#and healing .second one he will respect the promise he made to her in the end BUT not before trying to save her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilyswrittenworks · 2 months ago

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XXI | Getting Properly Acquainted

Warning(s): Cursing, blood, alcohol consumption, humor, and sensitive topics (it's only mentioned once!)

Word Count: 11.3K

Synopsis: It had been three months since you and Piccolo had become an item. You had experienced nothing but pure love and tenderness. Then one day you get a text message.

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“Heey, girl! In celebration of your speedy recovery, I thought it was time to gather up our friends and hang out for old time’s sake. Meet us at Way Out Bar at 7PM this Saturday!”

It had been over an hour since you’d gotten Jenny’s message, and you were still riding the high of excitement it brought. You lay sprawled on your bed, the phone still open in your hand, the message burning bright on the screen like a warm little beacon of joy.

This would be your first time seeing all of them outside the sterile white walls of the hospital. No wires. No beeping monitors. No faint scent of antiseptic in the air. Just you, your friends, and a night that promised to feel like living again. The last time you saw them, you were weak, barely able to sit up straight. They’d come in shifts with flowers, chocolates, gossip, and laughter—but it never felt right. You were smiling through the pain. Numb with fatigue. And now?

Thanks to Dende's healing, you were whole again. And it was time to live.

Your closet doors were already flung open, and the bed behind you looked like a fashion tornado had ripped through it. Jumpers, jeans, crop tops, rompers, even that one weird sequin top Jenny got you as a gag gift—it was all strewn about in the chaos of indecision.

“A dress?” you muttered to yourself, holding one up in front of the mirror before shaking your head. “Too fancy. Too ‘wedding guest.’” You tossed it aside. “Romper. Yeah. Romper is fun. Playful. Breezy. Easy to pee in…”

You snorted to yourself and held two up side by side: one black with delicate gold thread running through it, and another with a warm burgundy floral print that hugged your curves just right.

And then, it hit you—an idea that completely derailed your train of thought.

What if Piccolo came with you?

Your hands slowly lowered, the rompers falling forgotten onto the bed as your arms crossed over your chest, the spark of curiosity giving way to a gentle flutter in your chest.

Would he go?

You could already imagine their reactions. Jenny would 100% scream. Amelia would probably drop her drink. Henry might start interrogating him like an overprotective big brother. Elias would be welcoming without judgment. Luka will be cautious around new people. But deep down, you wanted your friends to meet him—to see what you saw. You weren’t just dating someone… you were in love with someone utterly unique. Quiet, mysterious, incredibly powerful, and yet… gentle with you in a way few got to witness.

But then, doubt slipped in like a cold draft.

Piccolo wasn’t a social person. You knew that. You respected that. He barely spoke during your classes unless prompted, and even then it was usually concise, pointed advice that made your students straighten up like soldiers under a general’s command. He tolerated public settings. Barely. And even then, only because he wanted to support you.

What if he didn’t want to come? What if he thought this was too much?

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in your hands for a second before slapping your cheeks lightly and straightening up. “Alright. No more overthinking. Just ask him. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? I can live with that.”

Even if his brand of ‘no’ was usually a vague, broody grunt followed by meditative silence.

Fueled by that little ember of determination, you padded barefoot down the stairs, the wood creaking slightly under your feet. You caught the faint sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside, mingling with the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. As you turned the corner and entered the living room, your voice called out casually:

“Hey, Piccolo, I was wondering if—”

You froze.

There he was, sitting cross-legged in the center of the room. Turban and cape nowhere in sight. Eyes closed in a serene expression. And… shirtless.

Your words caught in your throat like a fishhook. Your eyes, despite your best intentions, shamelessly took in the details—the broad expanse of his chest, the sharp cut of his abdominal muscles, the intricate, dark-lined streaks running across his arms and lower abdomen. The pink, fleshy patches on his arms glowed subtly under the soft afternoon light bleeding through the windows, framed by those bold red edges that almost dared your eyes to keep tracing along them.

Goddamn, you thought, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might punch a hole in your ribcage.

The thought of just running your hands down his muscles caused your heart to flutter. You swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly—and that’s when you felt it.

A warm trickle.

You slapped a hand to your face. Oh no.

Yep. Nosebleed. Of course your body would betray you at a time like this.

“Uhh, w-why are you shirtless??” you managed, your voice breaking slightly like you were a teenager catching her crush in the locker room.

Piccolo’s eyes opened slowly, calm and unbothered, and they immediately locked onto yours. There was the tiniest flicker of amusement there, almost hidden—like a single ripple on an otherwise still lake.

“You told me to give it to you,” he said plainly. “You noticed the stain and insisted on washing it.”

Oh. Right.

You did say that. He’d tried to argue, something about materializing a clean one instantly, but you’d been adamant. You said it was about principle, that he should let you take care of him in small ways like that.

And he’d let you. No further protest. Just that quiet, reluctant acceptance he always offered when he couldn’t argue with your heart.

Still, standing there with a tissue now clamped to your nose and your face hotter than the sun, all you could do was laugh awkwardly.

“Right. I, uh… forgot.”

Piccolo raised a brow slightly, still watching you with quiet curiosity. “You okay?”

“Yep. Totally. Fine. Just… overheating. From the heater.” You gestured vaguely to nothing. “Which is off. But still.”

He made a soft, skeptical sound in the back of his throat, but said nothing. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer—serious, yet gentle.

You rubbed at the back of your neck awkwardly, but the fluttering in your chest hadn’t gone away.

“Anyway, uh… I was actually coming down to ask if you wanted to go somewhere. With me. On Saturday night.”

Piccolo blinked, his head tilting slightly, his antenna's swaying gently by the movement. “Where?”

You smiled, stepping a little closer, the butterflies multiplying. “It’s just a casual get-together. My friends and I are meeting at this bar we always go to. I thought… maybe you'd like to come? Meet them? I mean—you don't have to. I know crowds aren't really your thing, but—”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched you. Thoughtful. Quiet.

And then, he spoke.

“…I’ll think about it.”

Which, in Piccolo-speak, was about as close to a “maybe” as you were going to get.

You beamed. “Okay. That’s fair.”

He nodded once, his expression unreadable—but there was a softness behind his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

And just like that, the thought of Saturday night got a whole lot more exciting.

Even if you’d need to keep a fresh tissue box nearby. Just in case.

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It was finally Saturday.

The sky outside your window had just begun to soften into gold, the sun dipping low on the horizon like it, too, was getting dressed for a night out. The faint hum of life was beginning to pick up in the surrounding forest area of your home—crickets began to sing, the chirping of foxes emanated somewhere deep within the treeline. But all of that faded into background noise as you glanced at the clock:

6:01 PM.

Only one hour until you were meeting your friends at the Way Out Bar. You couldn’t sit still.

You were practically buzzing as you made the final touches to your look in the mirror mounted on the living room wall. The beige floral jumpsuit hugged your figure just right—cute but comfy—and your hair, twisted into a half-up braid, framed your face in a way that made you feel genuinely beautiful. Confident. Alive.

But the real surprise of the evening wasn’t your outfit or even the gathering itself.

It was the seven-foot-five Namekian standing behind you—who, for the first time since you’d known him, was visibly anxious.

You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, his posture stiff, arms at his sides, and a furrow etched deep between his brows as he focused on the conjured outfit slowly materializing over his usual gi. The transformation was fascinating to watch—energy rippling over his body as purple fabric gave way to crisp white.

You turned to face him fully.

Gone was the worn, battle-weathered gi. In its place: a neatly pressed white button-down shirt, a dark blue tie perfectly knotted at his neck, slim-fitting purple slacks, and polished dress shoes that looked almost too clean—like he’d never worn a pair in his life. He stood in the center of your living room, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with all the grace of someone performing open-heart surgery.

Your lips curled into a smile, warm and amused.

“Piccolo,” you said gently, stepping closer, “relax. You don’t have to dress up to look presentable. Your regular attire is fine. Well, okay, maybe leave the weighted turban and cape at home—unless you plan on knocking over coat racks everywhere we go.”

He paused, slowly glancing at you, eyes narrowed in thought. “I want to make a good impression,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant. “These are people important to you. I should look… appropriate.”

There it was—that unexpected vulnerability that made your heart squeeze every time you saw it peek through his normally unshakable exterior. You could see it in the way his antennae twitched faintly, the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as though unsure whether to tuck or untuck it.

You softened. “Hey.” You moved to stand directly in front of him, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “You look very appropriate, trust me. Although…”

You stepped closer, fingers lifting to the knot of his tie. “This?” You tugged it gently, sliding it loose from his collar and tossing it over your shoulder. “This is a little too formal. We’re going to a bar, not a business conference.”

He didn’t protest, just watched you with those intense dark eyes, unreadable except for the faintest hint of tension in his brow.

You reached for the top buttons of his shirt next, undoing two with a soft, confident smile. “There,” you murmured, “much better.” Your fingertips brushed his collarbone, and you felt the way he tensed slightly beneath your touch—subtle, but telling.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you added, stepping back to admire the results. “Just roll your sleeves up to the elbows, and you’re golden.”

Piccolo didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, staring at you.

Not with his usual blank stoicism.

There was something in his expression now… quiet awe. The kind of gaze someone gives when they realize, all at once, that they’re standing in the presence of someone they deeply cherish. Someone who saw through all the layers of who they were and loved them not in spite of it, but because of it.

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

Wordlessly, he began to roll his sleeves up, his movements slower now, more deliberate. He wasn’t just adjusting his look anymore—he was adjusting to the idea of being seen by the people in your life. Letting them glimpse a side of him he rarely, if ever, revealed.

A side that belonged only to you.

“You really think this is okay?” he asked, a rare thread of uncertainty woven into his voice.

You stepped closer again, smoothing your hands over the front of his shirt with a small smile. “More than okay,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “You look great. And… I’m really happy you’re doing this.”

His gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, he just breathed. Then, finally, he nodded.

“…Alright,” he said. “Let’s go meet your friends.”

You nodded eagerly, practically bouncing on your heels as you spun on your toes, the fabric of your jumpsuit swishing gently with the motion. You made your way toward the kitchen, grabbing your black quilted purse from the counter and slipping the strap over your shoulder in one smooth movement. Your hand followed next to the set of car keys sitting beside a stack of unopened mail.

With a gleam in your eye, you turned back toward Piccolo, holding the keys aloft like a prized treasure. “Come on!”

You made your way over to him, your fingers intertwining with his large hand, the coolness of his skin a comforting contrast to the heat building in your palm. Without a second thought, you tugged him toward the front door, and he followed wordlessly, allowing himself to be led like a tall, silent shadow behind you. The warmth of your hand in his said more than any words could.

Once outside on the porch, the soft creaking of the steps beneath your feet echoed in the calm of early evening. The sun had dipped lower, casting golden slants of light across the front yard. Crickets hummed with life across the grass. You let go of Piccolo’s hand just long enough to jog down the steps and disappear beneath the porch with Piccolo following close behind. Under the porch was a makeshift garage, small judging by the looks of it but not too cramped either. You approached something large and mysterious that lay beneath a gray tarp.

Piccolo watched you, arms crossed, one brow lifting in curiosity as he tilted his head.

You grabbed the tarp with both hands, bracing your feet against the gravel beneath you, and with a grunt of effort, yanked it off in a dramatic flourish. The tarp fluttered down behind you in a heap, revealing the beauty beneath.

A red and black striped muscle car gleamed proudly in the late afternoon light—its polished surface glinting like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. Chrome accents caught the sunlight, and the tires looked freshly scrubbed. It looked powerful. Fast. Immaculate.

You practically glowed, a wide grin on your face as you pressed your palms against the smooth, warm surface of the hood, practically buzzing with excitement. “I haven’t driven this car in ages!”

Piccolo approached slowly, his sharp eyes studying the vehicle like it was a puzzle he hadn’t expected to see in your possession.

“This is yours?” he asked, blinking slowly as he raised a brow, clearly impressed but trying not to show it too much.

“Yep!” you said proudly, patting the hood. “Graduation gift from my adoptive mom. She surprised me with it right after the ceremony. Told me I deserved something bold.” You laughed softly at the memory. “I’ve kept it in pristine condition ever since—tuned it, cleaned it, waxed it. The works.”

A little nostalgic pride swelled in your chest as you turned back toward him, holding the keys between your fingers. “I’ll be driving us to Nicky Town tonight.”

Piccolo’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “We could get there much faster if we just flew.”

You stopped mid-stride, your expression flattening as you stared at him. “Piccolo…”

He blinked at your unimpressed tone, a visible sweatdrop appearing at his temple ;as he tilted his head slightly in confusion. “What?”

You sighed, crossing your arms with a dramatic huff that was more amused than annoyed. “I love you,” you said, stepping toward him, “but you seriously know how to kill a vibe sometimes.”

That made him visibly flinch. His posture straightened, and his mouth opened as if to reply, but you lifted a hand before he could get a word out.

“Look, I get it. Flying is faster. More efficient. But I’m not a pro at it like you are, remember? I’ve only just gotten used to hovering without looking like I’m dangling from an invisible string.”

Piccolo exhaled softly through his nose, his eyes lowering a fraction as guilt quietly slipped into his features.

“And yes,” you added, your voice softening as you stepped closer, “I know you’ve carried me before—many times, actually. And I never minded it. In fact, I always felt safe when you did.” You offered a small, fond smile, your fingers brushing lightly against his forearm.

“But just for tonight… I wanna do something normal and least conspicuous. Something a little fun. Take the long way. Play some music. Roll the windows down. And most importantly, to have a good time.”

You looked up at him, eyes hopeful. “Please? Just tonight? If you hate it, we’ll fly next time.”

Piccolo stared at you for a long moment, his features unreadable—but his eyes softened, just a touch. Enough for you to know he heard you. Really heard you.

Then, finally, a small sigh escaped him. “Alright,” he said, his voice quiet but sure. “We’ll drive.”

A grin broke across your face as you turned back toward the car, unlocking it with a click and opening the driver’s side door with a triumphant swing.

“You’re gonna love it,” you called out over your shoulder as you slid into the seat. “This baby purrs.”

Piccolo looked at the car again, then at you, and for the briefest moment—before rounding the car to the passenger side—he allowed himself the faintest of smiles.

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The city lights blurred past like streaks of stardust, reflections dancing across the windshield in vibrant golds and electric blues. The streets of Nicky Town were alive, but unusually tame tonight—no gridlock, no honking horns—just the soft hum of your muscle car purring under your fingertips as you guided it gracefully through the open roads.

The wind rushed in from the rolled-down windows, warm and fragrant with the scent of nearby food stalls. It danced through your hair, pushing loose strands around your face as you exhaled a small, contented sigh. The radio was playing something soft—low bass, gentle synths, a mellow tune that hummed beneath your skin.

You slowed to a gentle stop at a red light, a slow deep rumble of the engine idling while you waited. Fingers tapping in rhythm on the gear stick, a faint smile playing on your lips as your eyes wandered briefly to Piccolo in the passenger seat.

He looked peaceful, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed, the sharp lines of his jaw relaxed under the soft interior lights. There was a quiet serenity to him when he wasn’t sparring with you. His presence alone, even in silence, had a grounding effect on you.

That is, until a piercing, obnoxious whistle shattered the moment like glass hitting concrete.

“Hey sweetheart!”

Your smile instantly dropped. The shift in your mood was swift—brows flattening, your shoulders stiffening as your gaze flicked sharply to the left.

There, beside your door, sat a young man on a loud motorcycle, revving his engine like he was the star of some cheap action movie. His grin was wide, smug, and completely lacking in shame. His eyes—hidden behind tinted glasses—raked over you with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

Your face remained stone cold. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

He chuckled, hand on the throttle. “Aww, c’mon. Don’t be like that. Hop on, yeah? We’ll have ourselves a real good time.”

The nerve. Your brow twitched, irritation climbing your spine like a venomous insect. “No thanks.”

But he didn’t get the message.

Instead, he leaned in further—too close. His arm braced against the car’s frame, body language dripping with arrogance. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart. Someone like you—fine as hell—deserves someone who can really show her a good—”

Wham!

The crack of your fist meeting his face rang louder than the engine ever could. His head snapped back with a choked yelp, his motorcycle wobbling as he gripped his face in agony, blood already spilling between his fingers.

You sat there, your fist still warm from the contact, settling your hand calmly back on the steering wheel like nothing had happened.

“Would you look at that?” you said coolly, voice lined with venom and amusement. “Crying over a punch… from a girl.”

“You broke my nose!” he wailed, nasally and pathetic.

You gave him a scathing look. “You invaded my space. And when a woman says no, she means no. It's not an invitation to harass or pressure her. So why don’t you do us both a favor—” the light turned green. “—and go fuck yourself.”

Without another glance, your foot pressed against the gas and the car surged forward, tires gripping the road like claws. The roar of the engine was satisfying, almost therapeutic. You gripped the gear stick tightly, fingers stiff and white-knuckled from the adrenaline and anger still coursing through you.

“(Y/n),” Piccolo’s tone was low, measured, but laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

You blinked, the road ahead coming back into focus. His voice had always had this strange effect on you—like it could cut through even the worst storm in your chest. You sighed, jaw still tense. “Yeah… I just got pissed off. The audacity of that guy…”

Piccolo was quiet for a moment, arms unfolding slowly as he straightened in his seat. “Does this… happen often?”

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip as your heart gave a tight squeeze.

“…Not like before,” you admitted, your voice a little softer, a little bitter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him sit up straighter, more alert—his energy subtly shifting from stillness to sharp attention.

“(Y/n),” he said more firmly, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

The seriousness in his tone made your hands tremble ever so slightly on the wheel. The streetlights overhead blurred as you entered the parking garage, darkness creeping over the car as you ascended to the upper levels. The interior lighting cast a glow on your face—revealing the way your jaw clenched, the tension in your brow.

