rocks his hips back, needing all of Isaac inside of him right fucking now. He curses under his breath, curling his fingers into the sheets. Isaac’s fingers dig into his skin, and a part of Stiles hopes they’re going to leave little marks on his body; something to remember this by, so when he wakes up in the morning, he knows this wasn’t some kind of fever dream. Funny, how he’s never realized how much he wanted to sleep with Isaac until now. At this point, he doesn’t even care if it’s their pack bond or his own desire. Does Isaac feel it too? Stiles wants to know, but he’s not going to ask with Brett right there.

That feels like crossing a line.

Then again, Brett can probably smell it on him; how desperate he is for another guy’s dick. Guilt churns in his stomach as the feeling of betrayal joins his desire.

Brett kisses his forehead, so strangely gentle. “Relax, my love. You’re perfect.”

The words ricochet through him, and he whines softly. Stiles is torn between wanting Isaac to fuck him into the sheets and his need for Brett, his mate. Letting out a breath, Stiles lowers himself onto his forearms and leans his cheek against Brett’s thigh. As Isaac continues to sink into him, inch by torturous inch. It’s so fucking slow, Stiles wants to scream.

But when he finally, finally buried fully inside him, Isaac kisses his shoulder blades, first left than right. “Sorry,” his words are cool against Stiles’ skin, “sorry, this is... a lot.”  So, he does feel it too. Good to know.

��I get it.” Stiles pushes himself up on his hands again and looks at Isaac over his shoulder. The werewolf looks utterly wrecked already, and Stiles wonders if it feels even more intense for him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Werewolves do have that benefit. “But I really-” Stiles grinds against Isaac, trying to get his point across “-need you to move.”

Preferably now.

Isaac doesn’t move immediately. Yet again, his gaze snaps to Brett. It’s a silent question for something.

“Oh,” Brett chuckles, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “He can take it.”

Before Stiles can even ask what he’s talking about, Isaac pulls back and snaps his hips forward. Stiles moans, hardly recovering from the first thrust before Isaac has found his rhythm. Hard. Fast. Barely holding back.

Stiles loves it. Maybe a little too much. There is something burning in his veins, something he’s never quite felt before — not like this, at least. Stiles remembers the addictive high of the mating bond, the strange warmth cocooning him for weeks after. If this is anything like this, this will have some interesting consequences.

But now, it’s probably too late to think about those.

It’s hard to think in general — at least about anything but Isaac trying his very best to fuck his brains out. If he keeps this up, nailing his prostate more often than not, Isaac might actually be successful a lot faster than Stiles would like to admit.

Cursing and moaning, usually at the same time, Stiles is trying to match Isaac’s rhythm; something that’s mostly impossible by how hard Isaac’s fingers dig into his skin. He’s taking over his body, claiming him for as long as Brett lets him — most likely chasing the same insane sensation that is drowning every corner of Stiles’ soul.

A soft moan reaches his ears.

Brett.

Stiles raises his head, nearly choking on air as he spots Brett’s fingers tight around his own dick. It shouldn’t be hot — it fucking shouldn’t. Brett shouldn’t be so turned on by Stiles fucking somebody else, and Stiles’ brain shouldn’t nearly short-circuit learning that Brett is getting off to it.

But damn, it’s one of the hottest things he’s seen.

Stiles reaches for Brett, curling his fingers into his blonde hair and crashes their mouths together. Finally, finally, Brett caves and kisses him back — and when Brett’s tongue brushes against his, and Isaac is still pounding into him just right, something snaps into place without any further warning. Stiles’ whole body stiffens as his orgasm slams into him without any warning – pleasure coursing through him like a tidal wave. He’s dimly aware of cursing against Brett’s mouth. Only a heartbeat later, Isaac’s weight comes crashing down on him, body shaking, and dick pulsing still deep inside of him.

Nobody ever told him that a pack bond snapping into place during sex almost rivals a mating bond.

Stiles blinks his eyes open, afterglow still lapping at his body, as hands are cupping his jaw and cheek. A shudder runs through Stiles’ body, his brain still too foggy to understand a single word that’s coming out of Brett’s mouth. It takes a hot minute until he connects the sounds to the movement of his lips. “Look at you,” Brett whispers, thumbs brushing over Stiles’ cheekbones, “so perfect.”

Isaac makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat then pushes himself u and pulls out only to collapse onto the bed right next to them again, spent and clearly deep in his afterglow. A sheen of sweat makes his curls stick to his forehead. Even looking as boneless as Stiles feels, Isaac is still unfairly attractive.

Never in his life has a pack bond snapping into place felt like that, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if it was supposed to be this intense. He doesn’t get the chance to ask either because Brett is kissing him like a drowning person and pulling him closer.

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest, his body craving Brett as much as it’s pleading to slow down, to give him a chance to get over all that stimulation. “Wait,” he mutters into the kiss. “Hold on, give me-”

But Brett grabs his waist, whispering, “sorry, sorry.” as if he’s actively hurting him, or doing something Stiles isn’t down for.

Yes, Stiles would love to get a few seconds to catch his breath, and for everything to stop feeling like it’s too much. His nerves are on high alert, as if the pack bond snapping into place cranked his sensitivity up to a hundred. Still, he can tell that Brett isn’t entirely in control right now. He’s warned him about it, about his wolf’s need to reclaim, to drown Stiles in his scent again, to scrub Isaac away. There’s no anger in Brett’s touch, just the urgent need to fuck him that took over his entire body. Stiles knows the difference. They’ve had angry sex countless of times.

This isn’t it.

Brett’s fingers run over skin almost apologetically as he turns Stiles around, even chuckling softly as Stiles’ legs refuse to cooperate for a few seconds. Not that he needs them. Brett holds him with one hand, angling him in a way that makes it comfortable to lean against his chest. He lowers Stiles down until the tip of his dick is pressing against his hole. Despite having just been thoroughly fucked – or maybe because of it – Brett pushing in comes with an uncomfortable stretch.

Stiles squeeze his eyes shut. “Please,” he mutters, turning his head to speak against Brett’s throat. “Slow down. For me?” For them, more likely. Because Stiles wants it to be good for Brett as well. It should be more than just a fuck out of werewolf-principle.

The disapproving rumble is already answer enough, but Brett drives his point home by snapping his hips up and pulling Stiles fully onto his lap.

Stiles yelps then punches Brett’s thigh. “Fuck you.”

