#and yet he thinks she was? When he knew her for more than 300 years??

[randomnameless]

i like thinking that "byleth" was a name sitri chose, and jeralt couldn't bring himself to change it while on the run from the monastery, even though he knew rhea would recognize the name. can you tell I'm trying really hard to find something positive about jeralt? tbh the more i think about him the less i like the guy. like lmao what a douche

He, uh...

Well...

seems to take care of his horse!

I like you idea anon, Sitri picked the name to honour her not!mom, and Jerry didn't change it to honour his dead!wife, even if he knows it links Billy to Rhea, who is BaD.

His affection for Sitri trumps, in this case, his "Rhea BaD" feelings.

[be-good-to-bugs]

well. back to the horrors

[parfaitblogs]

can I ask a blurb of post prison spencer and sunshine reader? She works in the BAU as the media liaison and when she rescues him in the episode 300 he looks at her and is like angel? Am I in Heaven?

spencer reid x sunshine!reader. fluff/hurt/comfort. also angst if you squint. i should’ve just slapped smut in here to make it a quinfecta! 0.5k words. gn!liaison!reader. set during '300'.

a/n: thank you for sending me back into orbit by getting me to rewatch those two episodes. i need spencer reid biblically. unfortunately that's not what this blurb is about. but i was audibly barking every time i pictured him. i am terribly sorry for keeping you on edge about when this was going to be posted </3 i wasn’t sure how happy i was with it for the longest time. thank u for the request ♡

spencer reid who accepted his fate the second he was taken hostage. because honestly, the likelihood of his team finding and rescuing him in time was slim to none, and he had lost wars to hope too many times before.

spencer reid who tried to stall his death with a speech, trying to dull the uncomfortable ache in his chest thinking nobody was coming to save him. maybe he could lie his way into believing his team had found him, and he would picture their faces before he inevitably died.

spencer reid who definitely did not expect the awfully loud gunshot — one, then two — ringing throughout the air, followed by panic and yelling. who wished he could've been relieved to see each face of his team slowly appearing in his view, followed by more gunshots, and the promise that he was safe.

he had already accepted death. 

but, spencer reid who's entire facade changed the second you came into view. no gun in hand, because you never were expected to need one, which was even more horrifying to him than the fact that he had been milliseconds away from his own death.

spencer reid who stared at you like he was but a planet and you were the sun he was orbiting, something he knew he'd get teased for later. but right now you were here and he was watching you attempt to unbuckle each leather strap holding his limbs into place, strained laughter escaping him every time you failed because your hands were shaking so hard.

spencer reid who's face fell when you finally met his gaze to get the leather strap holding his head in place, and he could see the tears brimming your eyes and he could hear the sniffles you were intaking to keep your emotions at bay. an achingly painful contrast to the facade he was used to seeing on you.

spencer reid who asked "what's wrong?" and who's heart ached when your response was "i thought i was going to lose you". spencer reid who's heart probably shouldn't have then stuttered like that in his chest at your admission, and he definitely shouldn't have allowed the rush of hope at your words.

but, worse than that, he realised he had accepted his death without thinking, and if he died, he was leaving you and perhaps that was worse than any situation he has been in before, in all fifteen years he's at the bureau.

and you, who's vision was awful from the tears you were attempting to keep at bay, yet you stared at him for a beat, taking in every graze and bruise on his face the best you could to commit them to memory, before wrapping both arms around him and pulling him into you. spencer reid who sobbed in your arms; a scenario you had never even considered the possibility of because spencer reid did not cry anymore, and prison had fractured him in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend. but he was here, and he was crying again, and sad sight or not, he was feeling.

spencer reid who thanked you over and over again for finding him, because no, he really didn't want to die. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[ronearoundblindly]

Safety Captain (1)

lifeguard!Steve Rogers x vacationer!Reader (see series)

Summary: A very sexy man shows up at a very unsexy moment during your vacation.

Warnings for mild language, other guests being as thirsty as Reader, and a vague injury/danger. WC 1945

Written for @bigtreefest's Summer Lovin' 300 follower celebration (I'm very late tho 🥲), using the prompts “it hurts when I ___” “then stop doing that” and pool/resort/hotel. There will be a few small parts to this with eventual smut; this is just the meet-cute sorta.

If you consider drowning a peaceful and relaxing experience, then your trip’s going splendidly.

Water hitting your lungs stings much worse than sunscreen in your eyes, but the shock makes you gasp anyway. Your skin feels pressure everywhere. You don’t know which way is up. The world is bright and blue and shimmering until an arm encircles and yanks you backward by your chest—your bare chest, you realize, since the cups on your bathing suit top flipped when you hit the the pool at such a steep angle.

Once at the surface, a gift and a curse greets you, garbled hum replaced by a solid slap of screaming, the blare of whistles. Light burns, water burns, air burns.

Oh yes, this is going swimmingly.

You struggle to get enough fresh hell anyway, coughing out water, air stinging worse. Your limbs contract to fight the pain, but the wall of muscle behind you is unyielding.

“Out of the way,” a deep voice shouts close to your ear. “Buck, make me some room. Get them back.”

He—whoever he is holding you so firmly and safely—moves you to the shallow end’s stairs with heaving strokes, and just when he releases your body to lift you out of the water, he quickly flicks the front of your suit back into place.

Bless you, kind sir. You’re in love…

…or maybe that’s the hypoxia.

Unceremoniously hauled to solid ground, you continue to sputter.

“It’s alright. I got ya. Breathe for me. That’s good.”

Your sunglasses are gone, so you squint up in his shadow to see nothing but a halo of dripping gold hair. Then your eyes adjust. You see him.

Suddenly, the world is bright and blue and shimmering again, all contained in the stare of your sweet savior.

When he smiles, well, you need even more air to recover.

You’re on your side until he’s sure all the water is out of you, until his hands help you sit up, looky-lous everywhere being herded farther off by two more lifeguards and some resort security.

“The boys…” you rasp out.

“Everyone’s okay,” he rushes, rubbing your back, warm and slick against your wet skin. “You don’t have to talk yet. Take it easy.”

You still feel compelled to explain.

“The—they were teasing him—“ you point to the chubbier kid in your group, the poor thing cowering by your lounge chair headquarters for the morning “—and I tried to stop them.”

“I know, shhh, I saw. Just breathe slowly.”

“Don’t like bullies,” you cough out anyway.

The lifeguard at your side grins from ear to ear, quickly interrupted by a girl shoving your sunglasses in his face.

“I found these,” she announces, elated. “I thought it was important since you were so brave, saving someone who fell in.”

You didn’t fall; you were pushed. There’s a difference.

The lifeguard’s smile turns tight, but he gestures for the girl to hand them over to their rightful owner. She continues to stare with huge, bambi eyes.

Politely, he takes them from her and clears of his throat.

“Thank you. Now step back please.”

Her disappointment is palpable before his blue gaze returns to you. As he asks if you’re ready to move, his palm lands on your lower back and stays there supportively.

The best you can do is shift your legs beneath each other and then hiss, “it hurts when I put weight on this leg. I think I twisted my ankle on the way down.”

“Then stop doing that,” he chuckles, swooping to get his arms under you and carry you to your lounger—the right one, immediately, as if he saw the boys fighting but knew exactly where you were before then, too.

The stout little thirteen-year-old who’d been picked on steps up to you with guilty eyes. He’s one of your charges today while the other adults all drink at the swim-up bar.

“I’m sorry they—“

“It’s fine,” you croak.

“—but they wouldn’t stop, and I told them to—“

“Hey, hey,” your lifeguard whispers, deflating the boy’s panic, “she’s gonna be okay. Just a little banged up, but we got the best of the best coming to help.”

Shamefully, the boy’s eyes turn down. “Sorry they called you a ‘bitch.’”

Great. Yeah. That needed to be repeated.

“Don’t worry about it. Can you go grab your cousin and—“ a brief wheeze overtakes you “—the girls and bring everyone back here so I know where you all are? Just a real quick check-in.”

He nods and runs off, almost plowing into a woman heading straight for you.

“Ah, your nurse has arrived.” The handsome, dripping wet man sitting with a hand still on your knee beams. “The best of the best, as promised.”

The older blonde lady purses her lips and rolls her eyes, ticking her head to the side. “Scoot, Steven. Let me have a look.”

He—Steven, apparently—rambles off what happened and what you mentioned hurt, standing out of the blonde’s way, but leaning over her shoulder, hovering while she manipulates your ankle.

“Thank you, darling.” She looks up pointedly. “I’ve got it from here,” she says, turning back to you. “I’m Sarah, dear. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

“I’m Steve,” your lifeguard interjects as he backs away. “Glad you’re alright, Miss…?”

You introduce yourself in return. “Thanks for…um…” You glance down and tug at the front of your swim suit, remembering that this man might have already seen and touched your breasts. “Thank you,” you finish weakly, voice hoarse.

Steve beams again before Sarah swats him away.

While she wraps your ankle and anchors a bag of ice to it, you scan the guard towers to realize all three of the guys on duty are ripped, but Steve is…well, he’s something else.

“God, he’s gorgeous,” you sigh aloud without realizing.

Sarah snorts, muttering, “he gets that a lot.”

You smile, thinking it’s probably no secret that the cute guy gets around. “Bit of a man whore, is he?” you joke.

The nurse looks up at you sternly. “I should hope not! I raised him better than that.”

Shit.

Your face drops, a harsh and painful swallow globs down your throat, and you…just objectified that poor man to his mother who he so sweetly called ‘the best of the best.’

Is drowning totally off the table, or can you revisit that?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I—I just meant—“

She squeezes your hand, putting you out of your misery.

“It’s fine, dear. He is handsome, and I suppose there’s no harm in looking.” She packs away the last of her gear only to catch Steve’s eye across the pool.

He waves in your direction.

Sarah chuckles but doesn’t wave back. You put a quick hand up and mouth ‘thank you’ even though he probably can’t see that part.

“Well,” the nurse adds, “seems you aren’t the only one looking.”