You didn’t look at him.

“…Remember when I told you I was homeless? Before the dojo, before I built my home?” you murmured, voice tight. “Back then, stuff like that happened a lot. More than I like to admit.”

The tires thudded softly as you turned up to the third level.

“I was fourteen,” you continued, eyes locked on the parking space ahead. “Couldn’t fight, couldn’t run very fast, and sure as hell couldn’t afford to scream for help. Men—grown men—thought I was easy prey. I learned pretty quick that being polite only made them worse.”

The car eased into the parking space, and you shifted it into park with a small click. The engine purred for a moment longer before going quiet, leaving only the hum of city life in the distance and the soft hiss of your breath.

You rolled up the windows. Just in case.

Then, silence.

Piccolo didn’t speak right away. You felt his gaze on you like a weight pressing against your side, his body completely still. When he did speak, his voice was low. Careful.

“…Did they ever—” He stopped himself. The question caught in his throat, too heavy, too dark to finish. His hands clenched tightly, and a shudder moved through him—subtle but unmistakable.

You shook your head immediately.

“No. They never did.” You looked over at him then, your voice firmer than before. “I never let them.”

He exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from his posture, but not all of it. His eyes were still dark with something dangerous—something protective.

“You should’ve never had to go through that,” he said. “Not then. Not now.”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Yeah. But I survived.”

Piccolo’s gaze lingered on you, and then, in a surprisingly gentle motion, he reached out. His hand rested over yours where it gripped the gear stick—large, calloused, and warm. The contact made your breath hitch. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, twice—slow, grounding.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said. “You never will be again.”

And in the quiet warmth of the car, tucked away from the world in that shadowed parking garage, those words sank deep into your soul—firm and comforting like roots in the earth.

Eventually, you and Piccolo stepped out of the car and into the moonlight, the glow of the moon illuminating the city. The air was thick with the scents of street food, car exhaust, and pansies as the two of you ascended the spiral ramp of the multi-level parking garage. The sounds of city life greeted you—distant laughter, muffled music, and the steady hum of traffic below. With each step, your anticipation mounted like a heartbeat in your throat.

The two of you merged onto the bustling sidewalk, weaving past people walking in pairs, in groups, or alone with their heads down in their phones. You guided Piccolo with quiet ease, your hand gently looping through the crook of his forearm. The warmth of his exposed forearm brushed against your skin every time he adjusted his stride to match yours—something he did often now, unconsciously. His presence beside you felt solid, grounding, like you could lean your entire weight on him and he wouldn’t budge an inch.

You rounded the corner of a narrow brick antique store that smelled faintly of dust and sandalwood—and there it was.

The sign: The Way Out Bar. Elegant cursive letters spelled out the name in soft neon, glowing in the encroaching twilight. Something about seeing it made your heart flutter. It was just up ahead. Your friends were just beyond that door.

Your grip around Piccolo’s forearm tightened as you beamed, pulling him a little closer. You didn’t notice the way he glanced down at you then, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. There was fondness in his gaze, laced with quiet amusement, and a hint of nerves buried beneath his usual stoicism.

The inside of the bar was a soft contrast to the world outside. Warm, amber-hued lights hung in scattered clusters like little fireflies, casting gentle shadows that danced along the walls. A small jazz trio played on a raised stage to the left, their mellow notes wrapping the room in a cocoon of easy rhythm. The bar to the right buzzed with activity—glasses clinking, bartenders sliding drinks down the polished mahogany counter. The air was a blend of expensive perfume, whiskey, and warm food.

You scanned the crowd—faces blurred together until you spotted them.

Tucked in a corner booth, exactly where you hoped they’d be, sat your small, beloved chaos of a friend group. Jenny was deep in animated conversation with Henry and Elias, her faux locs bobbing every time she gestured dramatically. Elias, ever the picture of chill, leaned back with his usual amused smirk, while Henry animatedly waved a chicken wing mid-debate. Luka sat sandwiched between them, quietly listening, his arms folded and eyes sharp as ever. And then there was Amelia—red-haired, radiant Amelia—nursing the last sip of a martini, her attention elsewhere as her eyes scanned the room.

You gave Piccolo a quick look and an upward tilt of your chin—a silent follow me—before slipping through the small maze of tables and people. He followed closely, careful not to bump into anyone despite his size. His presence alone was enough to part the crowd a little, though he didn’t seem to notice the glances, the whispered curiosity.

Amelia spotted you first. Her face lit up like fireworks.

“(Y/n)!! Over here!!” she called out, waving her arm high above her head.

The rest of the table turned as you approached, just in time for Amelia to practically launch herself out of her seat. She flung her arms around you with an excited squeal, wrapping you in a warm, familiar hug.

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you! We’ve all missed you so much.” Her voice trembled slightly, her arms squeezing tight. Her eyes shimmered when she pulled back, but she didn’t let a single tear fall.

You cupped her arms, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It’s good to see you too, Amelia. You have no idea.”

“Hey! What about us, huh?!” Henry hollered from the table, arms outstretched in dramatic protest. “The guys deserve a little love too, ya know?”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk. “Didn’t you tell me that hugging was for sissies?”

Henry tilted his head, faux locs bouncing as he scoffed. “Yeah, well—that was before you got fuckin’ shot, okay?”

With a laugh, you walked over and looped an arm around his neck, yanking him into a headlock before giving him a good, affectionate noogie.

“FUCKIN’—WHY?!”

He flailed helplessly, drawing laughter from the rest of the group as you released him, his hands flying up to shield his poor scalp.

“Because I can, you ass,” you said sweetly, folding your arms and towering over him in mock authority.

You turned to Elias and Luka next, offering them both a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you’re doing well, (Y/n),” Luka said, offering a rare but sincere smile.

“Glad you could join us,” Elias chimed in, brushing a strand of his maroon hair behind his ear. “Recovery treating you alright?”

“Definitely,” you replied with a nod. “I’m finally teaching again. The doctors really did their magic.”

You left out the real miracle—the moment Dende’s hand hovered over your chest, and that tiny, jagged piece of death was pulled from your heart. Some things you weren’t ready to explain.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” Jenny’s voice cut in, soft but direct.

You turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

She leaned in slightly, one elbow resting on the table, her other hand casually pointing to the side with a thumb. “So… who’s the big guy?”

Your gaze followed her gesture to Piccolo—who stood a few feet away from the booth, arms folded tightly, eyes lowered and expression carefully unreadable. He kept a respectable distance, but his alertness was palpable. Like a sentinel standing guard.

Despite his carefully conjured outfit—purple slacks, a tailored button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his green complexion as well as the pink patches in his arm—he stood out. Tall. Alien. Still. You could feel the weight of glances from nearby tables, the murmurs and curious stares prickling along your skin like static.

Hot anger bloomed in your chest. You wanted to shout Stop staring! You wanted to defend him, shield him—but you knew better. This wasn’t the time. Not tonight.

You inhaled, slow and steady. Let it go.

“Oh! Right!” You gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I totally forgot—”

You stepped over to him, placing your hand gently against his abdomen. He glanced down at your touch, then back at your friends, wordlessly awaiting your lead.

“Everyone, this is Piccolo.” You turned toward your friends again, smiling brightly. “Piccolo, these are my friends. This is Amelia—”

Amelia waved enthusiastically, her red hair swishing. “Hi! You’re taller than I imagined, and I imagined tall.”

“This is Jenny,” you continued.

Jenny nodded slowly, her gaze sharpening, evaluating him from head to toe. “Huh. Okay.”

“And these three are Henry, Luka, and Elias.”

Henry gave a casual wave. “Yo.” But his eyes were sharp, the wheels already turning behind them.

Luka didn’t say a word—just stared, jaw tense, brow furrowed. He didn’t like mysteries he couldn’t solve.

Elias, ever gracious, smiled brightly. “It’s always nice to welcome someone new.”

Then Jenny, voice cautious, turned her full attention back to you. “Sooo… is he, like, a friend? Or, what—an acquaintance of your master’s?”

You smiled, your hand tightening slightly on Piccolo’s shirt, feeling the subtle warmth beneath it. A blush crept up your cheeks, blooming fast.

“Actually,” you said softly, tilting your head up to meet Piccolo’s gaze.

His eyes met yours, gentle and unguarded. That alone made your friends fall silent. They weren’t used to seeing someone look at you like that.

“Piccolo isn’t a friend or an acquaintance of my master,” you said. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

The table went dead silent.

Jenny’s mouth fell open. Amelia’s hand flew up to cover her gasp. Henry’s drink paused halfway to his mouth. Elias blinked in disbelief, and Luka just… stared.

And then, without hesitation, Piccolo’s arms uncrossed and he reached out—resting a large, warm hand against your back, fingers pressing gently between your shoulder blades. Protective. Affectionate.

Amelia squealed, both hands covering over her mouth to muffle the sound.

Jenny stuttered, eyes wide, mouth working like her brain couldn’t form actual words.

“You… you…” she gasped, clutching the edge of the table with white-knuckled hands.

You looked up at Piccolo with a warning smile. “Brace yourself. Jenny’s gonna scream—”

“WHAAT?!” Jenny exploded, shooting up from her seat and slamming both hands onto the table. “YOU’VE BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME THIS ENTIRE TIME?!”

You giggled, leaning subtly into Piccolo as his hand pulled you a little closer. “Hehehe… yeah. You might wanna sit down, Jenny. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

You glanced at Amelia and gave her a playful nudge. “Mind scooting over? We’ve got a story to tell.”

Amelia quickly scooted over with a grin so wide it looked like it might split her face in two. She practically bounced in her seat, dragging you down beside her with eager hands while patting the empty spot next to you. “C'mon, big guy! No standing on the sidelines now.”

Piccolo hesitated, his eyes flicking from you to the seat, then to the curious faces watching him. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might decline—but then your fingers found his, a gentle squeeze of silent encouragement. With a sigh barely audible over the jazz music, he obliged, sitting down beside you. The booth creaked slightly beneath his weight, drawing a few chuckles from Henry and Elias.

“Damn,” Henry muttered with a smirk. “What’s he benching, like, a small building?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Please don’t challenge him, Henry. He might actually show you.”

Piccolo shot you a side glance. “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge.”

Henry snorted, eyes lighting up at the dry humor. “Okay, I like him.”

Jenny, still trying to mentally reboot, leaned forward and jabbed her finger in your direction. “Start from the beginning. I want dates, times, how this happened. This is—this is massive! I mean, seriously?! How long have you been keeping him from us?!”

You laughed, running a hand through your hair being mindful not to disturb the half-up braid. “Okay, okay, I’ll explain. Just… don’t freak out.”

“I’m already freaking out!” she half-shouted, arms thrown up. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to set you up with boring-ass grad students?”

“And do you see why that never worked?” you teased.

Jenny groaned into her hands while Amelia leaned in, eyes wide with wonder. “So… how did you two meet? Like, officially?”

You glanced at Piccolo again, silently asking if he was okay with you telling the story. He gave a small nod, his posture relaxing ever so slightly. His hand, which was resting on his lap, subtly shifted until his fingers brushed against yours under the table.

“Well…” you began, launching into the condensed version of everything—your training, how you first met him in the forest, how he became your security guard for your school, the injuries, the long hours of recovery, and how he’d been there. How he’d stayed.

In the midst of your storytelling, a waitress quietly approached the table, setting down a glass of water in front of both you and Piccolo without a word, then slipped away just as silently.

“Hold the fuck up.”

Jenny’s voice sliced through the lingering background chatter like a whipcrack. She froze mid-reach for her drink, arms folding with dramatic flair as she leaned forward over the table—nearly knocking her glass of wine clean off the edge. Amelia, seated just beside her, casually reached out and steadied it without looking.

“You’re telling me,” she continued, brows shooting into her hairline, “that you’ve known Piccolo—this giant green intergalactic muscle mountain—for three years?”

You nodded slowly, already bracing yourself. You even pre-wrinkled your nose in anticipation.

Jenny stared. Blinked. Then exploded.

“THREE. FUCKING. YEARS.”

She threw her hands into her faux locs with a dramatic groan, dragging them down her face like she was physically in pain. “I’ve been to your house! I’ve seen your couch! I’ve watched Netflix in your bathrobe while drunk off Moscato! How the hell did I never see this seven-foot tower of stoic green daddy energy lurking around?!”

You winced, a sheepish laugh tumbling out as you rubbed the back of your neck. A cartoonish little sweatdrop might as well have formed on your cheek.

“To be fair…” you started, shooting a glance at Piccolo—who sat still as a statue, but whose eyebrow had very slightly twitched at the phrase "daddy energy"—“Piccolo isn’t exactly the type to, uh, crash dinner parties or pop in for brunch.”

Jenny squinted at him suspiciously. “So what—you just kept him in your garden like some kind of secret boyfriend bonsai?”

“I’m not a plant,” Piccolo muttered dryly.

You stifled a snort, then turned your attention back to Jenny. “He’s… a recluse. He likes peace and quiet. Doesn’t really do the whole socializing thing unless he has to. And I respected that. Always did.”

Your voice softened as you looked up at Piccolo for a moment, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips. “So yeah… imagine my surprise when he actually said yes to coming here tonight. Voluntarily.”

Jenny’s jaw hung open. “You mean to tell me this introverted Namekian hermit just chose to step out of his weird meditation void and waltz into a bar full of strangers—for you?”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “Apparently, yeah.”

Jenny was quiet for all of three seconds. Then she pointed an accusing finger at Piccolo, wide-eyed and borderline scandalized. “Sir. You simp. And I say that with the highest respect.”

Piccolo, without missing a beat, took a slow sip of his drink. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Oh my god, I love him,” Jenny said, slumping back in her chair with a stunned laugh. “I’m gonna need to write this full timeline on a PowerPoint. Maybe a live reenactment too.”

Henry raised his glass. “I got dibs on playing Piccolo.”

“You’re not tall enough,” Amelia chirped.

“I’ll stand on a fucking chair!”

You snorted, shaking your head with a grin, disbelief written all over your face. “What—No. No one is reenacting anyone, got it? That’s weird as hell and kinda creepy.” You jabbed your index finger at Jenny and Henry, who were already giggling like a pair of kids who’d just gotten away with something. The finger-point was part warning, part exasperated big-sibling energy, but they clearly didn’t take it seriously.

As your laughter died down, you suddenly felt it—Piccolo’s hand shifting ever so slightly where it rested beneath the table, until it came to settle gently on your thigh. His fingers curled softly, giving you a deliberate, grounding squeeze. It wasn’t possessive. It was quiet, affirming. A silent thank you.

Your heart gave a small flutter, betraying how something so subtle could still shake you to your core.

But not everyone was laughing.

Luka had yet to speak. He sat leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze, sharp and contemplative, flicked between you and Piccolo without saying a word. His brows were furrowed in that familiar way that meant his brain was working overtime, analyzing every little detail. You’d seen that expression before—when he was worried, when he was watching out for you.

He wasn’t being hostile. Luka didn’t do drama. But he was wary. And considering the kind of shit you all had been through over the years, it wasn’t surprising. Luka had learned to read people like open books, and he wasn’t the kind to trust someone just because you did.

Then finally, he spoke.

“Do you love her?”

The entire table fell silent. Drinks hovered halfway to mouths. Amelia’s eyebrows shot up. Jenny blinked. Henry stopped chewing. Elias couldn’t contain a smirk from forming.

Even the jazz music in the background felt like it dimmed a little.

Luka’s voice hadn’t been accusatory—just steady, calm, but dead serious. Like he was asking the question everyone else was too afraid to say out loud.

You turned your head slowly toward Piccolo, already feeling the change in his body language. The hand on your thigh had stilled, but there was a new tension there now—a readiness. You glanced up at him, and for a second, his expression was unreadable. A blank mask of calm. But then you saw it. The smallest crinkle at the corner of his eye. That subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.

He wasn’t offended.

He was preparing to answer.

And you already knew what he was going to say.

Piccolo stared at Luka, held his gaze without flinching, not out of defiance but from a place of grounded clarity—like someone who understood the weight behind the question and wasn’t afraid to carry it.

Then, slowly, his head turned. His hand, still resting on your thigh, shifted again—his thumb moving in a gentle arc, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into your jumpsuit.

And he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

The rest of the world faded. The buzz of the bar, the muffled clatter of glasses and laughter, even your friends sitting just inches away—all of it fell into a soft hush.

“I do,” he said finally, voice low, gravelly but steady. “More than I thought I ever could.”

His eyes never left yours.

“You have no idea how many walls I built just to keep people out,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was letting you in on something sacred. “Then you came along. And… you didn’t try to tear them down. You waited. You saw me. All of me. And you never once asked me to change.”

You felt something rise in your chest—warm, fragile, powerful. Like something blooming wide and wild in your ribs.

“I love her,” Piccolo said again, this time turning his attention briefly to Luka, though his hand never left your thigh. “Not because she saved me. Not because she put up with me. But because she made me want to be known. And that’s not something I ever thought I’d say in a room like this.”

Luka stared at him for a beat longer. The tension in his jaw softened just slightly, his arms loosening from the tight fold across his chest. No words. Just a small, thoughtful nod—the kind that said: That’s enough.

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you let it out.

Then Jenny broke the silence with a dramatic sniff. “Oh my god, I need a fuckin’ tissue. Who let this be a rom-com all of a sudden?!” She fumbled into her bag for a napkin while Henry, red in the face, reached to his right to swat her arm.

“Shut the hell up, Jen. I almost got misty-eyed and now you ruined it.”

Elias raised his glass. “To love making unexpected house calls.”

Amelia, already mid-sip, let out a delighted little squeal. “I knew it. You two are so disgustingly cute it should be illegal.”