Brett sneaks his arms around his waist and kisses his jaw and cheek. “Sorry,” he whispers again. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No.” Stiles takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’s not entirely sure if this is one of the hottest things that happened to him, or if he wants to snap at Brett for being so fucking impatient. But he’s been warned. Still, he kind of expected to be pushed into the pillows and fucked.

Hard.

But he’s also not complaining. It’s beautifully intimate, the way Brett is slowly grinding against his ass. His arms are tight around him, fingers teasing his skin — and the way his dick is brushing up against his prostate is driving him slowly insane. As much as he wouldn’t have minded for Brett to make sure Stiles remembers who he belongs to, this is too good.

Brett rocks up into him, arms tightening. His breathing is shallow, fast, and Stiles can tell he’s close to his orgasm. “Babe, I need-” Brett cuts himself off, gasping into Stiles’ ear in a way that sends hot tingles down his body. “Relax, babe. Please.” He sounds way too desperate, too needy.

This is the hottest thing Stiles has ever heard.

He presses against Brett, rolling his hips, grinding down. Part of him wants to speed it up, wants Brett to cum so Stiles can hit the mattress and fall asleep. Another part of him would love to stay like this forever, wrapped up in this beautiful heat with Brett deep inside him — maybe even knotting him.

No sooner has the thought crossed his mind when he can feel Brett’s knot press against his rim. “Fuck,” he curses softly.

“I’m sorry.” Brett’s hot breath ghosts over his skin, thumb tracing invisible lines under his belly button.

Stiles really wants to tell him to shut up. There’s no reason to apologize. To be fair, Stiles should’ve probably expected this. It’s stupid he didn’t, but sometimes it’s so easy to forget that Brett is very much an alpha werewolf who is driven by his own instincts. He’s too Zen for his own good almost all the time. His words, however, leave his brain before he’s even got the chance to open his mouth as Isaac moves between his legs.

The grin on his lips speaks volumes, and he doesn’t hesitate. His lips wrap around Stiles’ dick in an instant.

The sensation alone nearly makes his brain melt.

Stiles lets his head fall back, shuddering and moaning. He curls his fingers into the sheets as his body struggles to figure out if it wants to press against Brett or thrust into the heat of Isaac’s mouth. This is nothing like using a sex toy when Brett sucks him off. This feels like fucking heaven. His dick is hard again, and when it hits the tip of Isaac’s throat and Brett’s knot finally slips in, he nearly combusts.

Stiles’ vision whites out for some glorious seconds. He arches his back, feeling Brett’s arms tighten even further around him as his hips move back and forth almost helplessly – locked into place by Isaac’s mouth working around him, and Brett’s dick pulsing deep inside him as he rides out his own orgasm. He cannot remember ever cumming this hard – or this fast for that matter – for a second time.

His body, however, goes from feeling absolutely amazing to too much in about two seconds. Hissing softly, Stiles curls his fingers into Isaac’s hair and pulls him off.

Isaac licks his lips, studying his face for a few seconds, before he leans up and kisses him. It’s a bold move, doing it with Brett not only still buried inside him, but also with his head right next to them.

Brett merely chuckles, either too high from his own orgasm or actually okay with this.

Sighing, Stiles parts his lips. He shudders at the taste of himself on Isaac’s tongue. If he’s honest, he didn’t know what to expect from this night, but it certainly wasn’t this. It was so much better than he could have imagined – and part of him wouldn’t mind doing it again. But not tonight or tomorrow, or even this week. He’s too fucking tired, his body painless and numb because of whatever werewolf magic Brett’s knot is working on him. He barely feels the stretch or pressure. Stiles is pretty sure his body is tricked into enjoying the sensation of being this full by some supernatural bullshit, but he doesn’t particularly mind.

When Isaac breaks the kiss, Stiles doesn’t bother to open his eyes. He leans back, pressing his face against Brett’s neck ready to pass out.

“I love you,” Brett whispers. Stiles hums in response.

-------

[cobiehaven]

We See Stars — Lee Felix

SYNOPSIS; felix loves astronomy, he lives for it. he could probably point out every star alignment that shows. but when he comes across a lonely girl shivering in the spring of winter, he can’t help but want to share that same love.

PARING; felix x reader

GENRE; fluff

WORD COUNT; 1.4k

TAGS/WARNINGS; royalty au, prince!felix, noble!reader, reader is insecure, one set scene.

AUTHORS NOTE; inspired by one taehyun fanfic i read by an amazing author but i couldn’t find the link 🥹.

felix took a deep sigh of relief the moment he stepped outside to admire the beautiful night sky, a cloud of heat escaping past his lips.

it was painted with stokes of dark navy and sparkled white dots shimmering across, the terrance was chilled with a soft frost. it was euphoric. the only thing that was different was the small girl chattering her teeth near the bench on the other side of the balcony.

he raised a brow. what human would be leveled enough to want to step out in freezing weather without a coat on?

a light “achoo!” perked his attention even more, his actions thinking before his brain.

“you must be insane or stupid to want to be out in weather like this,” he said informally. your attention being taken by his admiring complex as you snapped your head around to see who the owner of this unfamiliar voice was. “who are you?” you asked, informally back.

he didn’t answer with his name but instead shrugged off his thick fur coat, draping it over your quivering shoulders.

you blushed but it was masked with your already pink face, it must have been from your forming cold. instead of asking him any more, you awaited for him to.

he took a seat next to you, your eyes glued on him while his own trailed from the glowing city below to the twinkling stars above. “what are you doing out here?” he asked you.

you hesitated in answering. he was a complete stranger, why would you tell a stranger? but then again, he was a stranger. it’s not like you’d ever see him again. “its a stupid reason,” you sighed, hugging the coat he gave you. “maybe i like stupid,” he laughed.

you were just going to pretend what he said earlier didn’t matter.

“well now you can’t laugh once i tell you.”

“i don’t promise that.”

you gave him a hard stare but he just stared back, waiting.

you sighed and looked away, deciding that it didn’t matter either way. “no one told me i looked pretty tonight.” it was silent for a few moments, you wondered if he thought it was as stupid as you thought it was. to be sad over something so attention seeking was just embarrassing. you wouldn’t be surprised if he was repulsed by you. but then again, you both don’t even know each other and never will, so its not like it mattered too much.

he glanced at you, his eyes on you instinctively making you look back at him. “what..?” you asked, ready to go on a 5 minute tangent about how you came to be so upset over such a topic. quietly, he spoke.