Having one foot twice the size of the other can work. You can make it work. You’ll just camp out on a beach towel farther up the shore, no problem. The whole party is together today, day three of seven, so the good news is that you aren’t responsible for anyone. Also, your foot is only that size due to bandaging and not because it’s that swollen. Still hurts though.

In addition to a wicked limp, you need a relatively hard surface to sit on or stand up from. You end up on the rim of damp sand, wriggling to get comfortable. You try laying on your side, propped up on a bent arm. You try your stomach. You’re about try your back, reaching for one of the kids’ towels to roll up as a pillow when you notice a group playing volleyball.

Must be fun to, like, walk and stuff.

You sigh.

It’s fine. You are lucky enough to be on this trip in the first place, your ticket paid for by all the parents combined (with the agreement you’ll help wrangle the younglings for periods while the moms and dads do adult activities). The ‘job’ is a wildly fair trade since the families only split so far was the pool yesterday.

Is that…is one of the volleyball players waving at you?

You look over your shoulder, but there’s only the rest of your group, splashing and running through the surf. No one is facing you or the game.

As you turn back, starting to raise your hand, you see the golden glow of the player’s hair and think that sure resembles the lifeguard, Steve, from—

The guy waving at you gets hit, hard, by a spiked ball and stumbles back. Some commotion rumbles through the group, but you can’t hear specifics.

Shit, that is definitely Steve, son of Sarah, employee of the pool, jogging toward you. Are your tits covered?

You awkwardly pull yourself upright, shielding your eyes from the partially-overcast, bright sky, and smile.

“Hey,” Steve chirps, “thought that was you.” He is, again, in naught but board shorts and beauty.

“Yup, living the dream.”

He ignores your sarcasm and asks how your ankle feels (“meh”), if it’s messed with your plans so far (“had to bow out of zip lining this morning”), and if he might be welcome to sit with you for a while.

You blink a few times in shock behind dark sunglasses. “Won’t your friends…?”

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, and drops down to the sand.

“I don’t see why not,” you say after he’s made himself comfortable.

When the littlest girl from your group comes shrieking over, bucket and scoop in her hands, you’re about to apologize for the interruption, but Steve immediately offers to help her build the castle of a lifetime.

He is sure to warn her to be careful around your foot.

This time, when you mouth ‘thank you,’ he sees it and returns another beaming grin.

Alright, perhaps vacation is looking up.

Steve is…very, very good at strategizing the sandcastle. After the first ‘tower’ goes up, the other kids get involved. Before you know it, the parents are all behind you gushing over how good your friend is with them.

"Handsome, too."

"Lots of energy."

"‘Bout your age, isn’t he?"

They aren’t quiet enough to not be heard which is clearly the point once the mother of bucket girl shouts out that Steve should join you all for dinner.

Oh, sweet holy—

“Not sure I wanna dive into your family time, ma’am,” he says politely, encouraging some water be brought up for the moat they’ve just dug.

“Then you should take our lovely girl here out. Show her more of the island.”

You glare daggers at the other woman who just chimed in.

“I can’t walk,” you bite out. “Where am I gonna go?”

Steve clears his throat to get your attention. “They line food trucks over on the west road until late, and…” his lip pinches to the side “…I can carry you.”

One of the dads darkly drawls, “like a fucking princess,” and you hear a sharp slap from his wife in annoyance.

Steve’s gaze remains locked on yours as the parents erupt in obvious innuendo.

“Could be fun,” he admits, only loud enough for you. “How about it? Getting hungry?”

All you manage is a nod before a bucket of water is tossed on Steve, and he chases the culprit down the beach and into the clear blue sea.

You’ll have to wait until the ‘monster’ is vanquished by the ecstatic children jumping to take down the big, strong man you, apparently, have a date with.

[Next Chapter]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Apologies that this isn't the whole dang thing. With how long everything has been taking me to write, I was afraid it wouldn't even be summer anymore, and if there is even a small chance that posting this will light a fire under me to finish, I am willing to try.

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[goodoldfashionlovercorpse]

Soul Love

pairing: Luke Castellan x daughter of Loki! reader

summary: No matter what she turned into, blood was always thicker than water. Luke, however, saw her for more than she did.

a/n: hello! this is part one. i thought there weren't enough loki kid! readers, so i started this. comments and reblogs are appreciated. have a nice day :)

warnings: implied ED, daddy issues, angst, etc.

Camp wasn’t made for her. She knew this, others showed it. A daughter of Loki did not belong at a camp for greek demigods. Despite how inviting “Camp Half-blood” maybe seem by name, it was exclusive to Greeks. Unless you want to end up in the Hermes cabin, and Y/N knew that she’d rather her brothers tear her limb by limb than ever stay there again.Well, there is one way she’d stay.  Luke Castellan. Not only was he a son of Hermes, but he was the best swordsman in 300 years.

And yet he looked at her with nothing but love, as if Aphrodite shot an arrow at him herself. He made continuous efforts to include her. When she sat alone outside of the Dining Pavilion, it took the boy mear seconds to accompany her – despite the chants at his home table.

“Hey, how’s dinner going?”

“It’s going…” She played with her food, fearing it a little yet still trying to take bites. She sighed so deep it became its own form. Nothing but gloom and gray sat behind those eyes. Isolation seemed to be her only friend aside from Luke. He was so much more than her; he was a hero and she’s doomed by the narrative. Forced to know not even nuclear warfare could end this world before her father. Yet he understood what he did not know.

“Your hair is turning to snakes. Wanna try again?”

Damn it. “No.”

He poked her continuously. Setting his plate down, he waited – like a predator to its prey – until she finished eating. He knew better than to make her meals more miserable than she already felt, so he sat there waiting for the other plate to empty. Grace wasn’t the sole word he could use for her. Even in a state of distress, she looked as if the love-gods  handcrafted her and brought her to life. Unfortunately, the doom of her destiny haunted her mirror. Despite her father and her being shapeshifters, there was always a piece of him in every shape she became.

The pavillion was as loud as the wind, yet Luke and her were as quiet as the moon. Should she say everything she wants or just leave it be? Her father was never one to tell the truth, especially when he said “i love you.” Saying those words with his blood flowing through her veins felt like a crime. A punishful lie. The cries of cousins burning her at the stake. At some points she’d feel ashamed for her pride. Why should she be proud to be his daughter? He has done nothing but try to end the world. He wished nothing but awful things to his children – she is not the exception.

Despite her father being a horrible being, she was his favorite child. She represented everything he was: chaos incarnate. She didn’t pick sides; even if her best friend went to war, she’d stand in between, only adding fuel to the fire. Her dad wasn’t evil, yet he wasn’t good either. He passed his neutrality onto his daughter, then tortured her for it, only to then aid her. Her. Not her siblings, just her. Loneliness and regret filled her for this, but Samirah and Alex never blamed her.

Yet seeing the pure loathing some campers held for their siblings made her uneasy. They hated their parents, yet it was obvious they are their children. They hold the same opinions, never critique their actions, always knowing one story – the Hero’s story.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when Luke held her hand as he looked into her eyes. Those eyes. Oh, those eyes… the things they do to her and her soul. Those brown eyes held layers of her regrets and so little judgement. He knew every detail of her mind, even what she did not want him to know. War, Valhalla, Loki, Camp, all of it. He knows all of it. Still, love courses through his eyes. She thinks she’s delusional.

While Luke may accept her, he still doesn’t know every single thing. He knew all, except her part in Ragnarok. Odin didn’t owe her anything, neither did she owe him; she also wasn’t on her father’s side, she knew better than Calypso. Instead, she will stand back and get rid of either side. Destiny wasn’t her favorite thing, it was her greatest detest. No way to undo it, no way to fast-forward it.

Luke wouldn’t leave her be, his eyes showed that he’d follow wherever she’d go. He’d meet her where the spirit meets the bone. “Have i ever told you how well the moon suits you?” Goosebumps raised her skin like a cat. He knew what she thought, yet he knew better than to discuss it out here. He knew all her thoughts, as if he knew her soul once upon a dream.

Before either utter a word, Luke smiled, genuinely. it was the kind of beam nothing could rival. “I apologise if i haven’t, you truly are lovely under the light.” he bit his tongue, aching to comfort her and defend her. It was too early, too much. She was impaled by her the venom in her veins, a feeling he knew all too well. The boy couldn’t complain, though. Although he held distaste for his father, he had learned to forgive and make amends.

He trusted his father when he said "i love you." She never had the option to believe her's. War was all that he’d given her, but war was not love; his father didn't start one, her's claimed it was his love. Even Ares and Athena knew it in their cold, golden blood. A moment of quiet passed through the sand. “I’m sorry that-”

“Do you ever think of Death?” she perked her head towards him, staring deeply into his eyes. Constellations and worlds resided in them. Whatever girl he has is lucky to have him, she thought. Silent prayers hung at her lips like the Gardens of Babylon.

The question was raw. Was he going to really answer it? Should he finish this question?

“I mean, Love and Death are a lot closer than one might think.” He stared at her, willing to listen to her every word even if she was describing a plan to murder him limb from limb. “Not everyone loves death, yet death craves love. To be forgotten – to be completely unloved is to die forevermore. Love adores death, loss gives value to what we hold dear. Orpheus already held dangerous levels of love for Euridice, her death increased his awareness. When she died again, she felt so much love for him, knowing she’d never be forgotten. She lived eons because death and love are adaptive. They feed off of each other. Death is never truly the end, the end is being forgotten. Forever lost in the sands. Never to be loved again.”

Behind her eyes, Luke saw her thoughts. He felt them like bullets on his skin, one so deep you couldn’t mistake it. She looked at the stars not knowing she was one.

Death was valuable to her for other reasons, but she ran from it. Ran from her own hair. Why? He wondered. Valhalla loved her, yet his bones knew that they wouldn’t once a grave had her name engraved. Gods were Luke’s enemy for a while. Still, the boy holds resentment over them. Heavy resentment. Y/n, though? Her father wanted her dead. At least Greek Half-bloods get to have a count down, Norse ones just die. No monsters, just their parents and humans. Monsters are her family; howling behind the barrier are her brothers, willing to take her life.