You turned to Piccolo, heart thudding, cheeks warm. He raised an eyebrow slightly—his version of a soft smile—and leaned closer, his voice just for you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, your hand moving to rest on top of his. “Better than okay.”

Amelia was already halfway through her second drink when she leaned across the table and grinned at you. “Okay, but seriously—how did you bag someone like him? Like, no offense, babe, but Piccolo looks like he could crush a tank with his pinky and then lecture it about self-discipline.”

Henry snorted into his drink. “For real. Man’s got the ‘I meditate in volcanoes’ energy.”

You were about to respond when Elias leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the back like he was settling in for a show. That lazy, mischievous grin spread across his face like a goddamn wildfire.

“Oh, we’re going there?” he asked, raising a brow. “Because I have questions.”

You already felt your stomach drop. That was never a good sign.

“Elias,” you warned, narrowing your eyes. “Be normal.”

“Oh, I am. Totally normal.” He winked. “I just wanna know how anyone survives a make-out session with someone whose biceps are literally the size of my head. Like, what happens if he gets too into it? Do you end up in another zip code?”

You felt your entire face ignite like someone had lit a match behind your ears. “ELIAS.”

Jenny doubled over laughing. “Oh my god—ZIP CODE?!”

“I’m just saying!” Elias continued, shameless. “Man’s got that ‘destroyer of worlds, gentle lover’ vibe. I bet he’s the type who kisses you like he’s apologizing for every time he’s ever blown up a moon.”

Henry almost choked on his beer. “Brooo.”

Amelia wheezed, gripping Jenny’s arm as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Stop—STOP—my stomach can’t take this!”

Piccolo, bless his stoic soul, had been silently enduring the assault on his dignity. But you felt the moment his composure cracked—a twitch at the corner of his mouth, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh under the table. And when you risked a glance up at him…

He was blushing. His ears were blushing.

And you? Your face was molten lava.

“Elias,” you groaned, burying your burning face in your hands. “You can’t just say shit like that in public.”

Elias grinned, unapologetic. “Oh, come on. You know I’m right. Look at him. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a six-foot-seven war god who probably calls you ‘beloved’ in the middle of a sparring match.”

You heard a low, amused rumble from beside you.

And when you turned your head, Piccolo—still blushing—leaned just slightly toward Elias with a dry, unamused stare.

“…You think I don’t know how to aim an energy blast?”

Elias paused.

Laughed nervously.

“I—uh—respectfully withdraw the question.”

Piccolo raised an eyebrow. “Smart.”

The whole table lost it.

You were still hiding your face in your hands, shoulders shaking from the kind of laughter that left your whole body buzzing. You peeked up at Piccolo, who looked straight ahead—composed again.

Jenny wiped tears from her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Elias. I swear, you live to traumatize people.”

“I live to educate people,” Elias shot back, raising his glass. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah? Well next time, educate yourself on when to shut the hell up,” Henry deadpanned, reaching over to flick Elias in the forehead.

Piccolo leaned in slightly, just enough that only you could hear him. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or… concerned.”

You snorted, grinning like an idiot. “A little of both.”

After the chaos of Elias’s “zip code” comment started to die down—barely—you were still clinging to what little dignity you had left. Piccolo hadn’t moved his hand from your thigh, but you could feel the tension in his fingers, like he was bracing for whatever hell came next.

And he was right.

“So,” Jenny began, her voice laced with mischief as she leaned in, her elbows resting on the table and her chin perched atop steepled fingers. Her eyes sparkled like a gremlin with a matchbook. “Now that we’re done with introductions and listening to some good storytelling, there’s only one thing left to do.”

Piccolo blinked slowly. “…What.”

His voice was low, cautious—like a man who had just heard the first note of an incoming disaster siren.

Henry didn’t say a word, but the wicked curve of his grin spoke volumes as he sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair, content to let Jenny wreak whatever chaos she was planning.

“A good ol’ drinking game, of course!” Jenny announced, waving her hand dramatically like she was hosting a variety show. She flagged down a passing waitress without missing a beat. “Vodka. The big bottle, and seven shot glasses.”

You blinked. “Jenny—”

”Seven,” she repeated firmly, holding up her fingers like she was blessing the waitress with divine instruction.

The server didn’t even blink—just nodded and disappeared, probably used to this kind of behavior from your table by now.

You leaned toward Jenny, having to invade Amelia’s space but the red-head didn’t mind, your voice hushed but sharp. “Are you trying to get us all alcohol poisoning?”

Jenny shrugged, already buzzing with excitement. “Oh, please, you and your man have been drinking water this entire time. It’s time to spice things up a little. If we die, we die drunk and full of secrets.”

Before you could argue further, the waitress returned—like the harbinger of doom—with an ominously large bottle of vodka and seven perfectly clinking shot glasses balanced on a tray. She set them down with the efficiency of someone who wanted np part of what was about to transpire.

Jenny clapped once. “Excellent. The blood sacrifice has been made.”

You shifted in your seat, a pit forming in your stomach as you eyed the bottle. It glinted under the soft bar light like it knew it was about to ruin someone’s night. And probably someone’s life if they weren’t careful.

Jenny began filling the glasses like she was anointing each one with a cursed blessing. Then the smell of alcohol wafted up, sharp and unforgiving.

You gave her a deadpan look. “…I’m hesitant to even ask, but I’m asking anyway. What kind of drinking game are we playing?”

Jenny beamed. That shit-eating, chaos-fueled grin that could only mean trouble.

“Never Have I Ever, duh. Classic. Timeless. A sure fire way to emotionally scar each other with no survivors.”

Your soul left your body. “Fuck.”

Beside you, Piccolo raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you. His gaze softened with concern as he caught the tension rolling through your body. His hand hidden under the table had squeezed gently on your thigh. A silent question, a wordless tether: You okay?

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. The worry in your eyes must’ve been obvious because he tilted his head slightly, his antennae moving gently, his voice low enough only for you to hear.

“Is the game that terrible?”

There was something oddly innocent in the way he asked it. Curious. As if he didn’t fully understand what he was walking into but trusted you to guide him.

Before you could answer, Jenny managed to overhear what Piccolo said, cut in, far too delighted to explain.

“Oh, it’s amazing,” she said, spinning one of the shot glasses like a villain in a Bond movie. “Here’s how it works: someone says something they’ve never done. If you have done it, you take a shot. If not, you don’t drink. Simple right? But the real fun happens when the truth bombs start flying. Embarrassing stories. Secrets. Confessions. Shame. Regret. You name it.”

She paused dramatically, raising her full glass toward the center of the table. “It’s a beautifully messy human experience.��

Piccolo listened intently, nodding slowly, though his brow began to furrow.

And when Jenny delivered the part about “revealing embarrassing secrets,” you watched a rare sight unfold—Piccolo’s eyes widened. Just a little. Barely enough to notice if you didn’t know him. But you did.

He immediately tried to neutralize his expression, smoothing it back into unreadable calm.

Only to fail.

Miserably.

You stifled a laugh, squeezing his hand beneath the table.

He leaned close and whispered, barely audible. “This sounds… dangerous.”

”Oh, it is,” you replied with a dry grin. “But let’s just hope we don’t have to reveal anything too personal.”

Jenny raised her glass. “Let the games begin!”

Elias, of course, immediately belted out the first prompt with a wicked grin: “Never have I ever—kissed someone over six-foot-five and built like a Greek statue.”

You blinked once, then tilted your head with the most innocent smile you could muster. “Joke’s on you, Elias. Me and Piccolo haven’t even kissed yet. Unless you count, like… a kiss on the cheek.”

A record-scratch silence hit the table.

“WAIT—” Jenny practically shot out of her seat, hands slamming onto the table as her eyes bounced between you and Piccolo like she was watching a scandalous tennis match. “You two haven’t even kissed yet?! Are you serious?!”

You and Piccolo shared a look, like a secret radio frequency crackling to life between you—one that said here it comes.

As you both turned to face your very stunned friends, a cartoonish sweatdrop might as well have formed on the side of both your heads. The entire group was staring at you like you’d confessed to never having used the internet.

“Uhh… no?” you said slowly, your tone calm but defensive, like you were explaining quantum physics to a table full of gossip gremlins. “We’ve only been together for, what, three months? That’s not nothing, but still early days.”

Piccolo glanced down at you, and when your eyes met his, there was nothing but quiet warmth. His expression softened, and a small, barely-there smile curved his lips—like the sun peeking out behind a distant mountain range. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The look said it all: he was okay with this. With you. With the pace of things.

You leaned into it slightly, speaking more to your friends now. “We’re taking things slow. I don’t mind the limited PDA. Eventually, yeah, we’ll get there. But not until we’re both comfortable. No pressure. No rush.”

Jenny looked like her entire worldview had been challenged. “That’s so wholesome I actually feel like I’m having an allergic reaction.”

Henry coughed, trying not to laugh. Amelia blinked rapidly like she’d just walked into an indie romance film.

Luka, of course, simply nodded in quiet approval like a dad who just watched his kid turn down a bad idea.

You turned your attention back to Elias, who was still stuck on the previous prompt. “So, sorry to disappoint you, Elias,” you teased, raising your glass with a playful smirk. “But your little trap? Kinda backfired.”

Elias let out an exaggerated groan, dragging his hands down his face dramatically. “Goddammit. I knew it was a risk. I knew it. I was hoping to catch you in a juicy moment but instead, I got feelings.”

He reached for his shot glass, filled to the brim with what now looked like the bitter taste of defeat. “Well, fuck it. I’m drinking anyway. Out of pure disappointment and maybe just a little spite.”

He downed it in one go, eyes squeezed shut as the vodka burned its way down.

“Hellfire,” he wheezed, placing the now-empty glass on the table with a careful thud. “Why is vodka always such a betrayal?”

“You brought that on yourself,” Amelia said, sipping her now third martini glass.

And Jenny, despite herself, grinned too. “Alright, alright,” she said, waving her hand. “I’ll allow it. It’s disgustingly sweet. But I’ll allow it.”

Before anyone could get too sentimental, Jenny clapped her hands together like an over-caffeinated game show host. “Alright, lovebirds, enough of the Nicholas Sparks shit—back to the chaos.”

She spun dramatically toward Henry, pointing a freshly-poured shot glass at him like she was accusing him of murder. “Henry, your turn. Impress us. Traumatize us. Give us something feral.”

Henry leaned back in his seat, one arm thrown over the back of the booth like he owned the place. “Aight, you want chaos?” He cracked his neck with a smug grin. “I am chaos.”

“Oh god,” Elias muttered, already reaching for his glass in defeat.

Henry rubbed his hands together, eyes gleaming with mischief. Then he leaned forward, grinning like the devil about to sign a soul contract.

“Never have I ever…” He paused for dramatic effect, eyes scanning the group. “…accidentally sexted my mom.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” You gasped, nearly knocking your shot glass over as you stared at him in abject horror.

Amelia choked on her spit and wheezed like a dying kettle.

“DUDE,” Jenny cried, laughing so hard she was crying, “THAT’S YOUR OWN PROMPT???”

Henry shrugged, shameless. “I never said it was a proud moment. But hey, I learned from it.”

Elias groaned. “That’s not learning. That’s becoming a cautionary tale.”

You shook your head in disbelief, a laugh escaping despite your horror. “Please tell me your mom doesn’t still have the screenshots.”

“She does,” Henry said flatly. “She brings it up every Thanksgiving. I get PTSD from cranberry sauce now.”

Piccolo, who had been trying to follow along with increasing confusion, leaned close to you and whispered with deep, solemn concern, “…What is sexting?”

You nearly spat your water back into the glass. Face now beet red, you turned slowly to him and whispered back, “I’ll explain later. Privately.”

He nodded gravely.

Jenny slammed her hand on the table. “Alright, fess up! Anyone gonna drink to that horrific confession?”

Elias raised his hand timidly. “I mean, not my mom, but my aunt once, so… same trauma, different packaging.”

“Oh my god, Elias.” Amelia buried her face in her hands.

Luka, miraculously, took a sip of his drink too, and the entire table turned to him in stunned silence.

“…Luka?” you asked, blinking.

He sighed, deadpan as ever. “It was a long time ago. Group chat mishap. I no longer text after 9PM.”

There was a beat of silence. Then you burst out laughing. Even Piccolo, confused as he was, gave a quiet chuckle—low and soft—but it was enough to make your heart flip.

Jenny’s jaw dropped. “Did… did he just laugh?!”

“I think he did,” you said, eyes wide.

Henry pointed accusingly. “Bro’s evolving. He’s learning the power of degeneracy.”

Piccolo shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “No, I’m just trying to understand how any of you survived this long without spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment.”

Jenny snorted. “That’s fair. But the game’s not over yet! Who’s next?”

Amelia reached for her shot glass with a cool, almost suspicious calm.

“I think it’s my turn now,” she said, tucking a loose curl of red hair behind her ear. Her maroon eyes sparkled with something dangerous. “And I’m about to separate the saints from the sinners.”

“Oh shit,” Elias muttered, clutching his chest like he was about to be read for filth.

Amelia smirked. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs like a movie villain about to deliver the final blow. “Never have I ever… taken a pole dancing class.”

The entire table went still.

Your brain short-circuited.

Your hand moved on instinct—like a damn traitor—and you took a sip from your drink before you could stop yourself.

Silence.

Then—

“EXCUSE ME?!” Jenny screamed, nearly flipping the table as her eyes bulged out of her skull.

Henry choked on his drink. “YO WHAT?!”

Elias dropped his shot glass. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard—WHY DIDN’T I KNOW THIS?!”

Luka just blinked slowly, eyebrows raised. “…Huh.”

All eyes were on you now as you froze mid-sip, your face glowing red like someone had switched on a heat lamp directly over your soul. You set your glass down very carefully, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

“I—okay, listen.” You cleared your throat, flustered beyond belief. “This was before I even became an instructor. I wasn’t trying to be sexy or whatever—it was just a class I took on a whim.”

Jenny looked personally betrayed. “A whim?! A whim?! Girl, pole dancing is a lifestyle. You gotta commit!”

Henry slammed his palms on the table. “I need to know: was it one of those classes with heels and music or like… a fitness thing?”

“I’m not answering that,” you said, covering your face with both hands. “Some of us are trying to hold on to our last thread of dignity.”

Elias leaned in, completely ignoring that request. “You still remember the moves though, right? Just for research purposes. Scientific curiosity.”

“ELIAS,” you hissed, kicking him lightly under the table.

While the chaos unfolded, Piccolo looked utterly baffled. He turned to you, blinking slowly.

“…What is pole dancing?”

Your soul left your body.

Jenny leaned across the table, grinning like a gremlin granted its one malicious wish. “Oh, Piccolo, my sweet green man. It’s like… interpretive dance but vertical. In heels. Sometimes upside-down. Often involves dollar bills.”

Piccolo’s face went completely still, but you swore you saw the tips of his ears—and, if you could believe it—his antennas turned a shade darker. His eyes widened slightly as he turned to you again.

“You did… that?”

You let out a strangled groan. “ONE class! And it was a fitness class, thank you very much!”

“But did you enjoy it?” Luka asked innocently, his tone deceptively neutral.

You threw a napkin at him. “That’s not the point!”

Piccolo cleared his throat, looking forward with the most rigid posture you’d seen all night. “I… I suppose it’s a form of strength training?”

You sighed. “Yes. Thank you.”

“…But also dancing. On a pole.” he added, still clearly trying to compute it.

“Piccolo,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands again. “Please stop.”

Amelia raised her shot glass with a grin, clinking it gently against yours. “No judgment here. I’m just glad someone finally drank to one of mine.”

Jenny cackled like a madwoman. “This night keeps getting better. I swear, if someone admits to joining a cult next, I’m gonna die happy.”

Henry raised a hand. “Do MLMs count?”

Everyone groaned.

Piccolo, still stunned, quietly muttered under his breath, “I’m going to need to meditate for a week after this night.”

You rubbed your fingers in a slow circular motion against your temple, staring down at the table, your face still red as you whispered. “I think… I might join you on that offer.”

Jenny was riding high on the drama of the pole-dancing revelation, spinning her empty shot glass between her fingers like a villain monologuing in the third act.

“All right,” she said, cracking her neck like she was about to commit a felony. “Time to stir the pot again.”

“Oh no,” Henry mumbled.

“Oh yes,” Jenny grinned. “Never have I ever… tried to kill my friend as a joke.”

“Jesus Christ, Jenny,” Amelia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Elias let out a bark of laughter. “What kind of Looney Tunes-ass prompt is that?!”

Luka rolled his eyes but reached for his drink anyway, muttering something about “That one time with the bear trap.”

But then—Piccolo took a sip.

Everyone froze.

The table collectively snapped their heads toward him so fast it was a miracle no one sprained anything.

Piccolo sat still, jaw slightly clenched, his body tense in a way you hadn’t seen all night. The subtle squeeze of his hand on your thigh was the only giveaway that he wasn’t just casually sipping out of misunderstanding.

You didn’t react—you already knew. He’d told you those stories, the ones from long before he ever imagined himself sitting at a bar surrounded by chaos gremlins playing drinking games. You knew his past, and how much he’d changed.

But your friends? They were losing it.

Jenny blinked. “Wait. Wait. You—YOU?! You took a drink?!”

Henry leaned forward, eyes wide. “Holy shit, was that real? That wasn’t, like… metaphorical?”

Amelia’s eyebrows shot up, and even Elias had gone quiet for once.

Piccolo let out a slow exhale and looked down at the table, his shot glass spinning slightly in his hand.

“It… wasn’t a joke,” he said after a long moment, voice low. “And it wasn’t a game.”

Luka tilted his head. “But you did try to kill a friend?”

Piccolo nodded slowly. “A long time ago. Before I changed.”

Elias, ever the tactless menace, raised both hands. “Bro, that’s metal as fuck. Who was it? Are they okay? Did they… like, get better?”