“you look beautiful, tonight.”

the silence was long. longer than before, you weren’t sure how to take those words. to be happy that someone told you what you were hoping to hear or to not take it seriously since you had already told him what exactly you wanted to hear. deciding that the second option overruled the opposing, you just scoffed. “i know you’re just saying that because i told you,” you giggled.

“im serious.” was he? “i’ll be honest.. i couldn’t stand to see you sitting out here all alone, shivering. i originally came out here to stargaze but then i saw you. i couldn’t help but want to know about you.”

you didn’t know what to say. what do you say to something like this?

“what do you want to know?” you asked.

he glanced at you, a soft smile spreading across his pretty freckled face.

“who you are.”

“but you haven’t told me who you are.”

“that does seem to be an issue..”

he hummed, looking away with a sigh, his eyes glued on the city lights below. the view was beautiful. the twinkling lights from both above and below reminded you of the man next to you and his cute freckles. you could draw lines trying to connect them all night. it wasn’t until he looked back at you that you snapped out of your alluring trance. “i’m felix,” he spoke, your eyes widening in utter shock. “what?!” you stood up. “like- the 3rd kings son, lee felix???” you questioned him, your voice cracking from how dry your throat was. he nodded, you could tell his cheeks were flushed the same shade as pink as yours. you lowered your voice, squatting back down into your seat but your eyes still open wide. “i can’t believe i’m talking to the prince right now,” you were in disbelief.

now you really felt embarrassed for telling him what nearly made you cry tonight.

“a lot of people say that. the only thing is that no one recognizes me as the kings son until i tell them.” you fell quiet, not sure of what to say. “it’s my older brother who gets the most attention since he’s awarded the throne next,” felix didn’t sigh, or look uncomfortable at all. but you didn’t believe he wasn’t at least hurt. “that has to bother you, no?” you asked him. “a little but i’ve been numb to this feeling for a while,” he looked down at his hands, his fingertips red and frozen.

it was silent. the cool breeze brushing up on your clothed shoulders and across your nose, it seemed like it was going to start snowing soon if it got any colder.

sitting back down next to felix, you weren’t sure of what to say as you too, had fallen for the same inconvenience that everyone else does, when meeting felix. not even recognizing him for who he actually is. “you don’t have to feel bad, i actually kind of like it this way.” you turned to look at him. “being a prince isn’t always the luxury people imagine. i’m lucky enough to be that prince that no one knows of and can have my own freedom.”

you never thought about it that way but he was right, you couldn’t imagine being of such high class and not getting attention all of the time. so it was a blessing to have a royal life without the looming paranoia of eyes and voices surrounding you.

“i suppose i could see how you would like that,” you agreed with him. “but still, the title is nice to have.” he nodded in agreement.

it was an awkward silence for a while, the two of you enjoying the city sounds and faint voices below the terrance. you weren’t sure if fate existed nor were you sure of miracles but you swore that you had never felt more comfortable in this open space with a complete stranger than you ever had with anyone else. the soothing feeling having you sinking down against the bench and looking up at the night sky.

“do you like astronomy?”

the question caught you off guard. why would he be asking you a question like that? right now?

“uhm, i guess?” you questioned.

“you don’t have to say yes if you don’t,” he laughed.

“well now i’m curious!” you argued.

felix gestured up to the sky, his pointed finger guiding you. “you see that star right there?” you hummed in response. “see how it has a slight reddish tint? it’s actually not a star,” he pointed out. your surprised eyes only feeding his enjoyment.

“it’s actually a planet.”

“wow.. how do you know that?” you watched as felix cowered away with a soft blush to his cheeks. his hand reaching for the back of his neck. “i might be a bit of a space nerd..”

you would have never guessed the kings 3rd son would be into astronomy.

but then again, it wasn’t your place to assume such things of people.

“why are you bringing this up with me?” at the end of the day, you were still just strangers to each other. but for some reason.. something told you that he didn’t have anyone else to tell. “you just seemed like the right person to tell,” he smiled at you. his freckles lighting up in the moonlight in a way that had you connecting them like constellations.

there was nothing more surreal than watching the most beautiful man in front of you admire you the same way you admired him. you didn’t even realize you were staring at his lips until he caught attention to your own. giving in to his instincts, he slowly leaned in to capture your lips, you happily complying with him.

suddenly, you no longer had any worries.

proofread by @hwasluvr

© cobiehaven 2023

[townsenddecades]

1313 – Day 3

The cold is holding on so tenaciously that by this point, the Townsends worry if there will even be a spring harvest. Usually, the season is good for replenishing their stores and their purse, but that is not meant to be in this instance, it seems. They bear up as best they can. There is nothing to be done for it, either way.

There are other ways for them to make money, at least, which they gladly make use of. Whenever they have a moment, Benjamin and his brothers practice their letters, while Malika is busy caring for Helen and the twins. There is no sign of another pregnancy yet, which doesn’t worry her. The twins are hardly a year old, after all.

Because there isn’t much to do on the farm with the plants growing so badly, and because they have already experienced their brother’s success with finding someone to teach him to read, Simon and Gregory decide to make the trip to the abbey to learn something that interests them both: painting.

They don’t even get in the door before Simon spots a woman and feels a tug towards her. He has never seen her before, he is sure of that, but it’s as if something inside him wants him to go talk to her. He watches as she stops dead in her tracks and slowly turns towards him, her face shadowed by a wide hood so that he can’t make out her face.

He doesn’t know who she is. He doesn’t know if walking over to her is wise. He just knows that he has to.

As if steered by something other than himself, he bids his brother go inside while he walks over to the woman, who studies him with interest. This close to her, he notices that her eyes are the brightest blue he has ever seen.

“Well”, she says, after a time. “This is certainly a surprise. And who might you be, young man?”

“I’m Simon”, he says, as if compelled. “Simon Townsend. I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to just walk up to you, but…”

“It’s no problem at all.” The woman smiles. “It’s always nice to meet someone…like-minded. You’re a Townsend? Of the family that lives outside of Tovar?”

He is surprised that she knows them, but he nods. “Do you know my father?”

“Not quite, but I know of him. We have a…mutual acquaintance, so to speak. My name is Elea. And what brings you here, Simon?”