Perhaps he took for granted his dad sometimes. Even though Hermes started to get involved now, he assured Luke that he would’ve been a father to him sooner had he could. Not once did Hermes go after him or bullied him, only to praise him and aid him in the depths of his mental illness. Hermes may not be the best, but he was certainly not the worse. Luke could never imagine what the Norse gods are like: the children of Thor didn’t pray to  him, Odin was barely present — they didn’t even build a camp to ignore their kid, they just let them die.

Chaos followed every demi-god, special the Norse ones, mainly the children of Loki. He was neither good nor evil. Y/n prefaced this during all their talks. To him, Loki was pure evil; but to the most gorgeous creature on earth, he was her father.

Trickery was infused into her soul, unable to leave even if she bore red liquid like a fountain in Greece. Death was her escape, her only vice — yet now her views have change since the moment they met. Life is her, she is life; she adorns his world in her heart. But somehow he still felt so… Powerless. He was utterly powerless when it came to her heritage. She’d accepted it so quickly. Completely unfazed that she had this burden.

Meanwhile, he still had trouble facing his dad. Sure, all has been resolved and war has been evaded, but that’s only for the Greek demigods. His family is, for the most part, alive. But her? Her mom and dad are no where near, her father is out to either kill her or train her, and she’s already suffered the loss of a sister – a loss she dares not repeat.

“That was too much, wasn’t it? It’s not virtuous to praise death. But in this world, what else is there?

“Maybe you’re right. Or, maybe, we can talk about shows, or the gods, or even us.”

“Us?”

Luke swallowed his spit, trying hard not to sweat. Nodding, he looked at the sky. “Us.” He smiled warmly, making the air smells like honey and roses, “my favorite song is Soul Love by Bowie.”  He didn’t have to turn around to see her face, the warmth of her excitement felt like enough. She was already more than enough.

[littlest-w01f]

Safe

Rhysand x Alora (See Alora here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 5: Survivor

Summary: Rhysand and Alora are both survivors, now Rhysand seeks comfort in the female he saved long ago

Cw: Rhysand's UtM trauma, Alora's SA trauma, hurt/comfort

The stars were shining brightly, and there was peace in the streets of Velaris, but inside the House of Winds, Rhysand sat, unfocused, staring off into the distance, he had returned from Under the Mountain just a few days ago, still ghostly pale.

He had asked to be alone from his Inner Circle not sure how he could face them after what he had been through, he had tried to sleep but he couldn't, he had thrown up everything he had eaten for the past days, at least he had been able to appreciate the taste of it when all he had eaten for fifty years was bland scraps.

He pulled on his pair of velvet sweats and made his way out to the balcony, looking up at the sky, free, he was free, he reminded himself.

As Rhysand stood on the balcony, the cool night air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat that was there Under the Mountain. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the city below lull him into a state of calm. The memory of Amarantha's touch, her cruel laughter, still lingered, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on the freedom that now belonged to him and his people.

The wind whispered in his ear, carrying the scent of flowers from the gardens within the house. Rhys breathed deeply, savouring the sweet aroma. Moments like these reminded him of the beauty that still existed in the world, despite the darkness that often threatened to consume it.

The pain, the humiliation, the feeling of being completely powerless against Amarantha's cruelty. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to suppress the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

He tried to calm himself and he then knew where he had to go, he put on the matching shirt to his sweats and made his way to the library, he knew everyone would be asleep as he was quiet with his movements, not wanting to spook any Priestesses. He winnowed into the room of one of the oldest that had been there.

A 300-year-old High Fae, asleep in her bed, her strawberry blond hair a mess as she slept peacefully. Rhysand couldn't help but smile, seeing her so as peace.

As Rhysand approached the sleeping form of his beloved Priestess, Alora, his heart pounded against his chest, his relation with Alora was a long one, but he just considered her daughter like. The sight of her peaceful slumber brought a sense of comfort to him, something that had been missing since his return. He studied her delicate features, her fair skin glowing softly under the moonlight that filtered through the window.

He moved closer, his hand hovering over her shoulder before gently laying it down. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing steady and rhythmic. Rhys felt a pang of guilt for disturbing her rest, yet he needed her presence more than ever.

He leaned down, whispering her name softly. "Alora…" His voice was barely audible, filled with affection.

Alora awoke with a start, looking at Rhysand through sleepy eyes, "Rhys?" She sat up, "Are... Are you alright?"

Rhysand smiled warmly at Alora, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm fine, my dear," he reassured her, his voice gentle. "Just needed someone to be with." He sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his own.

Alora's concern softened into understanding, and she nodded. "Of course, Rhys. Anything you need, I'm here for you." Her fingers intertwined with his, providing a comforting warmth.

Rhys looked into her eyes, searching for the right words to express the turmoil within him. "It's hard to believe it's over," he said finally. "After all those years, trapped in that hellhole…" He shuddered, remembering the darkness and cruelty of Amarantha's court. "Sometimes, I wonder if it was all just a dream."

"I used to think that too..." Alora frowned, as if reliving her own assault, her heterochromatic eyes filled with sorrow, "I... I used to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me... That I'd wake up and be right there in that cave... I'll always be here for you, however long you need." Alora held Rhysand's hands, looking deep into his pained eyes.

Rhysand squeezed Alora's hands, drawing strength from her unwavering support. "Thank you, my dear," he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. "Knowing that you're here, that we have each other, makes all the difference... I don't think anyone else would quite understand... And I'm not open to talking to just anyone."

He let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. "It's the little things that haunt me most," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The taste of rotting flesh, the stench of decay, the feeling of Amarantha's touch…" A shudder ran through him, and he closed his eyes, recalling the horrific memories.

Alora's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand, offering comfort without words. When Rhys opened his eyes again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I just want to forget, she touched me... And the way my body-" he paused, his voice breaking.

"Shh, Rhys," Alora whispered with a soft tone, holding onto his hand, "It wasn't pleasure... You were not feeling pleasure." She cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. The male in front of her had helped her through her own hurt, her own pain, and said the very words that she now said to him when she told him how disgusted she was at her own bodily reaction. "Your body was just protecting itself from more pain..." Because what those males had her believing, what Amarantha had him believing, simply wasn't true. "And this won't last, you will heal, in spite of everything that happened to you."

Hearing Alora's reassuring words, Rhys managed a small smile, though it was clear the pain was still etched deeply into his features. "You're right.... I know you are. I was right when I said it for you." he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, it feels like its going to swallow me whole."

He leaned in closer to Alora, resting his forehead against her shoulder. The tender gesture seemed to soothe both of their troubled souls. "Your presence means more to me than you'll ever know," he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Alora hugged Rhysand, both their faces pressed into each other's necks. "You're my anchor," she whispered, Rhysand's eyes closed as he savoured the warmth of her touch. "Without you, I don't know how I would've survived those years here."

He opened his eyes, gazing up at her with a mix of gratitude and adoration. "You're my home, Alora. My safe haven." His voice trembled with emotion, she was all that was left of his family, she was his oldest family at heart, revealing the depth of his feelings for her. "I love you," he said simply, the words spoken with a sincerity that left no room for doubt.

"I love you too." Alora than sat up straight, leaning onto the bed, moving slightly to make space for him, "Come now, you should try to get rest, I'll be right here."

At Alora's invitation, Rhysand slid into the bed beside her, his body tired but his mind still racing. Despite the turmoil within him, being near Alora brought him a measure of solace.

He turned towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. The familiar scent of her, the warmth of her body, it was enough to chase away some of the shadows haunting him.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was a simple act. Alora pulled him gently over her, rocking him to sleep, just as he had done for her. As Alora gently rocked Rhysand to sleep, her thoughts drifted back to the night he had saved her. The memory of his strong arms holding her, his soothing whispers, it had been a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

Now, as she cradled him in her embrace, she felt a deep sense of gratitude and love for this male who had become her rock, her protector, her everything. She stroked his hair, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing slowing until he slipped into slumber.

Alora remained awake for the night, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her own. In this moment, surrounded by the silence of the night and the warmth of Rhysand's body.

She stayed up when he woke up panicking, she stayed through him screaming, through the shadows covering them both in eerily stillness. Because she had gone through this, the memory of it faded but never fully gone, stuck with her forever.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

[farahtissaiamyloves]

Are your requests on? If so could I request something with Andromache? I love her and there’s not enough fanfiction out there with her

-Ara

Capture

Andromache of Scythia x reader

Note: I know that I've been gone for months. However, I've been preparing for the most important examinations of my life, and it's been really stressful for me. I hope you enjoy this and thanks again to Ara for the amazing request.

You were looking out of the only window of your room - more like a cell, but you had come to accept that long ago.

You considered yourself lucky - what they did to Quynh was by far worse from what was happening to you.

At least that's what you had convinced yourself.

Dying again and again, only to be brought back to life to die once again deep down the sea, was horrible.

However, being captured for (you had lost count) something more than 4 centuries was even more horrific.

You missed your best friend, of course you did, but the emptiness that washed over you at your wife's absence was something else.

You and Andy were the first immortal warriors. She had found you pretty quickly. You hadn't even understood when you died or what the weird dreams were before she sat you down and explained.

You hadn't been apart ever since. Spending every single day next to her was a privilege and a gift.

You learned so many things from her. After all, Andromache had already been alive for 300 years.

After spending a s couple of decades traveling around the world with her as your only company, it came to no surprise for neither of you when you ended up sleeping together one night.

And that night proved to be the beginning of the most wonderful thing that ever happened to both of your lives.

You loved every second of it.

You being wrapped in her arms while she was kissing the top of your head or you caressing her naked, extremely soft skin as she was wrapping a blanket around the two of you; Andy couldn't have her beloved baby catch a cold.

You teared up recalling your wife. Your beloved wife.