You shot Elias a look. “Elias.”

Piccolo, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He just pressed his lips together, still avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Let’s just say… there was a time I wanted power more than anything else. And there was someone who stood in my way. He became a rival. An enemy. But… also a friend.”

The table went dead silent.

“And now?” Amelia asked, her voice quieter, more curious than judgmental.

Piccolo finally looked up. “Now, he’s one of the few people I trust.”

Jenny blinked a few times, slowly lowering her drink. “Well shit. That got real.”

Henry coughed into his fist. “Can we go back to pole dancing?”

Elias raised his shot glass like he was toasting to Piccolo’s character arc. “To redemption arcs and not murdering your friends!”

Piccolo snorted softly, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to melt as he glanced sideways at you. “This game is ridiculous.”

You nudged him gently with your elbow, smiling. “Told you.”

“Still,” Jenny said, pouring another shot, “that was the wildest round yet. Top tier. Ten outta ten. Can’t wait to traumatize the next person.”

Piccolo gave you a side glance, then leaned in just close enough for you to hear him over the noise.

“…Are there more games like this?”

You smiled around the rim of your shot glass, the alcohol warming your throat as you took a slow sip. “Oh, sweetie,” you said, tone light and teasing, “we haven’t even gotten to Truth or Dare: Unhinged Edition yet.”

There was a twinkle in your eye, but you tilted your head, glancing toward your friends—Henry in particular, whose cheeks were beginning to turn bright red, eyes glassy with the unmistakable sheen of a man about to go past tipsy. Amelia was slouched over the table, hiccuping through a giggle, while Jenny was mumbling something about shot glass pyramids.

“I don’t think we’ll get the chance to play it tonight,” you murmured with a knowing grin, setting your glass down. “At this rate, we’ll all be wasted before the vodka’s halfway gone.”

You didn’t notice the way Piccolo’s posture stiffened slightly beside you, how his eyes widened—just a fraction. But the damage was done.

That single word—sweetie—lodged itself in his chest like a live wire. His expression didn’t change dramatically, but the softest, most unmistakable purple tint bloomed across his cheeks. His fingers twitched ever so slightly against your leg. A warmth he hadn’t anticipated spread low in his abdomen, an unfamiliar mix of affection and longing stirring in a quiet, dizzying swirl.

You still weren’t looking at him.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

He glanced down, lips pressed into a thin line, as though trying to smother the involuntary smile threatening to betray him. His gaze flicked back to you once more—so at ease, so effortlessly disarming—and that strange, fluttering heat pulsed again.

He would never admit it out loud, not yet, but that one little word had knocked the wind clean out of him.

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(a/n)

We finally met (Y/n)'s friends!!

Ngl, this chapter was a lot of fun to write! I wanted to keep going BUT I knew I had to end it off with something disguistingly sweet. 😉

Also—

PICCOLO IN A BUTTONED UP SHIRT AND SLACKS.

OOf 🥵

I was drooling just imagining him walking around dressed up like that. So scandalous, haha. 🥹

Also, also,

Our MC drives a mustang. Hehee. c;

━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━

Part XX

You are currently reading Part XXI

Part XXII

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It Turned into Love Masterlist

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Tag list:

@utakamo

@nerdy-girl-named-pumpkin

@dovah-bee

@thatsbunnysmind

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m3lin03 · 23 days ago

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Shape of the unknown pt.1

other parts: 1 2 3

Hi!! First, I want to say that (disclaimer) I’ve never written before, more so a fanfic. Also english is not my first language, so I may have some mistakes. Second, this is a work that doesn’t really respect everything that is canon (some things yes, others not so much) .

Sylus x reader (not MC), MC is also present though

Warnings: kinda angst, kinda fluff, suggestive, a little bit of stalking ig??

(written on artemas - how could you love someone like me, if you want the whole vibe I had writing this :) )

Tarus was the place for many kinds of people: thieves, traitors, murderers, so on and so forth. That doesn’t mean that everyone was a criminal, most people were just poor, therefore vulnerable.

You knew very well what it meant being vulnerable, used for transactions as if your life or death meant nothing more than a few coins. First years of your life were spent being a slave until one day a woman appeared before you. She was the epitome of beauty and calm. Her eyes scanned through the lines of slaves until they fixed on you. It might have been fate, might have been pure luck, but she took you under her care. This way Tarus became your home.

The woman was the Oracle of Tarus, teaching everything she knew: astrology, science, art and healing arts. However, the one thing that was not taught to you, a natural talent that brought her to become your protector and teacher: the gift of understanding what there was not to see and knowing what was to come.

The Temple of the Oracle was the only place where Tarus people would trust to be safe and taken care for. Sometimes you would see some that had a skin too clean, without the blemishes caused by the burning sun, lack of food and numerous fights. Their poor clothes looked too intentional. Those were aristocrats that hoped to get answers for their dilemmas, own diseases or to try and buy an oracle for themselves. They were usually welcome as the money from them played an important part in helping those who needed it.

Then the time came, yours became the title of Oracle.

Sylus didn’t care in the beginning about the new novice, even though he saw her many times. He had a strong bond with the precedent Oracle. When it was the time he promised to keep protecting the Temple and help the new priestess, if needed. He offered most of the funding, believe it or not.

With time, he got maybe even closer to you than anyone else before. Even though the veil you wore as a custom that marked you as a woman of the Temple, didn’t completely hide your face behind it, it’s soft opacity didn’t allow them to be clear – which sometimes, in the beginning at least, stirred something in him as he couldn’t read your reactions, nor feelings.

Sylus would request quite often for you to spend the evenings at his cave. Time would go flying as you two would chat on different subjects. Your presence was much appreciated by him, giving him an almost sense of peace.

Eventually, the visits didn’t happen so often. Your duty calls, as he did not. No-one needed to tell you why, as dreams came months before to whisper of the future and as objective and cold as you tried to be, your veins felt like they burned of anger?... sadness? broken heart? Maybe all of them? Needless to say, it’s no surprise when one afternoon your presence is requested to his cave. But you know it’s not him, but her.

The dark mauve veils that your dress was made of flowed like liquid around you. A headband made of woven metal kept in place the veil of your head, making you feel heavier than you already felt. Breathing was a hassle. Once you entered the cave, long silver locks welcome your eyes. A pair of blood red eyes welcome yours, but they were not his, your heart’s restless desire. The Sorceress’s lips form a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. As beautiful as she was, you could swear she could at any time start hissing like a viper.

“You called for me” rolls of your tongue in a calm tone.

“I did. I have a question”, her voice is beautiful too, has something upbeat to it.

It is easily noticed that Sylus is not here. For sure she is in no way a stranger to your closeness to the dragon, which means that you can easily be called a foe. It's quite plausible that she would want to talk to you alone.

“It is said that your words ring only truth - “

“My words are the truth for a moment and a place, as future obeys no rules. Ask me a question and I might give you the best I can in the moment” the words fall from your mouth, trying to control your tone, not knowing if you succeed or not.

“Then tell me what you see in my future” she proceeds, getting close to you. So close that you feel her breath on your face.

You do not really know what game she plays at. As you close your eyes for moments, images start flowing from your dreams, others new appear, morphing into timelines and possibilities and most of them leave you choking on air. Your head starts spinning and a sheer layer of sweat appears on your skin.

“War is in your mind, leaving your hands dirty in blood that you can’t wipe off. Eons may come and go and blood will still be pouring, as it’s spoils your heart and the gem that you so much want will be forsaken in the thick, red liquid”, escapes out of your mouth almost unwillingly.

Her eyes fall to the floor for a second then she doesn’t even care to tell anything more, a sign it was time to return. As the thoughts of her stare, your mind seeks an answer for why must she do this. Why try and find out the future if she knows already what will happen? Why talk to you? Does the Sorceress want to be sure you won’t interfere?

Little did you know, another pair of ruby eyes follow you coming out of the cave. He heard your words. Sylus notices how your steps are hurried, breathing heavy, hands trembling. Something coils around his heart almost painful. The voice in which you delivered your prophecy, was not something he was used to. He thought how he wanted to see your face clear, look deep in your eyes and find out answers for his unasked questions. Sylus’s mind wanders to you in so many ways. At first he wanted to keep you close as it was no lie that the ability you possessed was much more cultivated than anyone’s. The ability to shape the unkown in different timelines, from the least to most possible and see time like a living and breathing creature was nothing short of breathtaking. Just as you.

In the end, in the middle of the night, something pulls him to the Temple. What he didn’t expect was finding you bathing in plants with such alluring smell that his eyes closed for a few moments. However, he opens them as curiosity peaks in his chest. Your eyes shine so beautiful, even more than the jewels in his cave. Your hair is sleek on your head and back from being wet. Your skin looks so soft and delicate. Sylus can’t move. In his head, he knows it’s not right, he should leave, at least wait for you to be done… but hidden behind one of the drapes that decorate your room, the urge to watch is more powerful.

His mind becomes preoccupied by thoughts of touching the skin, hair, looking at your eyes up close.

As you are too caught up in some inner monologue, a dragon awaits a miracle to move away or closer.

-Reupload-

#lads #sylus #sylus qin #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace #fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus lads

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mcuamerica · 1 year ago

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The Shadowsinger: Twenty-Two

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Healing wounds, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You heal with Azriel by your side after the Blood Rite.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen - Twenty - Twenty-One

She’s your mate.

It was the only consistent thing that flowed through Azriel’s mind the entire week. It snapped the moment you were winnowed away for the Rite. They never do it the same week of the year, never start it on the same day. And he felt it, saw a glimmer of gold in your eyes just for a moment before you were gone.

It took everything in him to not disturb the Rite. Rhys practically had to use his High Lord’s voice. He was waiting for his own mate to open up to him. But at least Feyre was safe. She wasn’t in the middle of the deadliest challenge for any Illyrian. Any Fae. Cassian, Rhys, and him barely survived it and they were the deadliest warriors alive.

But he knew you were alive. Even if the bond was buried because of the spells surrounding the Rite. He knew that if you died, he would feel it. Feel the emptiness. He kept his faith in you. Cassian and him trained you. Well. He tested you in the mountains. He watched you complete the qualifying course. Witnessed as you took down male after male in sparring challenges. You would be fine. He repeated the two things you promised him.

She will survive. She will reach the mountain.

He added a third thing, for himself.

She’s my mate.

It turned into a mantra in his head. To be able to sit and wait. And do absolutely nothing else.

Survive. Mountain. Mate.

Azriel stared down at your body as it twitched unconsciously from the wounds. So many broken bones. You wouldn’t fly for a month. If… if your wings weren’t broken beyond repair. His shadows told him the broken wings were recent. He could have sworn one of your tendons was cut. Just as the Rite came to an end. There were three males that were sneering with laughter at your state. They didn’t stay alive long when Rhys heard them. They were nothing but red dust two seconds later.

And then there was your brother, Varyn. He was about a finger’s length away from touching the monolith atop Ramiel. But he held back because he wouldn’t have made it because of you. And if you weren’t going to be crowned Carynthian, neither was he.

Azriel fell to his knees beside you, involuntary tears falling from his cheeks. He reached down, wanting to heal everything but not knowing where to start. His shadows swirled around your wounds, his Siphon patching up small cuts. He didn’t even tell or try to do any of it. You were unconscious. And he bet you wouldn’t be awake for a while. He prayed to the Mother that you would wake up at all.

Rhys kneeled on the other side of you. “We’ll take her to the town home.” He said. “Madja will take care of her. Az…”

Azriel told the rest of the Inner Circle the day after you were taken. He had been agitated and ready to go fight for his life. For your life. Be sentenced to death just to take you out of the wretched ritual.

“Az… she’s breathing. Her heart is beating. She will be okay.” Rhysand said, reached out to hold his brother’s shoulder, and took your hand as he winnowed to the town home.

You awoke to a blinding pain. In every single spot of your body. It was too much, too much to bear. Someone was patching your wounds. Magic was patching your wounds. You heard your mate’s voice, soothing you through it. That was the only thing you continued to hear as you fell unconscious again.

Azriel sat at your bedside for the entire week. Missing the visit with the queens where Rhys showed them Velaris. You only awoke to writhe in pain every now and then. Madja was doing everything she could to keep you sedated. Your wounds were healing but it was slower than normal. You were basically a human when they were inflicted, and the process of healing was different because of it. Not to mention the odd herbs that the three males drugged you with that were still in your system when the wounds were inflicted. Madja knew they were also slowing the healing down.

Azriel only left the town home to defend the city when it was attacked. And to go to Hybern to infiltrate it. Feyre was taken to the Spring Court. His High Lady. His brother’s mate. And his own mate couldn’t even open her eyes because of the pain she was in. Rhys brought in another bed just so Azriel could heal with you after Hybern tore his wings.

Each of the Inner Circle took turns watching the two of you, trying to get Azriel to get up to eat, or to rest. He needed to heal from Hybern’s destruction of his wings, but he wouldn’t leave your side.

Rhys even allowed Varyn to come visit when his wound healed within a few days. He only stayed long enough to learn that you were getting better. Then he returned to Valorworth for training.

Azriel didn’t leave the room once Feyre was gone… And when he was healed, Rhys needed him on missions. But, Az was too distracted with your healing to do any real work, so his shadows took his place.

Another thing that Azriel couldn’t wrap his head around. Your shadows were gone. There were none swirling around you, none comforting your wounds with their cool touch. He wondered if the spell from the Rite worked too well and kept them away. But his came back the second it ended. Were you no longer a Shadowsinger? Or did you no longer need the shadows to survive? Questions swirled in his brain, every second he sat by your side, waiting for you to wake up. Not in pain. Or long enough for him to hold you and declare you his mate. When the spell from the Rite ended at dawn, it became so strong he knew you felt it too. It was still buried, and wouldn’t take full effect until both of you accepted it, but it was there.

Feyre had been in the Spring Court for two weeks when you finally woke up.

Azriel was sleeping in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position while Cassian was sharpening a blade beside him. You jolted up at the sound of the blade against the sharpener, eyes wide. The last thing you remembered was the pure agony you were in. And then a terrible dream about Azriel’s wings shredding. Was that on top of Ramiel? Was it somewhere else? Was it even real?

Cassian hit Azriel’s arm, so hard that the former growled as he shifted. He was about to tell his brother off when he saw you were awake. And you looked terrified.

Azriel said your name once as he got up, moving closer to you. His wings were still scarred from healing. You must have not heard him because your eyes were glued to the blade that Cassian was holding. Cassian noticed your gaze and quickly put the blade into its sheath.

You flinched when you felt a hand on your shoulder, backing into the bed as much as you could. Until your eyes met the hazel ones you had been so deeply dreaming of. Your mate’s eyes. Azriel’s eyes.

“Azriel…” you whispered. The small, gentle smile on his face broke you. You let out a sob, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your head into his chest as you cried. You let out wail after wail, muttering everything that happened when you were in the Rite. The males you killed. Your brother. Your wounds. He could barely understand all of it, but his shadows translated for him. You sobbed into his chest until you had fallen back asleep. He had laid down beside you, holding you. He didn’t want you waking up again without knowing you were safe. In Velaris. With him.

Your wounds were mostly healed by that morning when you woke up. All but your leg and your wing. You were in no more physical pain. But you knew that the past four weeks of you sleeping would be the most you’d get in a while. You curled into Azriel’s side, breathing in his scent. It was enough to bring tears to your eyes again. You had been through so much, and yet all you wanted to do was lay with Azriel and give him a cookie. A biscuit. Anything so you could declare your love and your acceptance.

Azriel felt you shift, leaning his head down to look at you. There was no terror in your eyes this time. It was only what he knew to be love. “Hi sweetheart.” He whispered, moving some hair from your face. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

You moved your wings, wincing as your left wing shuttered from the stretch. “Like a whole female.” You half joked, a small smile coming to your lips. “I have something to tell you.” You whispered. You couldn’t wait longer to say it. Azriel responded with a hum of anticipation. “Azriel… I love you.” You whispered.

His smile grew, lighting up those gorgeous hazel eyes. You could’ve sworn you saw a golden hue flash through them. “I love you, sweetheart.” He whispered.

“And…” you said, sitting up ever so slightly so you could fully see him. “You are my mate.”

His smile was the biggest you’d ever seen. “And you’re mine.”

A/N: We are wrapping things up! I have a few more chapters left (as indicated on the masterlist). I'm thinking of either a second series or a few sequel drabbles...

Comments/Request Here

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Tagging (thank you to everyone who is keeping up with this story! Let me know your thoughts so far!)

@cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @mybestfriendmademe @atomolvnar @complete-randomness-blog @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese @secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel

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@herondale-lightworm

#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #the shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #katie writes

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firesnap · 1 year ago

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i have a genuine question. i promise i am not at all trying to defend him. ive dropped him entirely, literally deleted everything i had of him and unliked his songs.

ive just been wondering like considering that he has been in therapy, and also considering how if he does take a year off and then comes back, why cant it be redeemable? like cant people change? cant we give them second chances? he is 27. is he just doomed to be an abuser forever?

its just scary and im asking as like a younger person who is in my very early 20s. i know ive made mistakes. i know ive not been a good partner or friend sometimes. (and yes i was also abusive to a past partner...im not proud of it and ive learned from it. i have never ever touched anyone in that way after that. it took awhile but my current relationship isnt toxic and i would never hurt anyone or hit them again yknow?) and it scares me that people keep insinuating that he is irredeemable. like cant abusers change and become better? dont they get second chances? if shelby has grown and healed in 10 months wouldn't it be fair to say the same for wilbur?

im just genuinely asking because based on everything i believe you are older than me and im looking for guidance and just...idk im scared. growing up on the internet has made me so scared of making mistakes and doing anything wrong because when it happens to others i look up to, its always treated as something they'll never be able to change or improve. makes me feel like imma just be a horrible person forever because i made mistakes in the past.