He tells her about his quest with his brother, but somehow, painting doesn’t seem half as interesting as talking to Elea. She asks him if he knows how to read, and about his life, and he gets so talkative that he almost finds himself telling her about the strange things he can do – he doesn’t even know how, but the topic has somehow turned to magic. He manages to catch himself in time, but he still notices a small smile playing over Elea’s lips.

“Well, Simon, I think I have kept you long enough. Your brother will wonder where you are. But I’m sure we’ll meet again. Take care of yourself until then.”

And with that, she walks off, without ever having told him a thing about herself beside her name.

While Simon has a conversation that may turn his entire life upside down – even though he doesn’t know it yet – Gregory does what the boys had come there to do and tries his hand at painting. He isn’t very good, and he can’t stay as long as he would have liked, but it’s a start.

And back home, the young married couple uses the absence of most of the rest of the family – other than the twins – to enjoy their private time together. The fact that they haven’t conceived another child yet only means they have more reason to try.

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[dreamii-yume]

idk if ur into bl but there’s a rlly good game called “slow damage” by nitro chiral. they’re the same company who made dramatical murder…so if you know. then you know how this game will play out 😭 but i’m pretty sure slow damage is more of their darker games.

it’s not free, but for what it’s worth (about $20 usd), id say i don’t regret buying it myself. i think it would fit right into your ally bc when i’m talking dark content…i mean it! if i remember correctly, it follows a depressed desk worker (bc ofc) who’s also a painter trying to get some cash yk?? and the cool thing about the mc is he has the ability to see people’s deepest darkest desires, which he uses as inspo to create art.

and this game is not afraid about getting depraved 😅 one of my fav characters (besides the mc bc i actually love him) is this dude named madarame, iirc??? and he’s every masochists wet dream 🫣 don’t @ me for that lmfaooo

it’s such a wild game!! i loved the nsfw scenes so much, i encourage you to look up some of the cutscene art bc it’s genuinely so beautiful 😩 there’s always some kind of blood involved and they’re usually banging at some decrypt place that prolly stinks so hard. despite all of that, the mc always looks like he’s on cloud nine, even when he’s chained up and bleeding profusely 😳

and it’s not just the nsfw scenes that has me drooling, but the story itself is intensely gripping??? like i’m hooked from beginning to end. and this is coming from someone who studied/s classical lit or literature in general…dunno if that holds any substance, but trust me when i say i’ve read countless of books and consumed enough media that it’s tantamount to mt kilimanjaro, but by far slow damage is one of the best visual novel games i’ve ever had the pleasure of playing 😖 usually vn games have good art and spicy scenes, but never plot. but this game blew my exception. so if you’re not much into how gorey it can get (bc the spicy scenes are low-key eroguro 80% of the time) then i’d say go for the story. it’s an absolute gem and thought provoking.

anyway sorry for the long rant 😭 this game is my guilty pleasure and idk if you’ve heard of it or what, but i don’t hear many people talk about it!! if you like euphoria, slow damage is not graphic in the same way, but it’s definitely dark and they’re not afraid to show the pleasure that comes from the pain 🫣

ps…in terms of yandere themes, idk if i’m remembering anything right bc it’s been a hot min, but it’s not really set in canon or directly in the game whether the yandere trope is applicable. but ngl, almost all characters display some kind of yandere characteristic where they’ll say the craziest shit and do something 10x crazier 😭 i mean if it wasn’t evident enough with some of them tying down and forcing themselves on the mc, then idk what is 🤔 but yes, it does get super intense!! highly recommend it, if i haven’t expressed that enough. they also have the opening soundtrack on youtube if you just look up slow damage op!! the soundtrack in general is actually good and fits with the vibes.

☠️☠️☠️

I personally haven’t played Dramatical Murder but during my teenage years, that game’s influence over the internet is ASTRONOMICAL ☠️ So, I always assumed that it’s something crazy, but never really bothered to know anything about it lol (Because I was an edgy little highschool girl who hated men ☠️) I just laugh every time I hear someone talk about it, because they’re so passionate. It’s cute ✨

Man, BL games always has the craziest fucking plot in the visual novel genre, and they always have the craziest characters too!! 😭 Otome games can only hope to have that kind content on their games lol Because eroguro is kind of a taboo topic, right? But I love to see more creative ways into corporating it into “dating” games 🧎‍♀️ This game seems like it checks the right corners of my brain, every single guilty pleasure so I don’t blame you for the enthusiasm! But don’t worry, we don’t judge other people here ☠️

Anyway, I personally haven’t played much BL games in general, (Because I’m personally more of a GL girl because women) and my knowledge of it only comes from friends who really loves them, but this sounds really interesting! Thank you for sharing ♥︎

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 32: A Very Near Thing

Summary: “For Easy Company, the winner is . . .” Captain Speirs takes the paper from Lieutenant Welsh and begins to read a serial number in a booming voice. A/N: *drops this chapter and runs away giggling* Warnings: mentions of war, brief mention of sex, improper binding techniques, language Taglist: @mads-weasley @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @ithinkabouttzu @lady-cheeky @lieutenant-speirs

Austria, 1945

Having only one Purple Heart doesn’t get you very far. Neither does being a veteran of Normandy, Holland, Bastogne. Some of them have been around since the first day at Toccoa, and the Army seems intent on keeping them around even longer.

Points – how many you have, how many you need to go home – become the main topic of discussion everywhere you turn once they become an occupation force in Austria. How many do you have? Damn, I thought for sure you would have more than that. You know who has enough to go home, though? Yeah. Lucky bastard. Do you know how many I need to go home? Not fair. I thought surely I would have enough . . .

Not enough points means staying in the Army. And staying in the Army means jumping into the Pacific. The Big Jump had once appeared to be Berlin. Now it’s in the war’s other theater. And based on Easy Company’s track record, they’re likely to be placed right back on the front lines, thrust into combat once again. In a place that, according to every newspaper article that Zenie has read, has even less privacy than the Bois Jacques.

Tommy Driver does not have enough points to return home. But Zena McGlamery has an ace up her sleeve. It’s not one that she wants to play. It’s not one that she’s ever planned to use. But jumping into the Pacific would surely expose her. One way or another, she’s bound to be found out soon. The clock is ticking on her charade.

“What are we going to do?” Shifty asks.

We. Zenie and Shifty. He needs even more points than she does.