You wrapped your hands around your legs and pushed them against your chest.

You missed her.

You missed her so much.

After 5000 years and a couple of centuries, you were finally divided.

You looked up as you saw the door opening.

A paramedic came in with a huge needle.

Here we go again.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

Andy looked at the only building standing in the area. The only building among a plethora of trees and all kinds of plants.

" Alright, Joe, remind us one last time what we are her for. " Andy spoke.

" We are here to save all the girls/women those people experiment on. We don't know more, including the number of either the victims or the security agents, which means that caution is strongly recommended. " The man pointed out.

The rest of the team nodded, listening carefully.

Little did they know about who the real guinea pig was.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

They killed, killed, and killed once again.

They found countless of the latest laboratory equipment, yet no girl or woman asking for their help.

The team knew that it wasn't a trap.

No trap would have been equipped with so many tools costing millions.

Andy was growing more and more frustrated.

For a human with that much of an experience, she should have caught on by now.

" Guys, I think I found it. " Nicky whispered, pointing with his gun at the only door of the corridor at their right.

They as silently as they could run to it. The door did look like a cell. A bulletproof door with a password was always placed to hide something important, and the group came to this very same building for something important.

If they weren't able to free any innocents, they could at least learn what the fuck was happening there to put a stop to it.

Joe placed some light explosives on the door, telling everybody to buck off, which they were more than eager to do.

He pushed the button and a loud sound was heard, shortly followed by the sound of the door falling on the floor.

The team immediately raised their weapons and entered the room, shouting that they were armed.

Nile, who was the first to get in, quickly scanned the whole room and announced to everybody what they could already see with their bare eyes. " It's empty. "

Realizing that it was just a simple bedroom, the team was to turn away until Nicky pointed at the bed. " I think someone's sleeping there. "

" Don't be ridiculous. Wouldn't have they heard the explosives ? " Nile jumped in.

" Not if they were dragged. Guys, I think we found our victim. " Andy spoke slowly, walking to the bed.

She noticed that the person was fully covered by the blanket, so she slowly pulled it off only to freeze midway.

Andy knew that sleeping face.

Truth be told, she knew it better than her own face.

She had traced it countless of times with her fingertips.

She had seen all kinds of emotions on that face.

" A-Andy ? Is something wrong ? " Nile inquired, feeling beyond confused with the leader's teared up face.

" Shhhhh. "

Nile turned to look at both Joe and Nicky, giving her stern glances.

" What ? " She asked again, unable to understand where her wrongdoing was.

" Oh my love. I thought you were dead. " Andy whispered, kissing the top of your head.

She, then, turned to the couple. " Me and Nile are going to get her to the safe house. You make sure to clear everybody out and destroy this place. Nobody should know anything concerning our immortality. Was I clear ? "

" Yes, boss. "

" Good. "

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

You slowly opened your eyes.

Sleeping under the influence of whatever drugs they were giving you had the luck and the curse of having no dreams.

You blinked, taking in your surroundings.

No.

Not again.

You hated when they were changing your room because that meant that they had given you strong enough medication to sleep for days.

Suddenly feeling unwell, you instinctively placed a hand on top of your head, and with the other, you pulled the blanket to cover you completely.

" You've already slept for at least 10 hours, I recommend waking up, eating something, and walking around for a while. " Suddenly, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

Your blood froze for a whole second, thinking that your wife just talked to you.

However, you knew better. Drugs have side effects. They made sure you knew each and every single one.

You didn't move - not even to look, still remembering how heartbroken you had been the last time you did - and closed your eyes to sleep.

" Darling, did you hear me ? " Andy made her voice sweeter, waiting for you to move and see her sitting on the armchair near the bed.

Andromache waited a couple of minutes to watch the lack of reaction. Maybe your hearing had been impacted, or maybe you were still hazy due to being drugged the day prior.

The woman sighed, sitting up.

" Sleep well, sweating. " She wished kissing the top of the blanket - where your forehead was.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

You were frozen on the spot. Your mind running a million miles per second.

In the back of your mind you registered her steps and the door opening and closing.

You felt it. You felt her lips through the blanket.

Your wife was here.

She rescued you.

You teared up, unable to resist.

Your wife came for you.

She hadn't forgotten about you.

She still loved you.

Your hand reached the other pillow of the bed. Slowly, as you were still slightly hazy from your sleep, you moved your head on top of it.

It was her.

Her smell.

She had you sleep on her bed.

How long had it been since you shared one.

You immediately wrapped your hands around it and pulled Andy's pillow onto your chest.

You loved her so, so much.

However, still being under the influence of the drug, you quickly fell asleep once again.

This time with your beautiful wife on your mind.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

Andromache came back into the room after a couple of hours.

She had to make sure that everything was taken care of as well as cook you some food.

Andy quietly set the tray down at the bedside table and looked at you.

A smile formed on her face as she noticed your figure wrapped around her pillow.

" Darling, you have to wake up. " She whispered with her sweetest voice next yo your ear.

You whined and turned your face away from her, burying your face in her pillow.

Andromache gently shook your shoulder while leaving small kisses wherever she could reach, mainly your shoulder.

You opened your eyes, slowly turning to face your one and true love, the very person to whom you have devoted yourself for a couple of thousand years.

Still feeling dizzy, you sleepily smiled at her as you reached to caress her cheek. " Morning. " Your voice was way too harsh than your normal one, as you realized you had probably spent a day without a single drop of water.

Andy kissed your forehead lovingly. She brought a cup of water to your lips and propelled you to drink some.

You happily did as Andy wanted you to, too dizzy to oppose her (not that you would have, you were quite thirsty).

As Andromache placed the cup of water back to its place, you took the chance to wrap your hands around her waist and bury your head in her neck.

Your wife chuckled at your adorable reaction and embraced you back, pulling your body closer to her.

" God, I thought you were dead. " She whispered, continuing washing your body with kisses.

" I... " You stopped midsentence, not sure about how what you intended to say would sound to her.

Andy gently messaged your sculp, silently propelling you to talk to her.

You took a deep breath as you turned to look at her with teary eyes. " I wish I was... "

Andy took your face in her arms. " No. No. Don't you dare ever say that. "

You shook your head, casting your gaze downward. " But, it's true. "

" If you had died, my love, we would have never reunited, would we ? " Andromache countered.

You hesitantly looked upward, at her beautiful striking eyes. " It was torture. "

Your wife gave you a sad smile. " I know. I know... But the important thing is that you are here, in my arms, safe and sound. "

You nodded reciprocating the gesture. " Indeed. "

" And just like back then.... We have all the time in the world to do whatever we please. " Andy's smile widened as her eyes narrowed meaningfully.

You laughed a little, wondering how could a single person delete 400 years of torture, but then again.

That person was your beloved wife.

Your Andy.

[nikethestatue]

The Little Black Dress That Could

May the 4th Be with all of us! Today is my favorite holiday. 4th of July, Independence Day.

This is also for Caroline, whose birthday was yesterday. Happy birthday girl! You don't have to keep drinking virgin pina coladas anymore.

What happened during Winter Solstice at Hewn City between Elain and Azriel? What did he think of her ugly black dress? Read on and find out.

“By the Cauldron,” Nesta exhaled obnoxiously loudly. “It’s ugly.”

Elain made a face. 

It was ugly.

“Fucking ugly,” Nesta added.

Fu-gly.

That’s what the dress was.

It was a fugly dress.

With that, Nesta left. 

Well, good riddance.

It was fine.

She was fine.

Everything was fine.

Her sister hated her.

Elain had to wear this revoltingly ugly dress to a ball. Her first ball since she became Fae.

She had to stand there, in her ugly dress, allowing everyone else to shine…which would be fine. Normally, Elain Archeron wasn’t envious or petty. But she had to be dressed in this frumpy frock, knowing that he would be there. He would be resplendent  in his elegant leathers, his siphons shining with their ethereal light, his handsome face perfect and grave. Ugh. He would be perfect. He always was. He could wear a potato sack, and still look like a Prince.

Rhysand tried to be like Azriel, but failed. No one could be like Azriel, the mysterious and deadly Shadowsinger. The quiet authority that he always conveyed. The darkness. The secretive nature of,

“Hey Elain!” 

Cassian’s voice boomed behind her and startled out of her thoughts, she blurted out,

“I am not sleeping with Azriel!”

Cassian looked at her like she was drunk and yet, said calmly,

“I mean, no one would blame you for wanting to sleep with Azriel,”

“What?” she choked. 

“What? He is handsome and stately, muscular, but compact, built like a,”

“I am not sleeping with Azriel,” she noted dryly, “but I am not sure about you.”

“What?” he glared at her.

She folded her arms on her chest. 

“I am not! I haven’t,” he began muttering defensively. “We haven’t…I mean, there was that time when,”

“WHAT?!” she cried out.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

There was an awkward, strange silence and they just stared at one another. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded at last.

“You seen Nes?”

“Maybe.”

“You gonna be all mad because I might have, like 300 years ago, kiss-”

“I don’t. Want. To. Know.” she snarled at him, pressing her hands to her ears.

 He stepped back in fright and hissed through his teeth,

“Oh Mother…these Arecheron girls are rabid.”

“Oh rabid are we?” she yelled at him, and he actually took a step back, trying to avoid a physical altercation with the flower girl. Somehow, he feared her more than anyone–perhaps not physically, but somehow, he knew that he’d be torn to pieces by both Nesta, and probably Aziel. He wasn’t sure about Azriel, but there was…something. Some feelings that Cassian couldn't discern, but felt in his gut. Anyway, he wasn’t going to fight with Elain. Thought he couldn’t help himself and asked,

“You’re wearing this?” He raised his brow, glancing at the dress that hung on the hanger.

Elain sighed and said gloomily, “yes, I am wearing this dress.”

He whistled and murmured, “Mother’s tits…”

“Not helping, Cassian. Not helping.”