This is a really complicated question that multiple answers can validly fit.

I don't think, personally, that anyone is irredeemable. I think everyone is on a journey of forgiveness and some of us may need more grace than others.

This is tw// abuse even more than the current topic, but my mom was incredibly abusive. We lived in a very rural area and she had a lot of undiagnosed problems and trauma of her own that created a pressure pot of issues. After I was born, she suffered through full on post-partum psychosis that nearly ended about as well as that sentence implies it could have. She was incredibly violent, controlling, and cruel for years. My sister went no-contact with her the second she turned 18. A significant event occurred that eventually spurned her into seeking real treatment that lasted for years. It's still ongoing.

My sister is also still no contact and I support her decision 100%. Those are her wounds and what she needed to do to get peace should be respected. I decided I wanted a relationship with the person who came out of all that work and, even then, it's been hard. I don't know if she's redeemed herself, and my god do we still have bumps in the road, but I support her for trying.

With Wilbur, how he responds to this is going to really impact a lot of things. I mean, I know no matter how he responds I won't be going on whatever journey of redemption and healing he has to go through. I'm tired and I feel hurt enough. I would think, if he wanted to show he was sincere, admitting what happened would be a great sense of closure for a lot of people who put time and energy and faith into this guy for years.

Not every person that causes harm is inherently evil, but there has to be some kind of knowledge that you're aware of the harm you've caused. No one is stuck as anything forever, life is constantly moving, and most people aren't saying his life is just over. You can work on yourself. You can change. And I'm saying that specifically to you, anonymous.

(Saying this, actually, there ARE people who would argue once you've done x you're beyond redemption based entirely on their life experiences as a victim, personal histories and many other factors. Kinda like my sister, that's their choice. And you have to accept that sometimes you fuck up so badly that you will permanently lose some people from your life. But your life isn't over.)

But I do think, regardless of what he says or does about this, his time of controlling a large platform is at an end. He can still do a lot of things in his life after he works on himself -- editing, song producing, directing, writing or whatever -- but being in charge of a large impressionable audience that could enable more destructive behaviors is just not it.

#the current state of things

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aziraphales-library · 11 months ago

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Any pregnancy AU recommandations ? Fluffy soft preferably (not necessarily big details) but give everything anyway

Thaaaanks

We have a bunch on our #pregnancy tag, so check that out. Here are more to add...

Expectant by luciferfemme (E)

Something is very wrong, Aziraphale can feel it. He wakes up nauseous, and that shouldn't be possible. What's more the plants are acting strange, the Bentley refuses to drive faster than the speed limit and Aziraphale is pretty sure he might be pregnant. It shouldn't be possible but here they are. About to become parents.

Sunday Surprise by Vavoom_Thyself (E)

Grumbling, Crowley decided to finish preparing the pot as quick as he could before heading back inside. It seemed he got a few minutes worth of respite in between the pains, so hopefully he could make it back to the cottage before the next one. Hell, he'd have to explain it to Aziraphale, though. The angel was sure to notice if he kept stiffening up with each wave of discomfort, especially if it kept getting worse. And he'd fret even more when it turned out he couldn't explain what was happening to his body. Crowley sighed, finished filling the pot, and cleared his stuff away. He gave the plants one last warning that: “Nobody bloody dies over a bit of heat, you hear me?” Then made his way back to the cottage, thinking that if it wasn't such a bloody hot day, he'd have drawn himself a bath to try and relax his muscles a bit. He was fairly sure that was it. Just overdone it a bit with dragging heavy pots around. Sore, crampy muscles were a logical follow-up from that. - Or: despite his previous sidegigs as a midwife, Crowley is surprisingly clueless when it comes to adding up his own body's quirks. Until he and Aziraphale have to face facts.

Ineffable Promise by KaytheJay (T)

For the first few months of their marriage, they remained at their respective homes, though they stayed the night at each other’s place just about every night. Aziraphale insisted that their house search needed to be completed the human way. He wanted the house to be absolutely perfect for them before they even thought about an offer. It ended up taking a year and a half for them to find the perfect home. It had a large back garden where Crowley could plant every plant under the sun if he wanted to. The home had several bedrooms, one that would quickly be turned into a library. Unbeknownst to Crowley, another one of the rooms would be turned into a nursery.

blood, white marble, and starlight by blackeyedblonde (E)

Crowley feels an incredulous laugh wing up out of her like a startled bird. “What’s ailing me this time?” she asks, reaching up to claw at her sodden veil hanging limply against her front. “There’s nothing left for you to fucking heal.” Aziraphale leans in closer, his face held only the careful breadth of two hands from her own, and merely presses through the strands of hair and strips of cloth still plastered to Crowley’s throat and chest like scarlet seaweed. His index finger lightly touches the discernible shape of her breastbone, and she simply sits there and lets him with her heart dashing itself to death underneath. “But there is,” he says softly before pulling his hand away again. “Just here.” Crowley tries to snarl but makes a withered sort of sound in the back of her throat instead. “You idiot,” she whispers, shaking all over now with cold and wrath and the blinded oblivion of her own despair. “You doddering old fool of an angel. How the hell do you think you’re going to heal that?” “By holding you,” Aziraphale says, terribly simply. “If you’d let me.”

Some Unholy Hoax by ArgylePirateWD (E)

In a desperate attempt to delay the Second Coming, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale makes a proposal: Jesus should be completely reborn—gestated for nine months in the human way, then raised to adulthood on Earth. When he volunteers to carry the child himself, he doesn't think anyone will agree. Somebody, however, does. What will his unexpected condition do to his strained relationship with Crowley? And what will happen once it becomes apparent that something is very much amiss in this whole "Second Coming" business?

Good Expectations by tweedfeather (E)

After the Nope-ocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley move slowly — up until the night they move too fast. The consequences will send them reeling. As they figure out what they mean to each other, they must contend with both the expected and unexpected.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #adult omens #pregnancy #pregnant aziraphale #pregnant crowley #mpreg #mod d

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bitchinbarzal · 3 months ago

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when clayton got hit in the face with the puck el def made him wear the sparkly helmet but was hesitant at first bc it was made for kess and told him not to ruin it

When Clayton walked through the front door with a swollen lip and a bruise under his eye, the house went completely silent.

Elodie was mid-crayon masterpiece at the kitchen table. Kaia was feeding Weston his applesauce. Lucky was snoring under the counter.

Then Elodie looked up.

And dropped her crayon in horror.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!”

Clayton winced and tried for a reassuring smile, but with a split lip, it came out more like a grimace. “Took a puck, Bug. I’m okay—”

“You’re not okay!” she wailed, launching off her chair and running to him. “You’re injured! You need an ambulance! Or stitches! Or a helmet!!”

He knelt down and scooped her into a hug. “I’m alright, I promise. Just a little bruised.”

Elodie pulled back dramatically, placing her hands on both sides of his face. “You need protection. Like Kess.”

Kaia froze.

Clayton blinked. “Wait—what kind of protection are we talking about—”

And that’s when Elodie darted off and returned thirty seconds later…

Holding The Helmet.

The infamous, pink, glittery, foam-pompom-covered helmet she and Kaia had made for Kess.

The one Elodie had guarded like a national treasure ever since.

Clayton stared at it. “Bug, that was for Kess. He earned it.”

“I know,” she said solemnly, climbing into his lap and holding the helmet against her chest like it was sacred. “And you got hurt, too. So… I guess you can borrow it.”

Clayton blinked. “Really?”

Elodie hesitated, then nodded once. “But if you ruin it,” she said darkly, “I’ll cry for a million years. And Kess will be sad. And Kaia will be mad. So be careful, Daddy.”

Clayton bit back a laugh. “I promise to treat the helmet with the utmost respect.”

“Good.” She handed it over like a queen bestowing a crown. “Because this has healing powers.”

He pulled it over his head—it was tight, a little scratchy from dried glue, and smelled vaguely like apple juice—but Elodie beamed like he’d just won the Stanley Cup.

Kaia walked over, arms crossed but smiling. “You’re officially part of the glitter protection program.”

Clayton looked at his reflection in the microwave and sighed. “Do I look ridiculous?”

Elodie gasped. “You look majestic.”

And really?

That was all he needed to hear.

#clayton and elodie #just fine au

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susandsnell · 7 months ago

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i saw wicked today too and loved it! what did you think? (was i the only one who went "oh shit" out loud in the theater when That Cameo happened?)

well i may or may not have just gotten out of my second viewing of it in three days some fourish hours ago, so that should be some indication!

hiya bestie! sorry for the delays on this, things have been thinging and life has been lifing. I'll admit that as early as February I was not looking forward to this movie or its promised follow-up. Splitting it into parts confused me, I was dubious over some of the casting, the visuals, the lighting, and the use of CG, and was being a bit of a hater over the trailers. However, every hater worth their salt should eat crow when they're wrong, and wow was I ever wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong, actually, because I'll go so far as to say (though I have high high hopes for Nosferatu later this month)! that Wicked Part One was my favourite movie of 2024. Extended (gushing) quasi-organized thoughts under the cut, because like Elphaba, no I never stop talking.

Bit of background, I've been lucky enough to see the show live twice, plus countless bootlegs/the cast album being the soundtrack to my life since I was nine. I know the script, the score, and the lyrics back to front. So you can imagine how shocked/pleased I was to find that the movie retained just about everything! I know people are giving mixed reviews about the extended scenes/runtime, but honestly the Oz they gave us (which I'll get to momentarily) was so wonderful and the cast so wholly inhabiting of their roles that I could not get enough of the world and these characters. I also thought they fixed several plotholes/added depth and stakes to a lot of arcs from the musical with their changes, especially with respect to the villains.

Visually, the film is an absolute treat; the colour grading/lighting does have the unfortunate modern fantasy film vibe to it, but the sets, practical props/effects, and costumes more than make up for it. That rotating library portico set? Let me live there! The Wizard's invitation?? The choreography was fantastic and every dancing scene was shot so so beautifully. My only complaint really is the CGI; the animals looked really fakey and goofy, particularly poor Dr. Dillamond, to the point that my entire theater was cracking up when his little goat ears wilted at the blackboard scene during my first viewing. Which is...not really the reaction you want to go for with a scene that's supposed to be depicting a hate crime.

The costumes in particular were a standout; Paul Tazewell's work is so stunning (Morrible's gowns, the revised Popular dress, and Elphaba's little pirate academia number when she gets her Emerald City invite) that I feel comfortable saying with the exception of Glinda's Junon-takeoff bubble dress (because it's just so iconic), they vastly outdo the stage version's costumes. He needs an Oscar for this yesterday and I'm not kidding.

The performances!!! Oh my gosh! Everyone sounding great and there being good mixing?? in a musical movie made after 2007??? Who'd've thought!!! My only complaint musically was, unfortunately, during Defying Gravity. In the stage show there's like 2 pauses in the song for plot to happen (Morrible's call-out and making the broom fly), and through that iirc they keep the instrumental going. Today, at my second viewing, I counted like....6-7 pauses where the song just outright stops, including two instances where they play different sad piano music altogether and give Elphaba this big suit-up superhero moment because book cover nod I guess, and healing her inner child, and it was kind of a pain because part of what makes Defying Gravity such a memorable piece is its momentum and when you stop the song to do something else, the momentum really dies. With that said, all eight parts of Defying Gravity were, in each pocket, performed to perfection.

I had high hopes for Cynthia Erivo vocally, but was dubious about an apparently more earnest, innocent Act 1 Elphaba as opposed to the stage version which I'm more used to, where she's a lot more of a Daria type. However, I was so pleased to find that she deepened the aching tragedy of the character with this take, especially opposite a more sinister and insidious Wizard + Morrible, and her takes on these songs, her vocal choices, her runs...heavenly. Ariana Grande pleasantly surprised me as being much cuter and funnier than I expected, and her surprise option ups during Popular were an absolute treat. Jonathan Bailey was as charming and talented as any Fiyero worth his salt (also loved how casually they made him bisexual?), Jeff Goldblum as the Wizard killed me (especially since they played him as simultaneously more of a huckster conman and an Evil Walt Disney, and it worked), but the show-stealer was Michelle Yeoh as Morrible for my money.

From the moment Morrible swoops in to smoothly cover for Elphaba's power explosion, knowing what it would mean to her to be spared social ruin, I was on the edge of my seat with such a different take on what's usually just kind of a comic relief diva character. Michelle Yeoh's effortless grace and elegance command screen presence. But the slow creep of her goading Elphaba into intensifying her powers while playing the sympathetic ear/mother figure/mentor only to make the betrayal hit that much harder (I genuinely choked up during the cut to Elphie's face when she hears her saying that her skin is a manifestation of her twisted nature), to say nothing of dangling her approval over Glinda until becoming the shoulder for her to cry on at the end of Defying Gravity...my god. chills. Forget Gelphie, shoutout to all the teenage sapphics with something deeply, deeply wrong with them who are going to have an awakening over this chillingly manipulative milfy sorceress who presents herself as a twisted maternal figure and intellectual colleague.

On the note of Gelphie -- oh my god??? A homoerotic swordfight during What Is This Feeling - are you KIDDING???? They amped it up from the stage show if anything; the Ozdust sequence brought me to tears, and then ended with them joining hands and running off together and leaving Fiyero behind like???? The amount of times they fell over each other? Glinda's thousand-yard stare during No One Mourns The Wicked, Elphaba's longing/fond glances....the love note, are you kidding me. They were baby's first yuri for me so seeing them on the big screen played with such natural chemistry by Cynthia and Ariana warmed my heart and got me super emotional. Sidenote, okay, not to be the boss baby guy about Carrie, but with the changes/additions, Elphaba is kind of Carrie White now and I'm here for it? From the visions to the explosions to baby Elphie already having her powers in the flashbacks...and then you get to the Ozdust scene, and the extended cruelty towards her plays very much as Elphaba's They're All Gonna Laugh At You Moment...only for Glinda to swoop in and dance with her as the Sue Snell, so yeah, we now have fantasy CarrieSue in Oz. We won so hard.

Last bit, to address your point about the cameos -- I really was worried that I'd be cringing at all the lore tie-ins with the '39 Wizard of Oz or the Broadway cameos or any of the other fanservice, but it all tied in and flowed so smoothly at most I was rolling my eyes affectionately rather than in exasperation (the Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead tie-in to No One Mourns The Wicked was shockingly seamless). Stephen Schwartz being the one to invite them to see the wizard got me properly emotional!! Idina and Kristin were hilarious and 10/10 diva legends as always, and the extended Wiz-O-Mania propaganda play/Grimmerie Lore Dump is both a visual and auditory treat. The original Glinda showing up to tell Ari to shut the fuck up during her song got maybe the biggest laugh of the movie out of me, but then they had Idina doing her end of defying gravity 'aaaaaaah ah ahhhh' Elphaba War cry riff as a heehe gag just like...20ish minutes before Cynthia!Elphaba is going to do it for real. Which had me in stitches because it plays then as either subversion of the wizard's propaganda in finding her voice, or Elphaba's a theatre kid and said yeah that was a sick riff I heard 2 hours ago, I'm going to incorporate it into my political loudmouthing after nearly being assassinated 20 times. Fuck you, Oz man, I'm stealing your propaganda riff!

What an ending. What a movie. Can't wait for part 2.

Thanks for asking! <3 hope you're well.

#wicked #wicked 2024 #wicked part 1 #gelphie #my thoughts

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nyxmainex · 2 years ago

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I finished it guys. I finished them. IN A DAY.

Be it, they are VERY rushed and look as such, but I AM PROUD OF MYSELF FOR ONCE.

@velnna @bara-izu @necromosss

Fanart for your characters.

(Warnings: Me rambling)

If any of the artist I made this for see this, I hope you like it even maybe a portion as much as I do. Maybe more. Genuinely, each of these three artists inspire me to continue my hobby of making art. The reason I even do this hobby is to share it in hopes to inspire others. As much courage as it takes for me to even make these much less post them is just proof to myself how far I've come in terms of social interaction. I thank my friend, my mom and teacher for supporting my hobbies and specifically convincing me to make this. I'm off on a ramble, apologies.

I really do hope you like this. Each character has something I added to them, and I explain in their dedicated paragraph. Then you also get an overall part:).

MIRA ♡

Necromosss is the second BG3 artist I found on Tumblr and I adore their art. Everytime I see Moss post, I promise you I immediately spread it to my friends just so they get the recognition they deserve.

Mira was the last character I ended up drawing, and is definitely the most hurried and sloppy. I made hers pretty late, close to the time I sleep, yet I do feel proud of how I made her. Imagining Mira in the stories I've created, I believe she'd fit in with Meladonia, a kingdom of ghosts, poison, and death. Overlooking the main theme, Meladonia's queen, Chamixie (and funny enough, my character who romanced Gale), is a very lighthearted, flirty person. She, while respecting death and it's concepts, is always up to make an occasional joke. She doesn't take everything personally, and I think she'd get alone well with Mira. The Meladonia magic is dark magic known at Kalak. 'Mixie (Chamixie's nickname) created Kalak as a form of a way to express herself. Kalak magic is not negative, and it's not harmful. In fact, Kalak magic is meant to heal and embrace your fears to use positively. Most of the time, using Kalak magic causes small white, almost snake-like slits to form in the pupil of the user's eyes.

I hope you like how I drew her!:)

STAEVE ☆

MAF is the first BG3 artist I found on Tumblr. I can't put in to words how much they've inspired me. Me and my mom both love Staeve, we think he's great, and I can't wait to see more art from Velnna.

Staeve is the first character I drew, and though not as rushed as Mira's, I wasn't confident drawing him. I'm not too sure about how I drew him, though I do hope anyone reading this likes it. Much like Mira, I imagine he'd be from Meladonia if put in my stories.