“I think I have to find a way to turn myself in,” Zenie admits. “One that won’t get me court-martialed or placed in front of a firing squad.”

“You don’t think that would really happen, do you?”

“I don’t know.” She hopes not. But, now that the possibility of revealing herself has been spoken out loud like a real option, the chances that she leaves this place without some sort of punishment seem slim. “I don’t even know where I would go if I got out of here.”

“Well, you can’t go home,” Shifty says. “To your home, I mean. We know that. You can go stay with my family, you know, until I get home.”

How would that even go? Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Powers. Remember me, Shifty’s friend Tommy? Well, I’ve actually been a girl this entire time and have been carrying out a secret relationship with your son. So can I please stay here until the war ends and he gets to home and we can get married? He said that you would be fine with it. 

Her only hope now is that she wins the lottery – literally. Back in Bastogne, in the church, Renée had said that someone must be watching over her. Well, now would be the time for a miracle. If she wins the lottery, then she can go home, no questions asked. But that leaves Shifty . . .

“You don’t have to worry about Shifty,” Babe assures her later that day after she confides in him. They’re down by the lake, trying to catch something other than hypothermia from the cold water. “He’s going home.”

Zenie snorts as she casts her line. “He’s an expert marksman, he can handle himself. I know. I’ve been telling myself the same thing.”

“No.” Babe lowers his fishing pole, giving Zenie a sideways look. “You really haven’t heard?”

“About what?”

The Philadelphian almost laughs. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

“Babe.”

“Just know that Shifty will be going home. Everything is going to be fine, Zee,” Babe reassures her. Only Marilyn has ever called her Zee before. With no further context, Babe casts his line into the lake. “Hey, did I tell you I got a letter from Joe Toye?” The topic of conversation is firmly shifted.

Though she would never admit it to him, Babe is right.

D-Day’s first anniversary dawns clear and bright. The company assembles, uniforms pressed and neat, looking crisp as they wait for Captain Speirs to finish calling out their commands. Zenie can hardly hear what he says over the beating of her own heart, the humming of energy in her veins. It’s not a particularly warm day, yet her rifle feels slick in her palms because of the thin sheen of sweat that’s gathered there.

“At ease,” the captain finally says. There’s a beat as the company takes on a more relaxed stance, though none of them could be described as being at ease with the anticipation that’s coursing through the crowd. Speirs continues nonetheless, “General Taylor is aware that many veterans – including Normandy veterans – still do not have the eighty-five points required to be discharged. On this, the anniversary of D-Day, he has authorized a lottery to send one man home in each company, effective immediately.”

On cue, Talbert steps forward bearing an upturned helmet. He stops in front of Lieutenant Welsh, who sticks a hand inside and fishes around for a moment. After an eternity, he pulls out a scrap of paper.

“For Easy Company, the winner is . . .” Captain Speirs takes the paper from Lieutenant Welsh and begins to read a serial number in a booming voice. Zenie tries to follow along but trips up when the numbers don’t align with her own. She swallows thickly. Not her number, but it’s familiar, somehow. She’s probably just seen it on someone else’s forms before – “Sergeant Darrel C Pow-ers!”

The crowd cheers, whistles, congratulates the man in question. Shifty! He won! So that’s what Babe meant when he told her not to worry, that Shifty would be going home. He knew something that she didn’t, because there’s no way that he just happened to have a good feeling about this whole thing. She glances at him now. Her friend is smiling just as brightly as everyone else. For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet, and he nods.

A breathy laugh escapes her. Things are going to work out after all. How can they not, at this point?

Captain Speirs quickly kills the mood by announcing that tomorrow they will begin training so that they can redeploy to the Pacific. Well, everyone but Shifty, that is. And Zenie, too, though no one but her knows that yet.

She gets so caught up in plotting her next move that she barely hears anything else that happens. And who cares? It won’t affect her anymore.    

There are a few options. She could desert. Stealing women’s clothes wouldn’t be hard to do, but there aren’t many people in Austria who look like her. She would surely be caught because of her brown skin and then have a lot of explaining to do. That won’t do.

Which leaves her with the most obvious choice: she can turn herself in. But to who? Colonel Sink, just so she can get the worst of it over with? Major Winters? She’s never exactly been close with him, but maybe he would be lenient with her since she’s a Toccoa Man. Or Captain Speirs, maybe? Well, he kicked a man out of the company for accusing her of the very thing she’s about to admit to, which isn’t exactly a good look.

Major Winters it is, then.

Zenie returns to her billet to pack up her belongings. If the major decides to court martial her, to send her away, then she can always try to get Babe or someone to send them back to the States for her.

Before she can think too much about it, the door flies open, making her jump. Shifty stands in the doorway, smiling wide, eyes bright. He shuts the door behind him and crosses the room to her in a few quick strides. The next thing that Zenie knows, he’s got her wrapped up in a hug and she can feel the racing of his heart as his chest presses against hers.

“We’re goin’ home,” he laughs. He pulls apart from their embrace, still smiling.

“You are,” Zenie corrects. “I’ll meet you there. After I . . .”

“Oh.” Shifty’s face falls slightly, but not for long. “No, you ain’t got to worry about that. I got it all worked out.” He takes her hands in his, sits down on the bed. They’ve done this twice before. What will he say this time? “There’s a priest in the town. Speaks English pretty well. He said that he can perform a wedding.”

It takes Zenie longer than it should to realize that he means a wedding for them – Zenie and Shifty. Her first instinct is to ask Are you sure?, or to remind him that she doesn’t want him to pity her. But all words die on her tongue. Hadn’t he been the one to reintroduce the idea when they were in Haguenau? And here he is, bringing it up again now. He seems not only ready and willing, but excited. Holding his hand in her own, she can feel the slight tremor of his enthusiasm. His smile is dazzling.

“When?” Zenie manages.

Shifty’s eyes are wide, and his smile even wider when he announces, “Now. Seems like the best time for it, right? I mean, we’ll have to leave right after, anyway, you know.”

Maybe if she takes off directly from the town, she can get some sort of head start. Maybe no one will be looking for her quite yet.

In the meantime, she needs to get out of her uniform. Good Lord, what would the priest think if she showed up looking like this, in her disguise?

As if he can read her mind, Shifty stands. Hands still joined, she follows suit, not willing to be separated from him yet. “I’m sure we can find something around here for you to wear.”