“Well, alright then. I guess I’ll see you at the Court of Nightmares. You know…” he paused, and then added softly, taking her hand in his giant bear paws, “you don’t have to go…”

Her expression softened and she murmured, 

“I want to go, Cassian. I want to do my part.”

Cassian and Elain were milling about the foyer of the River Estate in awkward semi-silence. Both were waiting to be winnowed to Hewn City. Azriel was already there, and Mor was going to pick the two of them up. Nesta would travel with Feyre and Rhys.

“Are you excited to stand at Azriel’s side?” Cassian asked, trying to sound casual.

“Pardon?” Elain whirled to him, eyes wide.

“You know…By the throne? Nesta will be next to me, and you’ll be next to Az,”

“Why should I be excited about that?” she demanded, but her cheeks were awfully red for her to be simply angry.

Cassian smirked.

He was definitely picking on some vibes. He wasn’t going to be fooled.

And he was pretty sure that he was the only one to be catching these vibes between his brother and Elain. Yeah. He was always the first one to notice things, especially between couples. He was observant like that.

“I don’t know…I think Nesta is excited to stand next to me,” he shrugged.

Elain’s chin rose and she declared,

“Why shouldn’t he be excited to stand next to me?”

Pacifically, Cassian immediately assured her, “I am sure he is very excited.”

Hewn City was outfitted beautifully for the three day-long celebrations of the Winter Solstice. There were black candelabras, wreaths of holly, silver and gold ribbons wrapped around the obsidian columns, the floors were polished so brightly, they reflected all the attendees and the lights. Enormous arrangements of pine branches bedecked in faelights, white roses and night blooming jasmine were placed all around the ballroom in crystal vases.

Azriel, Shadowsinger of High Lord Rhysand’s Night Court felt quite at home here. He didn’t like it–or rather, he didn’t like the present Steward of Hewn City–but he’d spent enough time in these ancient, hallowed halls to have grown accustomed to the place. It needed some sprucing up and something cheerful around here, but overall, he didn’t mind it. It was always especially beautiful around Solstice. 

It was especially beautiful right now, because Elain Archeron stepped into the ballroom. 

Oh yes, he’d noticed them all–Morrigan in her usual red dress, Cassian, standing right across him, brooding and tense, awaiting Nesta’s arrival. When the darkness of Rhysand’s power poured out of the massive doors, which opened silently to reveal the High Lord and the High Lady, and their heir inside of her. There was an audible gasp when the attendees beheld Feyre’s pregnant belly, but Azriel was used to that as well. Nothing surprised him much anymore, other than…

Elain Archeron.

She looked like a goddess.

She looked like the Mother.

Her long golden brown hair was unbound, streaming like a bronze halo around her, pinned with two pearl combs. And her dress…Was the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. It fit her perfectly. It was simple and stunning.

Nesta was wearing something overly elaborate–tuile, and sequence, and gems and silver, and while it all looked very nice and all, his girl looked sublime. She didn’t need any extra ornamentation.

Well, maybe just the gift that he was planning to give her on Solstice night. The delicate necklace that he had designed and commissioned especially for her. It would look perfect in the little divot between her lovely slender collar bones. 

It was Nesta’s night to shine, but Elain looked like a queen. His Lady. Though to him, she was always simply his girl. His Elain.

The two sisters stood by the dias of the two thrones, Nesta next to Cassian, and Elain next to Azriel. He couldn’t offer her a wink or a smile, not in front of all these people, but she stood close enough, for him to gently, covertly rub his pinkie against the side of her palm. She didn’t flinch and didn’t react, but a tiny sweet smile touched her full lips. His girl liked it when he touched her–when they exchanged glances, and brief brushes of fingers. When he skimmed his fingers over hers at breakfast, when she offered him his mug of tea. Or when he could place his palm on the small of her back for a few moments when he followed her into the room, or out of the house. Or even better, when she adjusted the lapels of his jacket, and stroked his chest. No. She never minded when he touched her. 

Now he wished that he could place her small hand on his forearm so they could walk together–without hiding, without fears or accusations. It was impossible, but Azriel held onto hope. He had nothing else. Just hope, and his dreams of walking arm in arm with his girl, with Elain, who’d be his wife. He didn’t care about the bond at all–not hers, or a hypothetical one for the two of them. Did he wonder why the other two brothers received mate bonds with the two sisters, and she was given away like a sacrifice to Lucien Vanserra? Every day. But it was also pointless to ponder the ways of the Cauldron. He didn’t need a bond with Elain in order to love her. He liked her and loved her just because she was Elain–he loved her face, he adored her wit and her sense of humour, he admired her resilience, he enjoyed her mind and her intelligence. They fit each other like a pair of gloves–easily. What felt torturous with Morrigan for the past 500 years, felt absolutely natural with Elain. She took what he offered, and didn’t pressure him for more, and he gave bits of himself willingly and gladly.

One day, sweetheart. One day. You and I. 

Rhys was gifting Eris a Made dagger, and everyone began dancing as the first notes of the waltz filled the vast space.

Elain stepped closer to him, and he lightly ran his knuckle over her spine. Her back was bare, the dress held together by thick ribbons, but it offered enough of her silky skin for him to observe that he was forced to bite the inside of his cheek just to hold back a groan. 

“Do you want me to Make you a dagger too?” she whispered, without looking at him, pretending to be interested in the gift exchange. 

“I already have one,” he murmured with a smile, his lips brushing the back of her head, inhaling the scent of jasmine.

“Hmmm…would you like me to Make you anything?”

Yes, I would like for you to make me your husband. 

“Make me dinner, and I will be a happy male,” he decided.

“Then I will,” she promised simply.

Eris’s muddy eyes landed on Elain and she grunted through clenched teeth,

“Time for me to shine!”

“I can kill him for you, if you’d like,” Azriel offered calmly.

“Tempting, but you never know how others might look at the murder of the Heir to Autumn by the shadowsinger.”

Smart girl.

He stepped away, allowing another Vanserra’s eyes to skate over his woman. 

It was intolerable.

But Elain made a good impression of pretending to be mildly interested in Eris. 

And Eris, vain and predictable, was visibly disappointed by the modesty of Elain’s gown, by her demure appearance.

Azriel could only smile to himself. 

Thank the Cauldron for the prideful son of Autumn, who did not see the diamond in front of his eyes.

No matter.

Yes, Azriel wanted everyone to admire Elain like he did, but he also wanted to keep her for himself–his secret, a thing of lovely beauty. 

Eris offered Elain a bland smile, and then made a beeline towards Nesta.

His loss. Azriel’s gain.

Elain’s smile was finally genuine, and shining in his direction.

The guests were oohing and ahhing over Nesta and Eris in the dancefloor, and Azriel moved back to stand beside his beautiful girl, while they watched the other couple twirl and spin across the floor. They looked incredible–there was no doubt that in another life, in another world, Nesta and Eris would’ve made an excellent match. 

But that thought quickly evaporated, when Azriel sensed the rage, disappointment and unhappiness of his brother, who was almost gnashing his teeth in frustration. 

Elain wordlessly took Cassian’s hand and squeezed it affectionately.

“Cass, don’t cut in,” Azriel warned him.

Elain looked at the General with sympathy in her warm brown eyes and whispered,

“It’s not real, Cassian. They are not real.”

“But,” he began, and she cut him off,

“She is the one for you, Cassian. You know it. She is your girl.”

Azriel quickly looked at his own girl, and wondered how the Hel did she know? How did she always know?

“Give her the opportunity to complete all her spins,” Elain chuckled, “and then you can cut it.”

“Would you like to dance, Elain Archeron?” 

Azriel had danced with Nesta, after Cassian swept her away from Eris and completed his own circle on the dancefloor. Cassian was not as good of a dancer as Eris, but he and Nesta looked…right. They looked like they belonged. And maybe he was stiff, and didn’t move with a courtier’s grace, but Cassian danced because he knew that tonight, Nesta needed him. She needed him, and his strength, and his support, and she needed to be in his arms almost as much as Cassian needed to take her into his own. 

“She really is his girl,” Elain smiled softly, watching the two glide among the guests.

She turned and looked up at Azriel.

“And yes, I would love to dance with you.”

“Well then give me your little hand,” he ordered, smiling, as he extended his palm to her. She lay her fingers against his and he sighed with pleasure, as he wrapped his arm around her body, pulling him to him. Her head rested on his shoulder. 

One day.

Soon.

Wife.

Not a bad Solstice celebration after all.

[sageistri]

https://twitter.com/itboypop/status/1792927351111573877?t=6r0ZGyPxBEuxNprgUsv5pg&s=19

This is why I'm kinda angry that hybe is not doing anything about it. Denying the rumours won't be too much for them would it? If it's not them dating currently then what's stopping you from denying it? They have had denied some bs rumours about RM and JK back in 2021 that no one even knew about.

The girlie ain't stopping any moment, she's getting attention from tkkrs, KTHs, jjks and she's loving it. Saw a ss from a tkkr whom i don't even know but they posted ss of her being on live (seems like she was on live yesterday) and this woman literally pinned a comment saying "why are you dating jm, keep pretending to be jimin's gf till end" ig she also responded it with "some people might take it in negative or positive way" like does this look like she's stopping any moment?? She keeps involving him. plus the time when she posted those old jm videos she had multiple stories and for one of the stories girlie used a song from "gray" who she also made rumours with years ago and the guy denied it yet she's being like this.

And Tkkrs are the ones that are making those videos with 300-400k views and the whole comment section being disgusting about it and saying what not about jm, even going as far as to say she's pregnant with jm's child. Plus some totally saying that she's dating jm and she was involved in burning sun (she wasn't involved she's cleared it in the past but there's articles about it like her denying and pic of her with seiungri) so people should treat jm the same way like others involvements. They're blocking the comments who's trying to take jm's side or saying the rumours are not true. The only thing that's frustrating me is him name getting attached to unnecessary scandals.