In case you haven't read about Kalak magic, I'll copy it: The Meladonia magic is dark magic known at Kalak. 'Mixie (Chamixie's nickname) created Kalak as a form of a way to express herself. Kalak magic is not negative, and it's not harmful. In fact, Kalak magic is meant to heal and embrace your fears to use positively. Most of the time, using Kalak magic causes small white, almost snake-like slits to form in the pupil of the user's eyes.

I've, as an anon, told Velnna about one version of my first OC (Broodmother Nera). And she's a version of my main five characters. Her and Chamixie are sisters, four years apart (Nera is 28). Chamixie is a much more sort of flirty person and takes everything told to her with a drop of comedy, unless it's extremely serious (ex: any abuse) as she has experienced negative situations herself. I imagine that she'd want to be friends with Staeve as long as he wants to, but would likely rather protect him even if he doesn't want to be friends. Staeve reminds Chamixie of Alison, the youngest of the five sisters, and was Chamixie's previous life's bio daughter. Even if they are sisters in this life, Chamixie still, while not overprotective, is cautious around Alison. To an extent, Staeve gives off a similar vibe as Alison, and 'Mixie would do more than her best to help Staeve without being overbearing.

I hope this is interesting enough, and that you enjoy how I drew Staeve.

HALION ◇

I have so much trouble remembering how to write this lovely man's name, please correct me if it's wrong, I have terrible memory.

I recently found Bara, and I love all their characters. (No joke though, I ran to my mom to show her your characters). Halion is definitely one of my favourites.

I was the most confident creating Halion, and I genuinely am proud of my art. This is honestly one of the few times I do feel proud of myself. From the posts I read, which is not too many, I love his cheery personality. He makes me believe he'd be from Parfi if he was in my stories. Parfi is the kingdom of the Wasteland, but is known for war, previously known for lust, but after Lord Clemin became the ruler, she changed it to accommodate travellers. While it was re-built for wars, she's made it a beacon of light within a desert. That reminds me of Halion. Clemin, as a ruler, comes off as strong and demanding. But out of all five of the rulers, and as the second oldest sister, she's very soft. Even with her own insecurities, she lifts people up and encourages their positive ambitions. She's actually not very confident, even though presenting as such. Even if she is very silent, and kind of reserved, she'd feel comfortable with talking to Halion.

She created Taei magic, the magic of heat. Taei magic is considered neutral magic, and though she has used it negatively on herself, Taei was meant to be positive. Using Taei magic is essentially holding the essence of a flame, and it's a guiding light to find others. Clemin wants the people of her and her sister's kingdoms to never have to experience what any of them did/do. Using it reflects a flame in the user's eyes.

I hope you agree he'd be from Parfi, and if not, tell me why:)! I also hope you like the art I made for him.

OVERALL/EXTRA

I'm sorry this post is so long, and I wanted to be finish setting up my blog when I made this but I'm just too impatient to do so. The reason this post is so long is because while I could've made art of any artist I enjoy, these three artists inspired me the most. (And I'm an overthinker, so I want to make sure you understand how much I appreciate these artists.)

I hope you enjoy the ideas I had and the art I made. I love all three of these pieces I've made, and I love the original art that they were based on more. And if it's alright with the artists, I'd love to draw more!:)

While writing this, my hands are shaking. Ignore any mistakes in the writing.

(References)

Mira: (her Notion page)

Staeve:

This

And this

Halion:

This

And this

PROGRAMS USED:

Infinite painter for lineart and Clip Studio Paint (pro) for everything else.

Edit: LOOKING BACK AT THIS, IT'S SO SAPPY AND LONG I'M SORRRYYYYYY

#art #artist #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #fanart #staeve #halion #mira #velnna #maf #bara izu #necromosss #please like this #social anxiety #i was convinced #:)

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wordsaresimple-imnot · 1 year ago

Text

Pen pal's - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader

Summary: Bill's childhood friend and neighbor writes him a letter after Henry is killed. They keep writing each other throughout the war, but following the events after Bastogne Bill sends a final letter that might end their future before it can really start.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, reader goes by childhood nickname, angst (mentions of war & healing from injuries), does have happy ending.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: Full transparency, this one sorta got away from me but I let my creative muse take over and here we are. I was sitting on this idea for a minute and honestly, I love how it turned out. Hopefully y'all like it too! Comments, likes, and reblogs please!! Thank you!

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

It was two weeks after Henry passed when a letter arrived for Bill. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but he knew the return address by heart. It was the house right next door to his childhood home. His suspicions of who it was from was confirmed once he started reading it.

Billy, I've spent the last week trying to figure out something comforting and eloquent to say but all I can come up with is; I'm so sorry about Henry. I can't imagine how you feel. I can't do much to make you feel better over there but I promise to help your mom and sisters with anything they need. You all have been a second family to me my whole life. I pray you stay safe and come home soon. Pip. P.S. I found this picture in one of my old journals and it made me smile. I hope it can do the same for you.

Bill flipped over the photograph that had been included and did, in fact, smile. It was three young kids laughing at the camera, completely covered in mud. He was pulled from the memory of that day when a hand grabbed the picture away from him.

"Henry, Billy, and me." Luz read the back of the picture out loud before flipping it around. "Who's the girl?"

"None of your business." Bill grabbed the picture back and stuffed it in his breast pocket, sending Luz a glare.

Not being fazed at all, Luz leaned over and skimmed at the letter Bill was still holding. "Billy? Who's Pip? Same girl from the picture?"

"Who made you the new Nixon around here? Fuck off, will ya."

"What's got Gonorrhea's in a twist?" Toye asked as he joined the two of them.

"Got some letter and picture from a girl." Luz wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"What, girl's not your type anymore?" Toye smirked at Bill.

"Both of you's, shut the fuck up. It's a neighbor I grew up with. She's like family."

"She cute?" Toye asked at the same time Luz said, "Is she single?"

"She's nothing to you two's or I'll break your jaws." With a final glare Bill folded up his letter and walked away. Toye and Luz smirked at each other, knowing this wouldn't be the last time they pissed him off about this mystery girl.

Pip dropped the remaining pieces of mail on the ground and rushed to her room, eager to read the letter addressed to her in messy handwriting. She knew she was smiling like an idiot as she read it, but she didn't care.

Pip, I appreciate you reaching out and taking care of ma and the girls for me. I couldn't ask for anyone better to watch over them. You're picture did make me smile, something I haven't done much of lately. I can still hear our ma's chewing us out over ruining your dress. Said Henry and I were keeping you from being a 'proper lady'. And if I remember correctly your response was you'd be one "when pigs fly". Thanks for reminding me of happy times. Don't be a stranger. Billy.

Two weeks later, another letter arrived.

Pip, I saw a field with some horses in it today and I thought of you. How you always wanted to live just outside the city with some land to have a horse and lots of dogs. I hope you get to have that one day. Maybe I'll come by and visit when you do. Billy

The next day as Pip made to leave the house to drop her response off at the post office, she ran into her mother.

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" The gleam in her eye and glance down at the letter in Pip's hand made it obvious she already knew the answer. Pip decide to play along since she was an only child and her mother needed to fuss over someone now and again.

"Just sending a letter back to Bill." She'd stopped calling him Billy out loud to people, but that's who he'd always be to her.

"Yes, I saw he'd send another letter. His poor mother doesn't even get back to back responses that quick. Lucky girl." She mused, smiling at the blush forming on Pip's cheeks.

"It's not like that, we're just old friends."

"Of course. Well, check with his mother and see if they have any mail to send out along with yours." Pip nodded, gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and practically sprinted out the houses before any more questions or observations could be made.

Bill couldn't figure out why he was so anxious after sending that second letter to Pip. She was just his neighbor, a life long family friend, like a sister... Well, not entirely like a sister. Henry always saw her like a sister, taking her under his wing and becoming the big brother she didn't have. His sisters saw her as an older sister, someone to play dress-up with and get boy advise from. But him...he'd never really seen her as that. She was family, absolutely. But not his sister.

When her response came, he wasn't sure if his anxiety got worse or better as he ripped it open.

Billy, I would have loved to have seen that field (although, maybe not during war time). I'm surprised you remember that, I think we were seven or eight when I came up with that idea. I never told you but I always imagined you'd live right next door to me and we'd see each other everyday, like we always did before this war. No matter where I end up, I'd still like you to visit. Pip

"Another letter from your 'family friend'?" Toye jumped down into the foxhole next to Bill.

"Why you sayin' it like that? She is a family friend. And what do you care who I get letters from?" Bill grumbled, folding his letter up and stuffing it inside his jacket.

"Luz said her name was, Pip. What's that about?" Toye asked, completely ignoring Bill's grumpy mood and response.

Bill gives a loud sigh, knowing that Toye isn't going to drop it and by extension neither will Luz until they've discovered everything to do with her.

"It's a nickname. Short for Pipsqueak. She was always this tiny little following me and Henry around back home."

"Sounds annoying." Toye says offhandedly, looking at his companion out the side of his eye. He see's a small smile form on Bill's face.

"At first, I guess. But honestly, it became so normal I never really thought about not including her in things." There's a long stretch of silence as they keep watch, then Bill speaks again. "She's family, but she's not my sister. Never has been. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does." Toye lights up a cigarette, passing one over to Bill. "Should tell her that someday." Bill doesn't respond, just lights up the cigarette and pulls a long drag from it.

The weeks and months that follow are filled with countless letters sent back and forth. There's no declarations of love or detailed accounts of the war, just two people sharing memories or tidbits about their days.

Pip would fill in the blanks about what was going on with his sister's love lives; who was a bum, who seemed nice, who looked weird. Once she gave him the play by play, as she could remember it, of a dinner at his house with the whole family, her, her mother, and a new beau his sister Marie was dating. His name was Paul, but said to call him Paulie. Pip and his two younger sisters, Bianca and Isabella, were on the verge of giggles all night because his voice sounded so much like a parrot and they wanted to ask him if he wanted a cracker. Then there was the shameful cooking lesson their mom's tried to have with Pip, that resulted in five burned pies.

Bill would tell her about the country side they'd go through and different animals he would encounter. He'd also tell her about the guys and stupid shenanigans they'd get up to. How getting shot in the ass started to become an Easy Company right of passage. When he meets Babe, he tells her about another Philly kid that grew up not far from them and how he's alright. He tells her about a game of darts he played with Babe as his partner, against a George Luz and Buck Compton, saying how they lost but he knows if she'd been his partner they would have won because they always make a great team.

They share memories from their childhood, some including Henry some with just the two of them. When she comes across them, Pip sends old pictures of them for him to have. One he becomes especially fond of is them at 16; they're at the local fair, he's holding a huge teddy bear he's just won above his head with one arm, the other is thrown over Pip's shoulder and she's got her arms wrapped around Isabella's shoulders as the younger girl is standing in front of her. They're all smiling, but only Bill and Isabella are looking at the camera. Pip is looking straight at Bill.

He got a lot of ribbing and questions from the guys when that picture came, but he just told them all to 'fuck off'. By this point it was common knowledge that Bill did, but didn't, have a girl back home. The guys loved to annoy him but truly they were happy he had someone, not all of them did.

Slowly, almost naturally, the letter's started becoming more intimate. Not sexually but emotionally. Greetings went from Dear, to Dearest, then Darling, eventually landing on "My Billy/Pip". Signatures would mix some type of variation of "Love, your Billy/Pip" and "Always yours, Billy/Pip". There still hadn't been any type of declaration of feelings, but they'd often write each other about the future and things they wanted to do or see together. They were always together no matter the plan or idea that popped in their heads about life after this war.

Then one day, in a forest in the dead of winter, everything changed.

It had been months since Bill and Toye were shipped back to the hospital for their surgeries and rehabilitation before getting to go home. Months since he'd last responded to one of Pip's letters. He knew, she knew what had happened as he'd written his ma letting her know he was okay after a telegram went out about his injury from the army. He couldn't stand the idea of her being worried sick about him, not after what happened with Henry.

Pip never mentioned the accident, just kept her letters light and full of the day to day happenings. But they always ended the same way, "P.S. Take your time, I'm here when you are ready and I'll always be yours." Each new letter was like a dagger in his heart. He loved her, so much so that he was planning to ask her to marry him when he thought he'd be going home a whole man. But now, how could he ask her to be with him when he wasn't all she deserved?

One day, he grabbed some paper and a pen and started his own version of a Dear John letter.

Pip was both relieved and terrified when she got a letter from Bill. He hadn't responded since being sent to the hospital to have his injury tended to. When his mother had gotten the telegram, all the army had said was that he was injured and being sent out immediately to their primary hospital. After what happened to Henry, she was in a terrible state so Pip pitched in as much as she could while wanting to breakdown herself. Soon enough a letter from Bill himself came and explained the situation as best he could and what was going on, but ultimately letting his mom and sisters know he was already. They'd all cried together when they read that. She waited weeks but no letter arrived for her. As time went on, she accepted that he needed time to heal and figure things out, so she kept sending him updates on his family and things in town, praying that one of them would trigger some type of response. Now she held one in her hands and she didn't know what it would contain.

Sitting in her room, she opened the letter and with each word felt her heart breaking.

My Pip, I am sorry I have not written. Truthfully, I have not known what to say. I know you must have gotten updates from my ma on my condition and I suppose that was the cowards way of letting you know and again, I am sorry. I didn't think this was how I would be telling you this but, I love you. I'm so damn, madly in love with you it's all I can think about lying here. But I can't keep this going any longer. You deserve someone not scarred, literally and emotionally, from this war and the horrors that have leaked inside me. I want you to have everything you've ever dreamed about. I just can't be the one to give it to you. I will love you till my last breathe. Love you always, Billy

With her letter crumpled in her hands, Pip curled up into her bed and cried until there was nothing left to come out.

Bill knew he should feel lucky. Hell, he was the luckiest damn bastard he knew of right now. He was finally home after being away for years, seeing the worst of human nature, eating a home cooked meal surrounded by his mother and sisters that he'd missed terribly. But there was still a large aching hole in his heart the shape of the girl next door. He'd been home for a month and they'd yet to run into each other. He wasn't sure if he could handle seeing her after the letter he'd sent, but that didn't stop him from praying for just one glance.

His sisters had seen her a few times since he'd been home, but every time he asked how she was they just shot him a glare and changed the subject. They obviously knew enough to have picked her side and he couldn't blame them.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, William." His mother's voice brought him back to the present. "Everything okay?" He suddenly felt like a child again under her critical gaze.

"Yeah, I'm good ma." He slapped on a quick smile, which dropped quickly at hearing Bianca and Isabella snort and cough at the end of the table. "What's up with you two?"

"They're tired of you lying. We all are." Marie sent him a cold look.

"I'm not lying about anything." He clenched his jaw to keep his temper in check. These were his sisters, not the boys, he couldn't react like he wanted.

"Yes, you are. Pip is too. You're both miserable. We see it everyday. Just admit you made a mistake and apologize." Marie turned fully to face him and gave him a look that challenged him to deny any of it.

Before he could say anything, his mother cut in. "Girls, go to your rooms. I wanna speak with William. Go on." She gave them her no nonsense look when they didn't move fast enough. With a few grumbles they all left the room and the silence that over took Bill and her was tense.

"Ma, I don't want to talk about it." Bill sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"You don't have to speak, just listen, yeah? You're my child and when you have a child you pray that they find happiness and have all of their dreams come true. It sounds foolish, but that's the truth. Throughout the years, I've always believed that your happiness lie with Pip and when you started writing each other I knew I was right. Every time she would relay some story you wrote her or say "Bill said this, Bill said that" it was like looking in a mirror to when I first fell for your father. Once you've had a great love, you recognize it in other people. Now, looking at both of you all I can see is myself after your father passed. A sorrow that settles in the bones and your soul and never quite goes away. I know you had the best intentions in mind when you did, what you did, but if it's slowly killing you both inside was it really for the best?"

Bill couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, too afraid he'd completely break down, so he stared at his plate and fiddled with the table clothe. Eventually his mom got up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and left him alone with his thoughts.

Two days later, Pip stood at the back door of the Guarnere house. She'd promised Bianca she'd help her pick a dress for her upcoming dance and after much back and forth, and almost tears, had agreed to come to their house only because Bianca swore Bill would be gone. As she entered the kitchen, she called out to Bianca but didn't receive an answer. She walked further into the house, heading towards the living room still calling out.

"Bianca? Anybody? Hello? I swear if she stood me up, I'm gonna kill her." Just as she finished her though out loud, she stopped dead in her tracks. In the middle of the room stood Bill on his crutches, holding her favorite flowers in one hand. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, she couldn't think of anything and closed it again. Eventually, Bill broke the silence.

"Don't be mad at Bianca, I bribed her to get you over here. I understand if you don't want to hear anything I have to say and walk out, but if you give me a few minutes I swear you'll never have to see me again if that's your wish." Hesitantly, Pip walked into the living room and followed Bill's lead by sitting on the sofa. Slowly she took the flowers from him and laid them in her lap, meeting his eyes.

"I've been practicing what to say all day, but can't seem to remember a damn thing now." He gave a humorless chuckled, clenching and unclenching his hands to steady himself. "What I did, all of it, is unforgivable. I...All I could think about in that hospital was all the things I wouldn't be able to do with you. All the things I might not be able to give you. I believed I was doing what was right, by pushing you away so you could find someone else. But underneath all of that I was scared too. Scared you'd see me now and think less of me. Would always look at me with pity in your eyes and I'd never be that great man you deserve. Now, I'm scared I've lost the only person that matters. Every day since I sent that letter, and especially since being home, it's felt like a wound is festering inside me and I can't fix it. I know I've hurt you, and I'll never forgive myself for that, but if you can just give me a chance to make it right I'll spend forever making it up to you."