My lipstick, Zenie thinks first, suddenly giddy at the thought of getting to wear that beautiful rouge and to make it count this time. Then she can see a dress in her mind. One that Gene had plucked from a closet, intent on sending it back home to a family member.

“I’ve got it covered. What time should I meet you?”

A small laugh emerges from the man in front of her. It’s more of an excited sounding huff of air. He presses a kiss against her fingers before he finally lets go of her hand, and that’s only so he can practically race to the door. “Ask Babe,” he says, bouncing on his toes. “He’ll know where you should go.” Then he bounds out of the room.

 All she can do is stand still for a moment, watching the doorway that Shifty just passed through. That man wants to marry her – right now! There is a person in the world who is in love with her, and it’s real this time, instead of something shallow that she misinterpreted. If only she could travel back to that stifling bedroom of teenage loneliness and tell her younger self to hold on just a little longer. Not only that, but he cares about her, and so do her friends.

Her friends! Shifty had said that Babe would know where to go. Jolted, she flies from the room and up the stairs, bursting into the room that she knows her friend to frequent.

Just as she suspected, he’s sitting at the little table by the window, playing cards with Gene. They both glance up with raised brows when she enters the room, breathless, though not from her run.

“I need a dress!” She exclaims by way of explanation. This makes their eyes widen. She can’t be sure why, seeing as they seem to be involved in this whole affair on a much deeper level than she realized. Then she hears the door behind her squeak on its hinges and snap shut.

“Uh.” Luz takes a step further into the room, clutching a bottle of wine in each hand. Brows raised, eyes wide, he’s befuddled and perplexed in a way that she’s never seen him before. “You desperate to send something to a girl back home, or - ?”

There’s no time to explain. Zenie turns back to the men playing cards. “Gene, can I borrow that dress you were going to send home? The pretty pink one? I’ll give it back as soon as we’re done.”

“Whoa,” George chuckles behind her. “Okay, this – “

“Actually,” Babe interrupts. “We’ve got something better for you.” In a few quick strides, he reaches his bag that waits atop the bed, and in one swift motion, he pulls out a beautiful piece of white cloth that unfurls itself to reveal its true nature as a silky evening gown. It’s like something out of a magazine, or better yet, one of the storybooks from her childhood. With a tiara, Zenie is sure that the dress could look as if it belonged to a princess.

The gasp that escapes her is undeniably girlish, and in her periphery, she vaguely registers Luz’s eyebrows shooting upward, his eyes the size of saucers. “Oh! Where did you find this?”

“Back in Berchtesgaden,” Babe says with a shrug. “Former owner probably won’t be needing it anytime soon.”

“But you do,” Gene adds, sparing a glance at his watch. “Shifty’s probably waitin’ for you.”

“Huh?” George questions.

“Y’all have been in on this whole thing.” In her chest, her heart feels tight with how large it is for her love for these friends. These friends, who have kept her secret and who have protected her, even though they didn’t have to, because it meant putting themselves at risk. These friends, who even now, are helping her slip into yet another new life, another version of herself.

“Except for me,” Luz huffs. He steps between Zenie and the other men then, hands on his hips. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?! Why does Tommy need a dress?” His eyes narrow as he looks toward Zenie. “And why does your voice sound different?”

“Because I’m a girl!” Zenie blurts out, aware that every second of her explanation will cost her the time that she should be using to get ready, to get married, to get out of here before she can get caught. “Collins was right; I’ve been disguising myself as a man this whole time. But we’re kind of low on time, so can I tell you the whole story some other time?”

Luz’s jaw drops. She didn’t mean to snap at him. She’s snapped at one person in all her time here, and that was Bill on D-Day. But Luz nods before she can apologize, still looking a little puzzled, but no longer holding her back from getting ready.

Though she hurries, she’s pleased with the outcome. The sleeveless dress looks utterly elegant, and even though it’s a little too big for her, the gentle swoops of the fabric hide that fact. Free of their bandaging, her breasts feel strange against the fabric, and the suggestive neckline keeps reminding her that they’re there. Her friends open their haul to her, allowing her to select whatever jewelry she wants to compliment the dress. She takes only a bejeweled necklace; the dress needs no help to shimmer. From her own small collection, she takes the lipstick and applies the deep red paint to her lips. A pair of heels they find are a little too small for her, but they’ll have to do.

Parting her hair differently completes the ensemble. Looking at herself in the mirror, Zenie realizes that for the first time in years, she looks like a girl again. No – a woman, now. Someone she only used to dream of being, certainly.

“Goddamn,” Luz whispers. “How did I not realize?”

“Don’t feel bad,” Zenie assures him. “Only Gene did, at first. And Shifty, because I made a translation mistake.”

A small, knowing laugh. “Shifty knew? Well, that certainly explains some things.”

“And Bill,” Babe adds.

“Bill knew? You told Bill and not me?!”

“Yeah, but only because I got shot. Then he told Babe.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t know about all this?”

Zenie winces. “Sorry, Luz.” She pats him on the arm. “Next time I have a secret, you’ll be the first to know.”

Her friend snorts, but there’s no malice behind it – just a hint of the bright grin he used to have, of the old Luz. “Yeah, I better be, Tommy Boy.”

The church is quaint. Nestled in a small pasture of green, a tree in full green right outside the door provides a little shade for the little church. It’s serene looking.

Zenie grabs Babe’s sleeve as they approach the church. “Will you walk with me? Give me away, I mean?”

Babe’s eyes soften. His hand finds hers and he squeezes. “Of course, Zee.”

Inside, Shifty stands at the pulpit with the priest. Behind him are his own closest friends, Skinny, Popeye, and McClung, who start when Zenie and her own entourage enter the church.

It’s quiet. Without a full congregation, it seems like the church should be dark and full of an eerie silence, but soft sunlight filters in through the windows and the quiet has a gentle and welcoming quality to it. Zenie doesn’t have to listen to it for long, anyways, because as soon as Shifty sees her, he smiles, and it sets her heart to racing.

After a pause in the doorway, Zenie draws a deep breath. She wants this. Shifty wants this. He wouldn’t have asked her if he didn’t, she reminds herself. The thought of being wanted makes her heart soar, like a bird, higher than she’s ever flown before.

Careful of the pinching shoes, Zenie floats down the aisle, clutching Babe’s arm more out of nerves than the need for balance. If she fell, surely George and Gene would help catch her.