This is what's making me more angry on hybe like denying it won't hurt you like what's the fking point of you taking action when shit gets too far? We know how tkkrs get's engagement and even blinks are involved in dragging him, like imagine now them doing same on twitter how bad it will be for jm and you know kpopies just wait for jm's name to be in a tweet to gang up in there. It's not even like the company doens't know cause there's plenty of navar articles, ig kmedia articles too, heck i even saw someone posting an article from Indian news paper about their dating rumour.

Many are dismissing it saying she's just attention seeking, and no one's paying it attention when article are being written about it alot, the company gonna get him dragged then take action like what's the fking point? It's been more than 2 years and she hasn't stopped yet. I'm glad that pjms aren't giving it too much attention like others got but still these tkkrs are ain't stopping and are just spreading lies on every sns.

One thing I've never understood is stans acting like people saying their fave is dating someone is hate. Relax and take a deep breath. This should never even be added to list of things Jimin has gone through. It's a dating rumor which is normal.

What hybe does concerning this doesn't matter to me because I don't think it's that serious. Jimin's name is only being linked to a woman, we'll live I think.

Should a statement be made because you want to be reassured that he isn't dating her? If hybe and other BTS members never spoke out about Jimin being harassed for years over a fictional relationship then I could care less about them making a statement just because he's being linked to a woman.

Stuff like these are only weaponized by people like tkkrs when stans like you make a big deal of it.

I don't think Jimin is dating her, but imagine a reality where he is, what would you do then? Make posts asking to report people who are talking about it? Tkkrs talking about it doesn't do anything to Jimin and it doesn't make tkk real.

Dating rumors are not defamation, he's only being linked to a woman not being accused of a crime.

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Oliver Wood is NOT a Good Captain

“Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch on it first.”

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn’t speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him ‘the Seeker’.

The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry, in a hollow, dead sort of voice, that he didn’t blame him in the slightest.

I get the impression that fandom thinks Wood is a loving, good captain but he really is not. In isolation, the third snippet could be read as a joke (they did lose the match after all and Wood is quidditch obsessed). However, when you look at Oliver in totality, he shows time after time that he cares more about winning than Harry's safety and is perfectly ok with throwing Harry under the bus.

Overall, contrary to popular opinion, the Gryffindor team sucks. I am not talking about the individual players, but the whole team. Hermione disses Draco by saying that the lions got on their team by talent (screw Hermione btw, what does this annoying girl know about talent?)...but without Harry, they seem to be a bunch of losers.

Remember Minerva broke the rules for Harry to join the team as a first-year. Do you think she would have done so if the team was truly competent? The Quidditch World Cup in book 4 proved that a team can have a crap seeker and still dominate/win. The lions literally needed favouritism/nepotism to have a chance at winning. Let that sink in. But Snape is totally the biased teacher around here (sarcasm)

In either book 1 or book 2 (I think book 2), Harry missed the match and the team had the worst defeat in over 300 years! Further proof that these people suck without "chosen-one in more ways than one" Harry. By the way, Slytherin has reserve players. Does the Gryfinfor team have reserve players? Because I never see any. In book 6, when Draco and other Slytherins are conveniently out sick (to give Ron a chance at winning because the golden trio never seems to have to earn anything), they have backup players ready (eg that Harper guy who played Seeker in Draco's place). However, in book 5 when Harry and the twins are suspended, the team needs to hold tryouts to get new players. No backups in sight.

In book 3 when Harry gets his firebolt, the team (the entire school minus Slytherin house) gets all horny for the broomstick. "We have a firebolt!" basically reduced Harry's skill and importance to the team to his broomstick. These people don't care about Harry. Yet, it's such a crime when Draco and his team got new broomsticks in book 2! Gryffindors == Hypocrites.

I don't see much of Marcus Flint but from what I have read, I like him more as a captain. When the Gryffindor team tried to group assault a 12 yr old Draco after calling Hermione a mudblood (should have just called her a "bitch" or "hag" instead and saved everyone the need to virtue signal), Flint immediately threw himself in front of Draco to protect him. Remember these are older students trying to beat up a tiny 12 yr old because of something he said. The Weasley twins are BEATERS - just the 2 of them alone could have really hurt Draco. Compare this to Oliver who doesn't give a damn about Harry being hurt as long as he wins.

Also, when Draco is an idiot and loses to Harry in book 2 (of course, the only time someone has a better broom than Harry, Harry wins because that person decided to fool around despite wanting to play on a quidditch team before Harry even knew what the sport was), the Slytherins don't ostracize Draco the way the Gryfindors ostracized Harry when he lost house points.

In a nutshell: Marcus Flint >>> Oliver Wood & Gryffindor team sucks.

PS. If you are a Draco anti or Hermione stan or any other kind of Gryffindor stan that thinks Draco deserved to be group assaulted by bigger, older, stronger students because of calling Hermione a slur in response to her insulting him first, just ignore this post and move on. Unlike you and a good chunk of the HP fandom, I don't get sadistic pleasure from seeing Draco constantly (group) assaulted for saying mean words to characters who had contempt for him first.

[roosterbox]

October Almost-Drabbles 10/22: Costume

Pairing: Cherik

Word Count: 621

Additional tags: trick or treating, family fluff, pietro is an absolute adhd terror but we love him

Side note: I cut out like 300+ words of mostly boring exposition, so this is much more streamlined than it was at first. Other than the descriptor calling Wanda a witch (because she’s dressed like one, obvs), everyone else’s outfits are un-described. Mostly. So feel free to use your own imaginations. And yes, everybody did dress up. Even Erik.

———

The little family made quite a picture, walking down the brightly lit sidewalk.

“Careful with that, Wanda.” Charles called out. The little witch was swinging her candy bucket enthusiastically, losing bits and pieces out of it. At his urging, she calmed her motions, though there was still a lot of swinging involved. As per usual, she was significantly calmer than her twin. Pietro was running loops around all of them. Up the street, down the street, into walkways, occasionally into yards (“Mind the grass!” Erik told him, multiple times). He couldn’t get far, thankfully - the metal bits subtly sewn into his costume made sure of that - but he tested the boundary at every chance he could.

“Alright back there?” Erik asked. He couldn’t see over the top of the dozing child on his back, but he knew Lorna was bringing up the rear of their little caravan.

“I'm good, Dad.” She was eating candy. He could practically hear the caramel as she answered. And more importantly, she was happy. All four of the children were. Even David, who smiled even in his tired state.

“So what do you think, guys? Trick-or-treating? Fun, huh?” Charles smiled, ruffling Pietro’s hair as he ran by. He didn’t really need to ask; he could feel their joy as bright as a beacon. But he always tried to encourage verbal communication. Especially in public, though they were mostly alone on that particular sidewalk.

There was a chorus of affirmations.

“Can Auntie Raven come with us next time?” Wanda asked. Charles made a show of considering this, though truth be told he‘d had a similar thought. It would be interesting, he reasoned, to bring along someone who didn’t need a preprepared outfit. Who could potentially change their appearance from house to house.

“Why don’t we ask her when we get home?” He gave Wanda a nod. She grinned and nodded back before slipping back behind them to walk with her sister. Aside from the red and white blur that was Pietro running around them, and their older boy being carried by Erik, the two parents were somewhat alone. Charles bumped their shoulders together gently.

So. We all survived.

That remains to be seen, Erik projected back, eyeing their running and giggling youngest son. The little terror. I’m only surprised he hasn’t run every single one of us ragged yet.

At that moment, the boy ran a little further out than either of them were comfortable with. Almost offhandedly, Erik reached out with his power, grabbed the metal threads in his costume, and pulled him back over. Pietro paused just long enough to say “sorry, dad,” before taking off again. He’d probably have long since spilled his candy everywhere had Charles not commandeered his bucket fairly early in the night.

And you’re already planning for next year. Erik shook his head, though he was also smiling. Doing his own planning, no doubt.

Maybe a little. But, Charles was quick to add, we’ve still got at least an hour or two of candy sorting ahead of us. “And it’s way past certain individuals’ bed time as it is.”

“Not tired!” Pietro said, zooming by.

David grumbled sleepily.

“I understand your point, however. Once the candy has been sorted, and the costumes put away, then we can do what all parents do after October 31st.”

“And that is?”

“To never think of Halloween again for the next eleven months or so.”

At that, Erik laughed. He shifted David a little, adjusting his position. “I’m gonna hold you to that, I hope you know. Also not looking forward to the mountains of candy to sift through.”

“Liar. You’ll be drowning in butterscotch for weeks. What a burden.”

“Quiet, you.”

[booburry]

Soft!Sam x F!OC dribble

This was originally going to be a spoiler scene for something in the future of my Fic, but things have changed and this set up is no longer there / a spoiler.

So! Below is a little Soft!Sam x Mallory (my OC) being a little hot and heavy before expressing some soft and vulnerable emotions.

Lightly, Mallory’s slender fingers snaked through Sam’s thick and curly hair, gripping it hard enough to bring his face to hers. She felt one of her legs rise, however, she could not tell if it was her who did it or Sam. As their kisses deepened, Mallory felt another ignition to the passion between them.

This was going to end one way only. She knew it, and by how tightly Sam held onto her body, he knew it too. Mallory broke their kiss, Sam’s lips refusing to leave her body as they slowly trailed down onto her neck.

“Just this once.” Mallory managed to say between gasps. Sam pulled his face away from her skin at her request, yet his body was still firmly pressed against her. Lightly, he ran a hand along the side of her face, only some of his fingertips lightly touching her.

“You are so beautiful.” He remarked, sounding star-struck. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah...” Mallory absently agreed as her mind focused on the way he touched her rather than the unnecessary boundary she wished to place between them. “I think I look pretty good for being born over 300 years ago.” She gave a small snort of laughter, Sam immediately laughing at both the joke and the sound before their amusements quickly simmered. Standing still as Mallory’s face.

“No, Mallory...I—” Sam closed his eyes for a moment, his cradling of her chin still soft. When he looked at Mallory again, she felt her breath hitch in her throat. The power, purpose and conviction in the way his eyes locked onto her, the way they held her gaze, left her utterly at his feet. “You are everything I have never had and...damnit—well, everything that I want!” He exclaimed as if arguing against someone, but Mallory just stood beneath him, stunned and shocked into silence.