Bill would've given her his beating heart if she asked for it. The longer the silence stretched, the more he was sure she would say goodbye. He held his breathe as one of her hands, shakily raised and cupped his cheek. She had tears in her eyes.

"How could I possibly look at you and think less? You've been everything I ever wanted since we were kids. And now everyone knows what I always knew, that you're a hero and a great man. We've had each other backs for forever, I don't think we should stop now. I don't care if we can't do certain things the way we talked about, we will find new ways to do them. All I want, all I've ever wanted, is you by my side. I'll accept your apology under on condition."

"Anything." His answer was immediate.

"Kiss me." The words were barely out when he pulled her closer to him and pressed his lips to her, firmly and with all the passion he had inside him.

Bonus scene: 6 months later

Everyone seemed to be having a good time; drinks were flowing, people were dancing, and in the corner taking a break from mingling, the bride and groom were sipping champagne and sneaking kisses.

"When can we leave?" Bill mutters, nipping her bottom lip quickly.

"I spent all day getting ready, I'm wearing this dress as long as possible." She half joked, taking a sip from her flute.

"I never said you had to take it off." Bill whispers in her ear, smirking at the blush on her cheeks.

"Control yourself and I'll let you take it off, however you want." She shoots him a wink and then grabs her purse, pulling a small box out of it. "Here, I have a gift for you."

Bill raises an eyebrow, taking the box from her. "What is it?"

"Just open it." She smiles at him.

Bill pulls the top off and pulls out a little figurine, laughing instantly. It's a small pig with wings attached. When pigs fly. He looks back and her and cups her cheek.

"I love you, Mrs. Guarnere."

"I love you, Mr. Guarnere."

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers x reader

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davinaclaire16 · 2 years ago

Text

Wings of Dusk pt. 10

AzrielxReader + HelionxReader

Warnings: abuse. War

I just wanted to thank everyone who's been patient with me. I've had two emergency surgeries and a death in my family so it's taken me second. I appreciate everyone support so much!!

“Cassain! Where is he Rhysand?” You had burst into the camps healing tent. It had been a month since the fight between you and Azriel. A month since you’d been Mated to Helion. Unfortunately for the two of you the wall had fallen the next day and since then there had been battle after battle. You didn’t have time to talk about it or let any one know and right now as you were standing soaked in blood waiting to see if Cassain was ok it was the furthest thing from your mind.

“He’s going to be ok Y/n’ it was then that Rhysand had actually looked at you. Soaked in blood your white leathers had turned crimson red a long time ago. There were bags under your eyes and dried blood in your hair. He didn’t know where the blood stopped and you begun. He knew that you were exhausted. You all were but he had watched you slash your way through half of Hyberns army. Knew that you were pulling more that your fair share of the force on the ground while him and his brothers took to the sky. He had watched you time and time again from the sky jump in front of your men ready to die for every single one of them but here you stood unharmed.

“Y/n you need to rest please” he hoped that you would listen because having you and Feyre out there fighting was too much. He couldn’t afford to loose anyone in his family but he had lost You and Feyre once and couldn’t… wouldn’t do it again. With Feyre he could always feel the bond know in a second if something was wrong. He couldn’t do the same for you at all. He could get Feyre to rest. Could plead with her to fall back and Feyre would always understand respect his worry. With you he couldn’t tell or ask you to do anything. If he told you to pull back you pushed forward. If he said take a break you’d work twice as hard. He didn’t know how to protect you because you wouldn’t let him or anyone.

“I’m fine Rhysand” hearing this Rhys got visibly agitated. His weight shifted from foot to foot. It took real effort on his part not to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

“You are not fine. None of us are fine but you haven’t taken more then 15 mins since the first battle. You need to take a break. I mean seriously y/n when was the last time you slept.?”

Your brother was right you were not fine but to be honest you didn’t know how to be. There was something about war…you couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Couldn’t sleep when you could be training or coming up with battle strategies. You couldn’t do nothing when your family…your men were risking their lives and could be dead any second. This was where everything you’d ever been taught came into play. Where years of insisted perfection paid off. Because anything less then perfection out on that battle field could cost you and somebody else there life. You were prepared to die every time you stepped out of your tent. Ready to give your life for anyone of your soldiers on that field.

“I know your worried about me brother. The same as I’m worried about you. But just as you can’t promise me you will live, I can’t promise you either. However I can keep the promise we made as children.” With that you had told Rhys to update you about Cassain, gave him a hug and exited the tent. You remembered back to that promise Rhys and you had made centuries ago. You remembered that night like it was a week ago.

“Father I think maybe it would be wiser not to involve Rhysand in this war.” You pleaded for your brothers safety to your father. You knew that you were walking a very dangerous line but you had to try. Hell your mother had even requested you to “talk some sense into your father” which of course she didn’t need to do she had asked while you were already on the way to his office. Whenever your family needed something from your father it was always you they would send. Like they knew you were the only one who could be in his presence that he wouldn’t immediately beat. This night was a strangely quiet night at your home.

“Absolutely not Y/n. He is my son he will fight. No matter how insistent you and your mother are.” your father was sitting at his desk he didn't offer you anymore than a glance. You could feel your nerves this kind of defiance was unlike you. Typically your defiance was classier. It could almost go undetected like a faint thread of manipulation hidden under a smile and a logical response. You were calculated in everything that you did...but not that night. That night you had only one rhys life on your mind.

“Of course father, my apologies I just thought that since he’s your next successor then-“ the room was tense, you kept your wings so tightly pressed against your back the pain had started to creep its way up your shoulders.

“Enough Y/N! Your brother will fight and if he can’t survive then it’s due to his own incompetence and failure!” Your fathers word stung. You didn’t know how he could care so much for you and not at all for your brother and sister. It was clear your father didn’t care if Rhys was ready to fight. Or even if he was given a better chance of survival. You could see on your fathers desk that he planned to place Rhysand right on the front lines. It was almost as if your father was trying to get your brother killed.

“At least keep him in the sky with Azriel and Cassian! They fight better together.” the second the words left your mouth you knew it would send him into a rage.

“Y/N you forget your place!” Your fathers voice boomed, He stood from his desk so fast you flinched on instinct. His voice so loud you were sure that it carried down the hall where your family was residing. But you had to continue, it wasn't an option not to make him change his mind. Otherwise your brother would pay the price.

“I’ll fight on the front lines in his place! Just please father.” You spit the words out as fast as you could before your father could throw you out.

“You can’t keep protecting that boy Y/n. One day that protection will cost you your life.”

That day you had left your fathers office with a black eye, a busted lip and a guaranteed death sentence on the front lines. You knew that he would retaliate by your lack of obedience but you couldn’t afford not to fight him. Not when the cost was your brother. For as long as you could remember you always protected your mother, sister, and brother. Had taken lashes, foul words, and their punishment so that they could have some sense of peace. Kept the true price for their safety as secret as you could. Glamoured the marks. Put on the mask of confidence and indifference.

Later that day your brother had come running into your room

“Y/N! I just talked to father and got my assignment and placement in the war effort. Get this he’s keeping me in the sky.. same fleet as Azriel and Cassian! I can’t believe it. Whats your assignment? Did he give you your own fleet to command or are somewhere higher. Maybe commander?” Rhys had ran in so quickly that you almost didn’t have time to glamour your face. But the second you saw the joy on his face all the pain washed away. like it did every single time. How many times had you hid the bruises and scars upon your body for your siblings... you couldn't keep track anymore but every time you saw their faces the pain or thought of telling them disappeared

“Umm I am on the front lines” You mustered every bit of confidence you had to try and calm Rhysands worry. You could tell if wasnt nearly enough as you watched your brother begin to panic and break down.

“What?!? No! Why would he do such a thing. I thought for certain he’d give you something. Of more importance! This is absurd. I’ll go talk to him! HE CANT… He JUST CANT-

“HE CAN. And He did. And YOU! Will not breathe one word of this to him. Do you understand?” You waited for Rhys to reply needed him to tell you he wouldn’t provoke your father further. But Rhys only stood there staring at you. So you walked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders

“Do you understand Rhysand?” you meant it as a question but it came out more as a demand.

“yes I understand” he answered meekly you sighed a thank you to the Mother.

“Thank you.... And Rhys don’t argue with father. Do as he says and listen to his every command. Especially on that battle field.” Rhys only laughed and rolled his eye at your comment.

“Pfft come on Y/n, I know, I know.” Your brother laughed like you weren’t being serious. Like it was something you warned him of everyday. Which he wasn’t wrong but your father wouldn’t be as “forgiving” with Rhys now. He would actually expect Rhysand to perform otherwise it was his reputation that was put at risk.

“I’m serious Rhysand. Do not provoke him. Do not give him any reason to reprimand you. You need to be training everyday and not just till you’re tired like you do now. You need to practice until you’re perfect. He will expect you to be the epitome of perfection and wrath on the battle field.”

“Please I’m not you y/n he couldn’t give two shits about how I perform. I’ve worked my ass off trying to prove I could be worth his Time but no matter how “perfect” I perform, it all about you.” Rhysands words came with a bite. Underlined with jealousy. You wished your father cared for Rhys and your sister....more than anything. But if your ability to protect them meant they had to stay out of his eyesight you would fill this roll everytime.

“I won’t be around forever to protect you from him Rhys. This time he put me in the grunt position and you in the high seat. He’s not expecting me not to embarrass him. I’m expected to be dead before that fight begins. You will be the one who will have to be perfect for him because any weakness in you will make him look bad. You’re his trophy now not me. You will have to protect our sister and mother from him once I’m gone. DO NOT PROVOKE HIM ANYMORE. No more running out with Cassian and Az acting like children. He will take notice and I won’t be there to distract him.” You had never been so serious with Rhys before. Had never spoken to him with such aggression and demand for him to understand. But you needed him to understand because you could not protect him once you were gone. You had shielded him from this for a long as you could.

Rhys didn’t know what to do. He was shocked and scared. Like for the first time he got a glimpse of the pressure and weight that laid on your shoulders. Never thought about how much exactly you shielded him and your sister from. He knew that many times you were the difference between being beat and being sent to his room but had you given more for his protection then he thought? All of these things ran through his mind but what he couldn’t get over was how easily you had admitted you were going to die. How that was the last thing on your mind. But it was the biggest on his mind

“Do you really believe your going to die” Rhys tried to say without shedding a tear but it was clear that he was about to become a mess.

“Oh Rhys I- I will always be honest with you when you ask me something you know that….the truth is that it’s very likely almost impossible not to on the front line.”

“You can’t die out there y/n. Promise me you won’t die out there.” Rhysands voice cracked and tears streamed down his face.

“Rhys I can’t promise you that.” You couldn’t promise him you’d survive so you did the only thing you could do. you held him and for a while the two of you didn’t say anything. Accepting that the each of you could die very soon.

“I can’t promise you I’ll live. But I do promise that I will die fighting to stay alive for you. Can you promise me the same?

“I can. I promise y/n.” And just like that a tattoo formed on your body right behind your ear with a matching tattoo behind Rhys ear.

To this day it was the only tattoo on your body. You didn’t believe in promises did everything you could to avoid them actually but it was a promise that kept you and Rhys connected. A promise that reminded you of how your relationship with your brother used to be. How he used to look up to you and trusted you…. Now you were last person he’d trust to do his laundry. Just another hurdle in his life as High Lord.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{+}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Again! I want it perfect this time!” It had been 3 weeks since Cassian was injured and thank the Mother he was back on his feet. Rhysand had asked you to lead a fleet of rejected Illyrians. Illyrians who had failed miserably every step of their training.

“Y/n please if anyone could make them capable fighters in this short amount of time. It’s you. I’d ask Cassian but he’s healing right now.”

“Rhysand I’m already leading a fleet of day soldiers. Also their Illyrians and I don’t know if you’ve noticed I’m a female…they won’t listen to me.”

“Then make them.”

And that is how you had ended up here. With Day soldiers and Illyrians at each others throats. The Illyrians had actually improved impressively since the first week. You were quick to put them in their place and after three weeks of hard non stop training some of them had even come to respect you. Others were still learning that it was possible a female could run laps around them. On the other hand the Day soldiers were continued to give you an impressive amount of respect and obedience they were more skilled then most of the Illyrians but that was only because they had been training with you longer. But the respect and courteousness of Day combined with the Arrogance and disrespect of the Illyrians didn’t mix well. It led to unnecessary tension you would have to fix. At any moment another battle could arise and they would have to fight with each without trying to kill the other. You had been stuck in your own thoughts when you spotted Helion outside your tent.

“Kemal and Theo grab a weapon and step into the ring Everyone else work on your blocks and dodges.” Kemal had been the Illyrian who had improved the most while Theo was your best soldier from Day. You were truly curious to see who would best who. But you had business to attend to first.

“When I get back everything better be in order or we aren’t breaking for dinner till breakfast” you said as you walked into your tent with Helion following.

“Helion… what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What I can’t come see my mate without a reason” Helion teased while placing a kiss on my temple. You simply laughed.

“I suppose you don’t. However my mate typically does have a reason.” You and Helion had decided not to accept the bond until after the war and to keep the bond a secret until after as well. But you two would undoubtedly accept it the second the war was over. The two of you had found solice and joy in each other in such an awful time. With flirty remarks and touches you kept each other fae while the world threatened to make monsters out of you.

“Ok fine you got me I’m checking in to see how your troops progress is going.”

Helion had taken a seat on your cot and you had found your self standing between his legs running your hands through his hair.

“They are progressing well. I’m no longer worried about the Illyrians fighting they improved however now I worry about the tension between the two groups.” You whispered and could feel Helion relax under your touch

“I don’t understand why your brother gave you them in the first place. You have far exceeded enough favors for him. He cant just keep expecting you to jump to his every whim. What will he do when you become my High Lady? Continue to treat you like your less than-“

“High lady?” You didn’t know why his words had shocked you so much it hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d become a High Lords mate. It wasn’t that you hadn’t expected Helion to treat you as an equal it was more that you had given up those foolish dreams long ago.

“Oh Y/n sorry I didn’t mean to assume you’d court me after I just had thought we were on the same page.”

“No-no Hel that’s not what I meant we are on the same page. I just I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about what my title would be.”

“Did you expect to be anything less? You are my mate. My equal and your brother started something of importance I intend to uphold.”

“Oh Hel I lo-“

“Y/N! I need you now!” Rhysand had come running into the room so fast I had withdrawn my weapon from the sheer shock of it. Helion had instinctively stepped in front of you

“Rhysand you cannot just storm into my tent and demand I go with you.”

“It’s Azriel” that’s all he had to say and you were as serious as could be and running out of your tent without thought. Leaving Helion and rushing to Az.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N thank the mother your here….it’s his wings y/n we need your help.” Cassian looked like more of an emotional reck then Rhys. You could feel the pit of worry growing to a disastrous size. You had no idea what to expect.

“Ahhhhhh, STOP, AHHHHH” you could hear Azriels screams from outside the door. You felt like you were going to be sick like everything in you depended on him surviving.

“Y/N! You need to get in there.” Both Cassian and Rhys stated. They looked like the two little boys you remember making food for. For a split second they mirrored their younger selves coming and pleading to you to make all their problems disappear. But as much as you wanted to make their sorrow go away your feet wouldn't budge. You had no control over your body.

“What?!? I can’t go in there. No I….I can’t.” You couldn’t go in there and see the shape he was in, you would break down the second you saw him.

“Y/N you have to. You’ve studied wings and repairs and clipping reversals for centuries. You studied under Madja. Y/N I’ve seen you save hundreds of wings and Madja needs your help and another person skilled enough to heal his wings so he can still fly after.” Everything they said made sense. It was all logical and you knew that. But it didn’t change that your feet were glued where they were. You indeed had studied under Madja. After you lost your wings you were obsessed with finding a way to reattach them it drove you mad. Once you realized it was just an impossible obsession. Your motivation for the knowledge changed to finding a way to heal or reverse clippings for all those poor girls. Even Illyrian soldiers who’d been injured in the war. You had secretly set up a safe haven for girls who needed immediate help in the mountains. You couldn’t always save the wings but if you couldn’t you could at least ease the pain they’d feel for the rest of their lives.

You were by no means a better healer than Madja you wouldn’t even say you were a healer. You were just skilled in this one area of study because maybe if there was someone who knew all that you knew your back wouldn’t ache everyday. Madja was the best, a great healer and she had taught you well you had just “specialized” and been able to do more with wings.

“Y/N Madja is asking for you” you heard Rhysand say. You wished, wished that you could pull yourself together right now but everything was foggy and blurring together all you could hear was Azriels cries and with each of them you felt more faint. Everyone was frantic, crying, screaming at you. But you couldn’t pull your self out of this state until

“y/n…I know that you love him. I know he is a very dear friend to you and I know that this cannot be easy. I know that your fear and worry for him is over taking you and that is understandable. But right now he needs you to help him.” Feyre spoke to you softly and with love. You could see her compassion and even her own fear in her eyes. Those eyes got your attention enough to realize the severity of the situation and that time was running out.

“Yes I’m. Im sorry. Thank you” you said as you entered the room that Azriel was in. He was laying on his stomach. Head tossing with his arms hanging of the bed. The first thing you saw was blood. There was so much blood. His wings had cuts , breaks, and tares all over them. It was awful, heartbreaking to see his once strong wings torn and tattered. The next thing you noticed was how much pains he was in. His cries and jerking. How every time he jerked or moved the more blood there was.

“Mother thank you, Y/N I need some help stabilizing him. He won’t calm down and if he doesn’t calm down soon he will have lost to much blood.”

Immediately you started to help Madja try and stop the bleeding. You grabbed a cloth and began to apply pressure to his left wing. You weren’t prepared for the screams and cries that came from him.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry.” You had whispered under your breath over and over again.

“Y/n! I need you to calm him down” Madja instructed.