At the altar, Babe hands her over to Shifty, who, with the sunlight hitting him like this, looks unreal. He’s always been like sunlight, bright and warm and something that Zenie could only risk brief glances at so that she didn’t blind herself. But now she stares at him openly, not hiding her smile, heart fluttering at the thought that soon she’ll be able to look at him like this whenever she pleases, forever and always.

“Tsuwoduhi,” he says. You’re beautiful.

“Can’t believe I didn’t catch this,” she can barely hear Skinny whisper to Popeye.

The priest begins the service, though Zenie is only half aware of what he says – she’s too busy beaming at Shifty, basking in this glow. She must get all the words out, though her hands shake as she recites them, and she worries that the giggle she feels working its way up her throat might trip her up, or worse, convince the priest that she’s not serious enough about this whole affair and end the ceremony, convinced that she’s unfit to be married.   

The next thing that she knows, Earl is forking over two beautiful rings that could only have been taken in Germany, and she and Shifty are sliding them onto each other’s ring fingers. Hers is a little loose, although she doesn’t mind. How well can you expect a looted ring to fit, really?

“We’ll have it sized when we get back to Virginia,” Shifty assures her as she admires the silver band, the sparkling jewels that now adorn her finger.

The priest finally says the magic words, and she and Shifty’s lips crash together, and through feel alone Zenie can tell that they’re both smiling into the kiss. It’s a very intimate thing, to kiss someone you love in front of the people you care most about. Though she can hear the boys whooping and hollering, can hear Luz’s whistle, for a second, it feels as if she and Shifty are the only people in the whole world.

And then, they are.

“What? Did you really think we would leave you guys high and dry on your wedding night?” McClung teases when the wedding party escorts the newlyweds to the little cottage near the church whose occupants must have left – willingly or otherwise – when the occupation force arrived.

They’ve done this before, back in Paris, but it’s different now. Now they’re married. Now there’s no hiding. So Zenie doesn’t feel as shy when she removes her evening gown, or when she catches sight of Shifty’s smooth chest, the definition of his muscles. There’s no holding back when she presses kisses down his neck, across his chest, leaving smudges of red lipstick in a trail, or holding in a gasp when he grabs her hips, digging his fingers in tight.

And after, in that hazy glow, there’s no hiding from the future, because it’s a very near thing. Close enough now to touch, unlike in Haguenau, when it was a subject that she only cautiously followed Shifty into.

He traces shapes on her shoulder as they lie facing each other. “You said you wanted a dog. What kind?”

“An Irish Setter,” Zenie replies. “They’re pretty.”

Shifty hums. “First thing when we get home, I’ll get you a puppy.”

“From where?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” He smiles, his face half buried in the plush pillow. “We can figure it out.”

There will be a lot to figure out, Zenie realizes, starting with how they’re going to get her out of here. Then, smaller problems.

“I can’t cook,” Zenie admits. “You want pies, but I can’t cook to save my life.” Then, remembering his self-assured tone when answering the question about the dog, she adds, “I’ll figure it out, though. Maybe your mama can teach me.”

“She would. In the meantime, I can cook.”

“I can do dishes,” she offers. “I’m good at that. Used to help with it at the diner.”

With his fingertip, Shifty traces a heart on her skin. “Look at that, we already have a system. I cook, you clean. It’s all worked out.” His fingers trail down her arm, to her hand, which he brings up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t have to worry, Zena. We’re fine now.”

Zenie is just brushing her lips against his knuckles, returning the kiss, when the bedroom door flies open.

Shifty groans. “Hey now, we told y’all – “ He glances up. Zenie sees his eyes widen, and an expression that she’s never seen him wear before takes over his face. Before she can maneuver herself to see what he’s looking at, he grabs hold of the blankets at the foot of the bed and tosses one over her, covering her torso. Looking back toward the door, he raises his hand in a gesture that Zenie first assumes is to shield his eyes, but that she quickly realizes is a stiff salute.

Holding the blankets against her for decency, she turns to the doorway and sees, for the first time, Captain Speirs staring at them, looking very crisp and very serious in his Ike jacket.

“Sergeant Powers. Sergeant Driver,” he says. “Major Winters would like to speak with you both. Now.”

[mozukumi]

i promise, kid, we'll be okay

Azami & Sakyo, discussed SakyoIzu. Fatherood/families of choice. Rated T for very mild implications of sexual content. 765 words. Read on AO3 or here!

---

“Bon. Are you worried I’ll abandon you once the baby comes?”

The old man is as tactful as ever – that is to say, not at all. Azami lets out an annoyed sigh. He’s tempted to respond with some snarky remark like it really wouldn’t be abandonment, it’d just be you finally leaving me alone, Kusosakyo. He’s tempted to brush him off and change the subject. He’s tempted to ignore the statement all together.

He’s tempted to be a brat about it.

But he’s seventeen – on his way to becoming a “fine young man”, or something like that. He really ought to face this like an adult.

“A little bit, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really not a big deal.”

[rest under the cut!]

And that’s the truth – he really is just a little bit worried about this whole thing. He can’t blame Sakyo for blowing this out of proportion, though. He had a right to be concerned, since Azami stormed out of the room in fury once Sakyo and Izumi told him she was pregnant.

He knew that he reacted poorly to the news, but what else was he supposed to do? Sakyo had just admitted to having… relations… outside of marriage! That was the biggest concern! At the very least he would be marrying her before the child was born, but it still wasn’t right.

Ugh. Now he had that image in his head again. He really did not want to think about Sakyo and… that… any longer than he had to. So he made his peace with it, and he had decided to no longer be upset about it. Anything to keep that topic off his mind.

So putting the fact the child was conceived out of wedlock aside… he was happy for them. They both seemed pretty happy about the whole thing, and he was sure having a baby was going to make the Mankai Company a hell of a lot more lively. It was something to look forward to.

And yeah, a part of him dreaded how this could change his relationship with Sakyo. But that was stupid. He was going to have a goddamned baby to look after soon enough – of course things were going to change. That’s just how life worked.

“Tch. I’ll decide if it’s a big deal or not,” Sakyo says. Ugh, why did Azami think this was going to be easy? “Come, sit with me.”

Azami sighs and rolls his eyes, but he does as he’s told, sitting down on the sofa next to Sakyo.