She felt her eyes go wide, unable to find words to even speak as she was astonished that someone could see her that way, or that Sam could feel about her as she felt the exact same way about him.

“I’m not done.” He said seriously, obviously anticipating her to cut him off yet she had made no attempt to. “I can’t do ‘only once’ anymore. I will hate myself if I let you slip away—you thinkin’ you have to return aside.” Sam paused a moment, his eyes flittering around her face to take in her features, his thumb lightly pulling at her thumb.

Mallory felt herself swallow a forming lump in her throat, trying to settle the knot her stomach was turning, as Sam was saying everything she had hoped and feared he would.

“It does not matter what heartbreak may already be on the other side of us parting ways...however that may come...” Sam whispered, bringing his lips closer to Mallory, hovering just far enough so that they weren’t kissing. “I have already lived that heartbreak these past weeks—god...” He hissed as he let his forehead fall against Mallory, his hat perched on top of her head. “I need you, Mallory.” He pleaded, his breath washing over her face as she breathed in his scent. “I just can’t have this half in, half out thing because I will always want more.”

“I know.” Mallory softly croaked, finally managing to force those two words from her lips, her hands dropping to their sides. Sam rocked his face downward so their noses touched, both of them letting out a sigh of longing.

“I want to be able to hug you every time you walk into a room, to kiss you...without hesitation.” Mallory huffed a laugh at the slight irony between his speech and his words. “I want to—”

“Okay.” She said quickly, Sam immediately breaking his speech with an audible smile.

“Really?” He asked, almost breathless, causing Mallory to giggle.

“You really want to hear me say it again?” She asked, rocking her face against Sam’s only to bring their mouths closer together. She felt Sam’s smile widen against her skin.

“I’ll need to hear you say it a lot more than that, darlin’” Sam, still cradling her face, pulled Mallory into a deep kiss, pulling a soft moan from her at the action and at how he purred his last word. His tongue forced their kiss deeper, that hunger until he pulled back with a jerk of his head, the both of them heavily panting. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” Mallory smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck again and pulled Sam into another kiss, tucking her chin as she did, feeling shy by demanding his movements, unknowingly making him have to physically bend forward.

But Sam was never the type of man to let a good opportunity go to waste. With a swift motion. Sam lifted Mallory upwards before pressing his body against hers, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist as Mallory was pinned between Sam and the locker once more. She let out a moan of desire, lifting her head to the ceiling and away from Sam.

“I have this tendency...” Sam muttered as his kissed below her collarbone, before carefully letting Mallory back onto the ground. His hands masterfully swooping in to grab her cheeks and force her to look at soft blue eyes. “I want to make you feel how I do about you, I want you to feel...cared for.” Sam choked out those last words, as if they weren’t the ones he intended.

“I always will when it comes to you, Sam.” Mallory whispered, trying to reassure him, as she lifted her gaze up to him once more.

“And you seriously want this?” He sought clarity once more. “’Cause I want it all, okay?” He asked, his tone turning into a husky whisper. “Candlelight dinners...walks on the beach.” He gently placed his palms against her jaw and stroked his thumbs against her cheeks, Mallory’s eyebrows pinching at how he looked at her in a way that could only be described one way: Love. “I need you to be the first and last thing I see every day. I want—”

“The whole kit and kaboodle, it seems.” Mallory teased him playfully, closing her eyes for a much needed relief from his gaze.

“You’re damn right.” He chuckled before giving Mallory a deep, quick, kiss.

“Before this...tell me something Sam.” Mallory paused as she turned to look at him, his hand still within hers. “What were you going to say earlier? You wanted to make me feel something, but you did not say what you mean.” Sam quickly gave a shy and akward smile, his hand reaching for and massaging a sudden kink in his neck.

“Oh, you, uh, saw that, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Yes...like you had me say many things before.”

“And you’re gonna make me say it, right?”

[randomnameless]

If i may provide a lukewarm defense of Jeralt's initial reaction to Byleth, i don't recall there being any proof that Sitri lacked a heartbeat or struggled with showing her emotions to the same extent as Byleth does at the start of 3H; i don't find it unreasonable for him to be much more worried about a newborn baby being completely emotionless and not having a heartbeat than about a grown woman being introverted and stoic most of the time but still perfectly capable of showing emotions, along with having a functioning heart.

The defense ends here btw; him raising Byleth as a mercenary since they were a kid and stunting their emotional growth is pretty indefensible, especially when he could have tried to secure a more stable and peaceful job anywhere else in Fódlan, and the games not realizing how much of a neglectful father he was is a pretty big flaw with his writing.

No problems anon!

To be honest, yeah, it could have been just as you said, a difference Jerry noted between bby!Billy and the Citrus he know...

Sothis guesses Billy's lack of, uh, ability to "emote" came from her, because she was asleep (but then Citrus also had difficulties to emotes and yet managed to emote when she was a grown up).

Aelfie mentions Citrus had a hard time showing her emotions, but she smiled a lot in front of Jerry - is it because "twu luf" made her emote, but given how Aelfie knew her since a long time (they were both kids together?) I don't think it's retcon tied to "twu luf" but more something like, while growing up or interacting with "the world" she emoted more and more.

Still, it's kind of strange, Aelfie tells Billy Citrus had difficulties to emote but emoted with Jerry, and yet, we're supposed to believe Jerry didn't know Citrus had difficulties to emote?

Or wasn't interested in how she acted/behaved/felt when she was with other people than with him?

Because if Jerry knew Citrus only "emoted" with him, would he be so surprised about their kid not "emoting" easily? Jerry never met Citrus as a bby, would it be so strange to think Citrus might have started as Billy, and managed to "emote" better as she grew up? But if he indeed never noticed, as Aelfie did, that she had difficulties to, uh, "show emotions" then indeed, discovering Billy had this "specialness" to them would have been surprising - but in a way, only because he never noticed the same "specialness" in his wife, aka Billy's mom.

However, I'm always a bit puzzled at what is "reasonable" or not in a world like Fodlan, I know the fandom loves to project a lot of irl issues - hopefully we have the in-game doctor/nurse who said it's weird af that bby!billy had no hearbeat - but Jerry, as far as he knows, is a guy who is over 300 years old who got a major crest "after birth", something that is not supposed to be possible. Jury's also out on whether Jerry knew about the cardinal business or not.

So is the only reason Billy's "not normal" because Rhea did something to them, or because, as far as Jerry knows, Jerry isn't "normal" himself?

Jerry knows Rhea isn't "normal" either, since she's most likely older than him and didn't age (unlike him!), and yet he was, per his own words, still pretty chummy with her - but when bby!Billy isn't "normal", it's suddenly super frightening?

I can buy Jerry being afraid and going a bit out of rails after Citrus's death, but the "omg not normal" used as an excuse to run away from the Monastery when he knows Rhea and himself aren't "normal" either and yet pretty much alright really felt... imo forced.

(and the games don't want to tell us if Citrus' ears were pointy or not, or if she had a heartbeat too, we only know Rhea used the crest stone as her "heart" so we're not even sure if Citrus had a normal "human" heart or not...)

[milksakex]

More Cult Of The Lab HeadCannons!

_ NARINDER_

Goes by He/They/It

He’s a bi-disaster, canonically  

Before everything, he, Shamura, and Leshy were close. He was playful and patient and kind and liked to bother Heket a lot. 

His scythe was a gift from Kalamar and he adored it. 

One day though, Shamura got the prophecy, and that set Narinders anger in motion, destroying his love for his siblings 

Photosensitive and cannot handle bright things. The void was the hell of hell 

Narinder's attacks on his family were calculated and directed at what they loved most

He attacked Shamuras mind because he knew they loved to read and plan various things, Heket loved to sing so what better to take from her than her voice. Kalamar loved to listen to his follower's voices when they praised him but now he can’t hear and Leshy loved to find and collect shiny things to make art with so it’s best to take his eyes

Nari wasn't unaffected by this of course, throughout the years during his imprisonment, it drove him further off the edge and made him mad with anger, and made him even more manipulative and sadistic. 

On his first day in imprisonment, he told his cult to kill anyone that wasn't part of the Red Crowns faith. 

When that didn’t work he forced his sibling's undead followers to try and kill them after 200 years. 

And when that didn’t work he sat and cried. 

About 300 years into his imprisonment he started tasking people with his crown to make cults in his name and kill any of his sibling's followers

400 years in, he met Ratuu and Forunas. He loved Fornaus like no other and wanted to give her a wonderful gift. The gift being her sons. 

When Forunas gave birth he gave her a blessing to live forever healthy so she could see them again and took the twins after 6 years. While he cursed Ratuu with immortality to rot slowly for failing him and his sons. 

Clingy 

He loved and cared for his boys and took them under his wing, teaching them various spells, and curses and helped them perfect their physical abilities. He helped them channel their inner divine power and blood. But just like with his siblings, his anger from being trapped and them dying clouded his mind and slowly eclipsed his love for them. It turned to something warm and soft, but bitter and thin as time went on. It caused him to put them through inexcusable pain in the name of their survival. 

After the Lamb kicked his ass, he was forced to think about what he’s done and wishes he could take it all back. 

He never told Foranus what happened to her kits and he has yet to confront her. 

He does miss her company and still loves her. His fear of her hating him stops him from saying anything though. 

Aym was always his favorite. 

Every time he thinks about Baal or sees him, it causes a shock of pain in him. How did he not see his oldest hating him so much…?

He wants to reconcile with the boys. 

He has trouble lifting things after chains were wrapped around his arms for years. The Lamb usually helps him. 

[socksracoon10]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐄𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭... 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘽𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙡𝙛 𝙭 𝙀𝙡𝙛!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 Warnings: N/A Author Note: I know it’s so early before Christmas arrives, but I’ve been rewatching The Santa Clause movies and I just had to write my sweet boy Bernard!