I can’t I’ll get Rhys or Cassian they can talk to him and Rhys can help ease his pain.

“No they’ve gone to get more elixirs form my office”

You tried to ask him to calm down but nothing. So finally you went to the head of the bed and crouched down so that the two of you were face to face.

“Az I need you stay still for me.” His face was scrunched up and tears were streaming down his face. You didn’t know what else to do so you went with your gut. You brought one of your hands and cupped his cheek while the other grabbed his hand and held it.

“It’s going to be ok Azriel. I’m here I’m going to help you. But I need you to calm down for me. I will not stop until I know that you’ll fly again. But I need you to calm down because every time you jerk or thrash you loose more blood.”

“Y/n i…I’m sorr-“

“None of that. None of that matters right now. Right now I need you to know that I have you. And that I’m sorry for what I have to do. Hold onto this bar ok this is going to hurt.” He squeezed your hand and met you eyes once more. It was a glace that told each of you everything you needed to know.

After he had calmed down you, you tied your hair back and instructed Madja.

“Madja we need to reset the bones now if he stands a chance to ever use them again.”

“That will be far to painful without anymore elixir.” Madja responded with a pained look on her face almost like she was praying that Rhys and Cassian would walk through those doors right now.

“I know that. But we have already lost vital time. And too much blood. It we don’t reset them now then that’s it.” You didnt want to be the fae doing this. prayed to the mother that someone could take your place or that he hadnt been hurt in the first place. Something in you called out to him willing him to hold on. Ensuring him you would do everything you could.

“How much time do we have to wait” was her only reply. As you looked at his body laying on the table you knew he didnt have long but you werent sure if you could bring yourself to break his bone with no way of easing his pain.

“We can only wait 5 more minutes but that mean we don’t have a second to make a mistake we will have to be perfect”

“You’re the expert on this Y/n I’ll follow your instruction” you spared one more glance at Azriel and made a decision within yourself.

“5 minutes” and those were the longest 5 minutes of your lifetime. You and Madja spent it packing his open wounds and staring at the door. By the end of the five minutes you were curing the mother that the only thing your power was capable of was destructive. It consumed and snuffed out unlike feyres or rhysands. They could silence pain, help heal and all you could do was expediate death.

“Thats 5 minutes” you stated with zero joy there was no sign of Rhys or Cass and you would of cursed them but just as you were about to break the first bone Cass and Rhys come running into the room with at least Madja whole stock of Elixirs.

“Give it to him now!” You said and broke the first bone and the scream that fell from Azriels mouth broke your heart. But you knew you had no choice but to keep going and with each break another agonizing scream.

“Rhysand! Put him to sleep!” You yelled at Rhysand while breaking and resetting 2 more bones.

“What I thought Madja said-“

“PUT HIM TO SLEEP RHYSAND” it’s wasn’t instruction or a question it was a command and Rhys didn’t dare finish that sentence and quickly put Azriel to sleep.

“Out” was all you said and Madja shoved them out.”

Madja turned and for just a second watched as a tear rolled down your face. How you moved swiftly and precisely. Not making a single mistake completely focused on repairing his wings. You worked and worked until there was no more work to do.

14 long grueling hours of, resetting, packing, bandaging, and more work but after 14 hours you would of gone 32 hours to know for certain he’d fly again. It wasn't until you were done and collapsed that Cassian had come to retrieve you. You were nothing more than a statue exhausted, silent, and covered in Azriels blood. Cassian had brought you to the shower and helped clean the blood off of you. He didn't expect any words to be exchanged he knew that you had shut out any emotion while you were working on him so everything came up once you were done.

Cassain had seen you like this once before when your family had been murdered. Found you curled up outside of your fathers office staring off into a void. Tried to get you to speak but nothing. He stayed with you all night that night just sitting there with you. You had even completly shocked him that moring when rhysand came down the hall and you shot up, pulled yourself together and were the image of perfection. Went right to taking care of Rhys like there was nothing wrong with you to begin with. If Cas hadnt sat with you all night he would of thought their death had no affect on you. It was that morning Cas realized just how much you loved rhys. How much of yourself you hid away to care for him. How much you had given to become the strong, capable and invincible older sister that all of them had known their whole life. Azriel and Cas had found a way to see through the mask throughout the centuries. It took a long time and it was still difficult to see through they had seen all the signs through out years and years of friendship that showed you were just a female with the weight of prythian on her shoulders. Cas didnt think Rhys was ever able to see through the mask. He still treated you like you were unbreakable. You were and always have been his very capable rock of an older sister.

So now Cas knew what was going to happen. Knew that come morning you would go right back to working like Azriel almost dying had never happened. Like having to hear his screams and be the one to keep pulling him back from death was just another tuesday. But for tonight he'd help wash off the blood and force you to stop scrubbing under your nails when there is no more traces of blood so you didnt rub your hands raw. Hold you while you screamed and beat his chest while tears streamed down your face, insisting you were fine. He would hold you all night while you sobbed and found irrational ways to blame yourself. That is exactly what Cas did and the next morning when Rhys came to check in with you he watched as you smiled at your brother and asked him "why wouldn't I be ok brother? He's fine."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel had slept for 5 days. Slowly coming in and out. Any second you had that wasn’t spent teaching was spent next to Azriel, watching his vitals, tending to his wounds , and ensuring the wing bracing hadn’t slipped or moved. Yet the second he awoke you stayed away. You didn’t know what it was that kept you away after he had awoken.

The fear that he didn’t want to see you? That you weren’t ready to forgive him? You didn’t know. Maybe it was that you’d never kept secrets from him and now you were mated and you didn’t know why that made a difference but it did. Was it that you couldn’t trust yourself around him? Or maybe it was simply that Helion had confronted you while he was asleep about the way you felt.

“Y/n I’m not trying to sound jealous or pushing over my line I just want to ensure that you feel nothing for him in that way anymore.”

“Helion you’re joking right? He’s unconscious. I’m simply helping a friend.”

“Y/n this is the first time I’ve talk to you in a week. You have avoided, pushed me off, and ran from me. While your every second is spent here in this tent with him. Rhysand and Madja have assured me and you that he will wake. That he’s fine…..if this is just you worrying for a friend then I entirely understand. However you can’t blame me for being worried. I found out you were my mate the same night you tried to start a relationship with him. I just want to check in with you about where you stand with this bond…..that we want the same thing.

“Helion I- I don’t know what I want the war is all I can think about and then Azriel got hurt. I was concerned for my friend.”

“Ok y/n I understand…. I think it’s best that we pull back a little then. Maybe completely until after the war that just so you have time to think about what you want.”

“Hel that’s not what I meant-“

“Y/n my sweet I am not mad at you. Nothing I have said was against you. You have every right to love whoever and want whatever it is that makes you happy. I’ve just. I’ve loved before and I’ve been stripped of that love. That was one of the hardest things I have been through and I don’t know if I could survive the rejection from my mate if I let myself continue to fall in love with you. Don’t get me wrong I’m already so far deep but I could pull myself out and keep some of my heart. But if don’t pull myself back and I continue to let myself have everything that I want and you were to change your mind it would break me. My heart is yours to have if you want it. All I’m asking is that your sure it’s my heart that you want before we continue.” With that Helion had kissed your forehead and left you outside of the medic tent.

If you had been paying attention you may of caught the pair of eyes from inside that were locked on you and Helion. Maybe of even seen the way Azriel had tried to push him self up to hear the whispered fight the two of you were having.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N” he’s been asking for you.

“I’m not going I have far to much work to do and not enough time.” Rhysand only sighed at you. This is the 5th person who had come to your tent and pleaded with you to see Azriel. First it was Cassain going on and on about how if it weren’t for that one fight you’d be right by his side and instead of him trying to get you to see him, he’d be trying to get you to leave.

When you had told Cassian to fuck off then they sent Mor who described in vivid detail how every time someone walks into the medic tent Azriel is practically breaking his neck to see if it was you. That he is just wrecked with guilt over everything he said. When you had told her you didn’t care she just walked out in disbelief.

Then they had decided to send Feyre…thought maybe because she stopped you from panicking maybe she could convince you to go see him. “Y/n please I know he hurt you. But doesn’t that pale in comparison after almost losing him? I saw you that day you care for him and up until he woke up you were there. Why is it different now that he’s awake?” You had only told Feyre that your decision had been made.

Before they had sent Amren you thought they had given up. Turns out they were just deliberating on who to send. “Girl you need to get your shit together and see the boy.” “No I don’t.” “You need to come see him if I have to watch him mope around like a kicked dog one more day I’m going to kill somebody.” Amren had just stormed out. She gave you the impression that if she had stayed a little longer she would have shared something with you she wasn’t supposed to.

Eventually you found yourself here arguing with your dear brother.

“Y/n you cannot be serious about this. You can’t avoid him forever” Rhysand only pleaded with you.

“I am, I can, and he made it very clear he wanted me to stay away that Is what I’m doing.” You were tired of this. You knew they had watched him say those things to you. Knew what it meant to you. How could they still be insistent you needed to get over it.

“Y/N he didn’t mean-

“I don’t care. I’m not going. I took beatings, I went with Amarantha, I have stayed in your court. Took in your Illyrian troops, saved his wings, and jeopardized a relationship I really cared about by the way, I have sense agreed to seduce Eris about Beron joining this war. What more do you want from me brother? You were broken, could feel all the tape and glue coming apart. Helion had decided to give you space. You couldn’t blame him it was smart and responsible for the both of you. But that left you alone with a troop at each others throat. And friends dying everyday. You just wanted everyone to let you be.

“I want you to go see him.” Was his only reply and you couldn’t believe it or could you? All you were to him was a chess piece to play. Not a sister, not a friend, or a member of his court. Just a pawn to be placed. With that he made his way out of your tent but right before he left you simply replied with what you realized he wanted from you.

“Of course my lord”

What you didn’t expect was for that to make him stop in his tracks and turn around. He stared at you for awhile and you stared back. Neither of you said a word but you could tell he wanted to say 1000 things but not one left his lips.

Rhysand felt guilt overtake him the second the words left your mouth. He knew that all he did was ask more of you. Knew what he sentenced you to under the mountain. A part of him knew he still looked up to you. While the other part only blamed you. For everything. For Mother and your little sister Marjorie. He looked at you and saw the person his father picked every time. He was too busy teaching you how to balance the courts expenses when he bested Cassain the first time. Too busy introducing you to high lords and their sons when he made carynthian. And off instructing you of the do’s and don’ts of war when mother and Marjorie were killed. He had so much bitterness in him but he knew you did everything for him. Held him together and all he did was let his bitterness take over him.

“I’m sorry about Azriel Y/n”

“Why? That may be the one thing that truly isn’t on your shoulder Rhys. He just doesn’t feel for me the way I had him.” The look that Rhysand gave you before leaving almost fooled you. Almost had you believing guilt flashed through his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hated coming to Rhys side of the war tents. It always got you into uncomfortable situations with someone. However we were about to head to the human lands for the last battle fortunately you had finally solidified your troops. Day soilders had learned how to loosen up, Illyrians learned some respect and they were actually getting along. The Illyrian almost made a complete 180 with them actually respecting your power. Asking you actual tips to get better had even included you in some of the barrack pranks. They were ready and you could say that you were proud of the work they had accomplished. As you thought you couldn’t help overhearing the argument coming from the medic tent and peeking in.

“I am coming. I’m fighting in that battle.” You could hear Azriel grunting as he got up from his cot.

“You are not” Cassain and Rhys were quick to respond.

“I am”

“You will not Azriel if you fight you will not fly again.” Madja interrupted and you could feel the shift in the room. Saw the way Cassain and Rhysand shared a look and the way Azriel froze.

“I forbid it Az you will stay here and that is final.” Rhysand commanded and exited the tent on the opposite end with cas and madja followings

Maybe you should of left. Maybe you should of stayed and slipped in when you saw that he was still insistent on going but you couldn’t allow that to happen.

“You better get back in that cot” you had said with your back to a supporting post of the tent.

Azriel flew his head to your voice. Like he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t

“Y/n”

“You can’t do what I know you’re about to do Azriel. You will never fly again. Take it from somebody who knows that pain doesn’t go away.”

“I have to. My entire family is fighting today. What would I be if they died while I laid in this tent.”

“It means youre safe and healing properly. It also means the hours of work I did to save those bat wings don’t go wasted.” You joked and you saw tension roll off Azriels shoulders. “Well um anyway I should get going don’t do anything stupid” as you were leaving azriel grabbed your shoulder and spun you around.

“Y/n, please don’t die. I uhhh, I need you to know... ya know about what I said its-

"Azriel. You can tell me after this war.....look you were right I am exactly what my father raised me to be. Which is why i wont die on that field, I have been in war with far worse odds and lived. I was born for times such as this." You were looking at Az but the male staring back at you wasn't someone you had ever met. There was fear and regret swirling behind his golden orbs. Fear you had never seen Azriel have but this fear was new, like if he released his grip from your shoulder his world would come crashing down.

Azriel stood staring at you with no mask to hide behind. He was wracked with terror. You were once again going into a dangerous situation without him. He would have no way of ensuring your safety... no way of knowing youd come back to but the hope he had in his heart. If that hope was the only thing that could bring you back after this war then mother he'd have more hope then there was in all of pryrinthian.

Before you knew what was happening Azriels had craddled your head back and his lips had met yours. This kiss was different than the first. It wasnt full of lust, desire, and hunger. No this kiss was gentle, it was soft and warm something you couldnt help but melt into. His tongue dipped into your mouth you couldnt help the muffled gasp that escaped from you. He smelled of cedar and ash and in this moment it was like the only thing that existed... the only thing that mattered were the two of you. His shadows danced around your two forms and it felt as if you'd been made whole could of sworn that you felt something snap in your chest. As fast as it came it had disapeared and Azriel had pulled away cupped your cheek and pressed his forehead to yours and whispered.

"just come back to me" before you could reply he had winnowed away leaving you flushed with a sense of guilt as you felt Helion tug on the bond.

--------------------------------------{*}-------------------------------------

When you had finally found Mor to winnow you to the human lands it was chaotic. Humans running and some flat out calling you wicked things simply because you tried to help them. After coralling what felt like hundreds of humans it was time to have march into battle with the king of hybern. You couldnt say that you were ready but you could say that youd give everything you had to ensure the people you loved came out of this war.

--------------------------------------{*}-------------------------------------

In the midst of Battle you struggled to breath there was so much blood. It was like you were drowning in it. Hybern Soldiers just kept coming so just you kept slashing them down one by one. When the battle had first started you could see Cassian and Rhys in the skies but blood coated your eyes so that all you could truly see was right in front of you. Your men surrounded you and as you looked to your left and right you could tell they were just as exhausted as you. Every now and then you or Helion would tug on the bond just to give peace of mind that the other was still ok. As time went on you weren’t sure if you’d win this war. It seemed that the Hybern Soldiers just outnumbered you. Many lives were lost and the battle went on. You used every bit of strength and ounce of magic you had. Especially when you heard Nestas scream for Cassian. It was so loud that both you and Cas had whipped your head around and if it had been a second longer both you and Cas would have been dead but you called to the power inside of you and wrapped the starlight around yours and Cassians figure tightly. Pushed up a wall of pure power to protect your men on the battle field. The blast was so strong it brought you to your knees and the scream that left you broke Cassians heart. But he Watched as you fought every second holding the shield and wall against the blast. Honestly after that the war was a blur. The only other thing you remember after that was Rhys.

You could remember right before your brother had died. You magic racing across to Hybern. To tear his very heart out for threatening Rhys. You remember the panic and dread. Your power an inch of hybern when one of his men had tackled you to the ground. And then you felt it the tattoo on your neck glow and disappear. You had sliced the soldiers throat so fast and stood. Had to know if what you felt was true and when you saw Rhys body and Feyre screaming the world went black.

The next thing you knew you were being carried by Helion off of the field. Madja over your body. You were in and out of consciousness. one second there was madja or mor, then Cas and always Hel. But it wasnt until you saw Rhys. You saw your brother and you could feel the smile on your face. Had determined he was there to take you home.

"rhys...' you let out with a shaky breath.

"Y/N thank the mother, Y/n you are going to be ok". You could hear Panic and see tear on your brothers face which confused you. You were ready you just wanted to be with him and here he was telling you no.

"y/n please Im ok. But you have to be ok. Im alive you can come back. COME on Y/N. You promised remember.. You promised me... Y-

you watched in and out how upset rhys was how worked up he was. Saw as Cassian dragged him away and then nothing.

When you finally awoke your family filled you in and just like that you insisted you were fine. Now arguing in your room with Helion who hadn't left your side. went on about how you needed to slow down. to go back home to day and relax.

"I couldn't of lost you Y/N" Helion shared as he let out a sigh.

"Hel Im ok. Its going to be ok." you held him as he cried for awhile until he stood.

"Come back home. I'll know you're safe there. I can even ensure i dont go overboard with overprotecting you." you could see the love shing through Hels eyes. Could feel how much needed you to say yes. To let him care for you flowing through the bond.

"Ok ok... we will pack tomorrow tonight just be with me."

"I love you Y/n"

With that Helion brought you in and kissed you longingly. Like this was what he needed to ground him in your safety.

Poor Azriel couldn't pull his gaze from your bedroom window. Where he stood outside with a bouquet of flowers eye glued to the scene above him. You smiling at Helion, his hands on your hips looking down at you with so much love almost Azriel could feel it. Watched as he placed a kiss on your lips and how you only deepened it. how you leaned into him and flung your arms around his neck. Watched as Helion lifted you up with your lips still attached to one another. And he especially couldn't tear his gaze away when he felt a golden thread snap into view...connecting him to you. Azriel sat atop that mountain with those flowers with his heart breaking long after the lights of your bedroom had gone out.