“I know that I’m not the best at talking about this sort of stuff,” he says. His expression is infuriatingly vague behind those glasses of his – he thinks there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes, but he really can’t be sure. “But for a while now, I’ve thought of you as a son.”

Huh.

That probably should have hit him harder. Turned his world upside down. But it really didn’t – him admitting it was a comfort more than it was a shock. He supposes that he already knew, deep down. He just didn’t want to admit it.

(for a while now, he’s thought of Sakyo as a father.)

“I know I haven’t always been the best guardian, but I - I did try. You will – you will always matter a great deal to me.” It’s almost funny, seeing Sakyo choke out his emotions like this. Yeah, funny. The tears that are welling up in Azami’s eyes are from laughter, he’s sure of it. Hysterical. “If you’d feel up for it – you’re more than welcome to call this kid your little sibling.”

Oh. Now isn’t that something to think about? A chubby little baby with the Director’s smile and Sakyo’s eyes, held softly in his own arms. His little sibling.

When he starts to cry, he allows himself to do so. Even if it’s totally going to ruin his eyeliner. Crying over a new baby sibling is acceptable – far more so then crying over Sakyo.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Azami sniffles out. “That… that means a lot to me.”

Sakyo smiles slightly. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m not going to replace your spot in my family with this child, bon. I’m just adding another member. You didn’t think you could escape Kusosakyo that easily, did you?”

Azami snorts. “If only I could be so lucky.”

But really, he knows the truth. He is pretty damn lucky, isn’t he?

Well, he better work on becoming that “fine young man” everybody thinks he is. He’ll have to set a good example as a big brother, after all.

[raiha-storm65557]

Prompt 3

Bit of a longer read //tw: implied cheating “Superdad?” Supervillain ask trying to hide his excitement. “Yes! Superdad!” the child squealed happily, running up to hug the man’s legs. Villain was watching from a distance, smirking as their partners brain visibly blue screened. They still weren’t sure if Supervillain could handle this whole parenting thing, especially since their marriage was just a facet. But it seems to be going well enough considering Villains kid likes the guy already.

But what to do about Villains own parents? Leader has been trying to get back in touch with them and they aren’t sure how to handle that. Not to mention that Leaders new plaything, Detective, is trying their best to find Villain. On one hand as the Leaders child, Villain, and on the other the feared menace to society, Villain. Somehow, they haven’t connected the dots that Villain and Villain are the same person. So much so to being “the greatest detective in the world”.

Yes, Villains everyday name and work name are the same, they never saw the point in hiding it considering how useless heroes are and that most civilians don’t mind living under villainous rule.

They remember how when they were younger Leader was always bashing their head in, metaphorically speaking, about how this and that scum escaped once again and how they wished they had more competent people on their team. But no competent person would join the “good side” since the council, deemed the worst of the worst, are fair rulers.

Villain leaned back and sight causing Supervillain Superdad to turn his head, it took him little to no time to understand that there was something to talk about. Most likely not something to be discussed Infront of the kid “Say kiddo, isn’t it past your bed time?”. The kid tried to protest but they were no match against Supervillains persuasion. With little fight he got them tugged in and sent off to dreamland. The door creaked a little as he closed it, looks like oiling the hinges was now also on the to-do list.

Supervillain sat down next to Villain and started talking gently “We can find another nickname if you don’t want the kid to call me dad. “

“No.” Villain denied that worry, in fact they were happy that their little hell spawn was adjusting so well to their new, temporary, partner in life. “There’s something else to talk about. I think it’s time to talk about my parents.”

Supervillain didn’t know if he should have been relived or if this was an even worse topic to discuss. Villain had been transparent with him about their family the whole time but made it clear that they had no longer any ties to them, “Leader and former Superhero, right?”

“Yeah…” Villain answered “Leader wants to find me. Me as in Leader’s child. And… well, Leader has no knowledge of us being married, not even that I’m married.”

Villain watched as Supervillains eyes widened but this wasn’t the bombshell yet. “Nor does Leader know that I have a child.”

[the-trans-advice-blog]

Long Vent, apologies in advance (feel free to ignore this):

I'm a bit worried about whether I can transition (legally and medically) cause I live in south africa and I'm just scared the seemingly lack of formalized trans healthcare is gonna fuck stuff up for me, doesn't really help that I everyone I know and know of irl is cis, every single person besides me is cis. And my non-transphobic parents still don't believe that I'm not their little girl even after being out to them for about 2 years. And they're the most liberal family members i have, the rest are extremely conservative and transphobic. And I'm just fucking scared. For fucks sake I don't even have the guarantee of hearing or reading my name anywhere each day. Like atleast I've got a few friends who are extremely supportive of me (one of them continuesly telling me that she does not understand why anyone ever thinks I'm a girl cause I already pass as a cis guy lol) and it fucking sucks that my school is a conservative Christian school (not like america public schools can be religious here) where I was the second "girl" to have a short haircut in the entire school and it's a massive fucking school. Counting me atleast there's 4 people who have short "boy" hair and have to wear the girls' uniform. On that topic I fucking hate that I can't be out to teachers, the teachers regularly make horribly transohobic comments without being prompted to or even knowing about the one half-out trans kid (me). Like i hear shit like teachers saying they believe trans people are truly sick in the head and that they want kids to out their trans friends (luckily my friends are nice enough not to do that) and I hate the girl's uniform I gotta wear and I hate it all and I've still gotta deal with high school for 2 and ¾ years. And idk my mental health has been really bad lately and this all doesn't help, and i love being trans, I just want to atleast be tolerated for it amd have a bit more stable future planned in terms of transition. And I want my parents to fucking be able to help with that, they're wonderful parents otherwise sonjwnush I could just rely on them a little for some of this shit.

idk I'm just scared and tired and dysphoric and I feel very very alone

(On another note, I appreciate your blog a lot, you're cool)

I’m really sorry to hear you’re going through this. Obviously there’s nothing I can say to make it magically better but I hope you do know there’s a huge community out there who’s happy to support you in whatever ways we can. I’m not sure how safe online spaces are for you if your family is conservative but you’ll always have a safe space here to talk about whatever you need to. I hope one day you can get out if you want to, or that something’s changes in the area you’re in. High school is the worst, especially being trans, but I know that you can get through it! I’m really happy you have some supportive friends, and if I were you I’d maybe try to make some online ones if you haven’t already just because it seems like the people around you won’t be very safe.

I wish you luck on your journey and I really hope things get better for you.