By the time Thanksgiving had rolled in, Bernard knew that his job was 10 times more harder than it had ever been during the year. Hands clasped behind his back, he roamed around the workstations, wanting every elf to give their best effort. Perhaps he cared more than even Santa, but that was part of his job... and he surely took pride in that. Every Christmas season started off with Bernard’s “not-so-peppy” speech about time management, effort and most of all the absolute necessity for all the toys and gifts to have the best quality. He would stand above on the stairs, giving sermons and speeches designed to help boost the other elves; he often ignored the look of boredom on their faces when he had gone more than 5 minutes in his speeches. He’d like to think of it as their way of saying that they were more enthusiastic about their work than they were of him, which was splendid to think about. The elves were more willing to put their energy into making kids around the world happy, and he was delighted to see the new improvements among the workers in their activities.

For example, Meredith, a lovely elf who currently worked in the Teddy Bear department had managed to find a new way to carefully find out the right amount of stuffing each child desired for their bear. Alvin, who worked in the baking department managed to find a new mixture that Santa himself personally adored. The elves were thriving during this time, and Bernard was one happy Head Elf. He smiled at the diligent workers, before he felt a small nudge behind his back.  “Bernard...” Curtis called out, his voice barely above a whisper. The Head Elf frowned, feeling a sense of worry rising in the bottom of his gut. He crouched down to meet his brother’s eyes, 

“What happened, now?” He hissed, occasionally looking around to make sure that no other elf was paying attention. If Curtis had gone out of the way to tell him something, it surely meant that it wasn’t good.

“(Y/N) hasn’t been in her station for over 3 days now,” Curtis whispered, fixing the glasses on his nose. Bernard nearly shrieked at the statement, knowing very well that the tight schedule the elves faced could not make up for this. His blood boiled at her name because he knew, he knew very well that for the past 500 years that he’d seen her, she would always roam around the workshop and do all her work last minute. It’s the thrill, she explained to him one day when he caught her lurking about in the reindeer shed. He had rolled his eyes and ordered that she return back to her station.

In the past 300 years, (Y/N) had managed to switch around through 5 departments. It was a miracle as to how she hadn’t been fired yet. Every Christmas, Bernard had sent a complaint to every Santa Claus that had existed and today, he marched off towards Santa’s quarters with a formal complaint, once again, tucked firmly underneath his arms.

“Bernard... what is this?” Santa asked, nonchalantly. The Head Elf huffed in annoyance,

“I think you know very well what this is Santa,” He responded, hands firmly clasped behind his back as always. The cheery old man was no longer in a jolly mood when he read the letter and sank deeper into his chair, at a loss for words. The past few Christmases that were spent here had managed to expose to him the constant bickering between two of his favorite elves. He couldn’t help it when he told Bernard that (Y/N), as cheeky and irresponsible as she was at times, surely was the best. After all, when the icing machine broke down last year she did help create an entire new batch within minutes and practically saved the station from disaster. Not to mention when the conveyor belt stopped halfway through last year, she came and solved the whole dilemma with a proud smile. She was a very sweet elf, and incredibly helpful yet her laziness through most of the year got her into tons of trouble... especially from Bernard.

“She’s been doing great at her job, though! You’ve demoted her so much, what are you expecting her to do. You’ve given her the role of a janitor... we never even had that kinda role at all!” Santa exclaimed, hands flailing in the air for emphasis. Bernard stood there, teetering on the tips of his toes as he cleared his throat,

“Santa, the fact that I demoted her to janitor and she still cannot do her job properly, is a clear indicator that she must go! She can’t be here any longer!” He cried out, hands scrunched up together in an attempt to make his point clear. Santa eyed him carefully, trying to process the situation at hand. If he dismissed (Y/N), the poor gal had nowhere else to go. She was an elf, after all, she can’t really go out and live in New York or something. Santa leaned back into his chair, hands linked together as he remained deep in thought. Well, to be honest, he wasn’t thinking much about it. He hoped that if he sat like that for a long time, Bernard would eventually give up and leave.

“Santa, I know you’re stalling,” Bernard stated, a look of disappointment on his face and Santa rolled his eyes,

“Bernard, you’re killing me! Listen, I’m sure she’s just doing fine-”

“She’s been skipping three days of work, Santa!”

“Bernard, once again, we never had the concept of janitors here until I jokingly said it. All the elves clean up after themselves, she has nothing to do then.”

“Then I suggest, that you dismiss her if she’s not of importance. She’s been distracting the other working elves as well, and I cannot stand for this,” Bernard explained as Judy walked in with her assortment of drinks for Santa. She smiled as she set her tray on the table and chuckled at Bernard’s annoyed expression,

“Bernard, I think you’re too hard on her. She helped just now make more hot chocolates for Santa. She’s a wonderful elf,” Judy disclosed, pouring the drink into a silver cup for Santa to drink. Bernard scoffed, hands moving to his waist as he cried out,

“You all are falling for her traps, her deceptions, her lies!” He cried out, finding it hard to believe that he was the only one that noticed her poor qualities. He couldn’t understand why all the other elves found her enjoyable when she clearly was anything but that. He huffed and walked out of the room, bumping into Curtis who was currently wrapped around in tinsel. “Now what in the world happened to you?” Bernard asked, his voice incredibly loud. His brother, through much great effort, extended his hand towards the opposite side of the workshop, where (Y/N) was busy laughing and throwing tinsel around with some of her friends. Bernard scowled, adjusting the bag around him before stalking off towards the merry group, intending to put their shenanigans to stop at once.

“(Y/N)!” Bernard yelled, approaching her with such rage that he managed to quiet the entire workshop. The other elves briefly paused their work to listen to what the Head Elf was about to say. His chest was heaving, eyes furrowed together as he barked orders to her friends to get back to their stations. “You’re honestly the most insolent elf I’ve ever met!” He jeered and she feigned sadness before quickly snapping back,

“Bernard, the holiday cheer is running out thanks to you!”

“Thanks to me? You’re the one who can’t even do her job properly! I give you one job, (Y/N), one job and you still manage to screw it up. Do you know how stupid an elf must be to mess up the EASIEST job in the entirety of Christmas history?!?” He roared, leaning in closer as she cowered, momentarily behind the tinsel she had wrapped around her arms. She gulped, realizing that in all the 500 years of working here, she had managed to really upset him this time. Which was a shame, since she always enjoyed getting on his nerves. Perhaps it was because she loved the way all the elves favored her over Bernard during these situations, or was it more centered around the fact that she adored his meltdowns of anger which she often thought were adorable. It didn’t excuse the blatant fact that for the past 500 years, she had no idea how to have a casual conversation with him so she resorted to acting out, because she assumed that only then would he notice her. Bernard was a busy elf, he didn’t have time for dilly-dallying or casual conversations with friends. He’d always keep track of things, making sure everything was smooth. When Santa went down to visit his family sometimes, Bernard would work even harder and (Y/N) couldn’t help but appreciate his hardworking nature at the North Pole. Despite all the bottled up feelings that she kept neatly tucked behind her pointy ears, she still hated it when he’d downright insult her intelligence. She was capable, alright. In fact, Santa always called on her to fix things if need be, but Bernard would never see that she was much more than the other elves. Her “laziness” was just her putting on an act, it wasn’t the real her. 

“Bernard, why do you always have to criticize me?” She questioned, softly. There was a sense of genuine hurt in her voice that even made Bernard step back, his eyes widening at her statement. He wanted to delve deeper into her problems, dissect them and tell her straight up that she wasn’t even close to being as good as a rookie elf but the way she looked at him then made him feel tremendously guilty. He surely didn’t want to ruin an elf’s Christmas cheer, especially not in front of Santa who started making rounds as usual. When Santa managed to stop by where the two were, he looked at them and noticed the way (Y/N)’s eyes started swelling up. He turned to Bernard, smacking the Head Elf on his shoulder,

“What’d you do that for? Why’s she close to crying? Bernard, we’ve talked about your tone-” “Santa, it’s not my tone, it’s-it’s-” Bernard began but he couldn’t formulate a proper expression. He just simply wanted everyone to be on task, that’s all he asked for and ever wished for.

“Bernard, every time you demoted me, I’ve said nothing. Because I knew, I knew that I wasn’t going to live up to your standards. But do you know how boring it is to be a janitor? Especially since all the elves clean up after themselves?” (Y/N) seethed, tears trickling down her face as Bernard stood there in shock. Santa threw his hands in the air,

“That’s exactly what I said!”  Now, the whole workshop had remained still, waiting for the Head Elf to fire something back like he always did. It was common that he would get the last word out or the last laugh but in this moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He just stood there like a Christmas tree, rooted in the ground. His jaw hung open as if he was about to protest but he couldn’t carry it out.

“When I manage to make use of myself and have just a tiny ounce of fun, and just so you know those 3 days I was out wasn’t because I was skipping. I went out to train the reindeers by myself. If you even managed to check the log, which you’re supposed to do, you’d have known this by now.” (Y/N) scorned and the whole workshop softly snickered, a couple of ‘ooohs’ going around from the elves. Santa himself had to hold his laughter in as Bernard scoffed, completely exasperated by the statement. She was right and that’s what bugged him the most.

“M-my sincere apologies, (Y/N). Carry on with your task,” He mumbled and then turned to the other elves, “Carry on with your tasks, all of you!” and with that, he stumbled off towards Santa’s quarters, ignoring the puppets that began to mock him. 

By the time Santa came back to his room after all his rounds were completed, he noticed the dejected look on Bernard who sat on the velvet chair, head buried in his hands. The old man chuckled, silently and set his clipboard and notes on his desk before moving towards the Head Elf. He grabbed a chair, sitting down next to him,

“Bernard, I know you’re upset-”

“I’m more than upset, Santa. I just wanted everything to go out smoothly. No one has ever started crying at my complaints and... I don’t know, it just... makes me feel horrible,” Bernard said in a hushed tone, glancing towards Santa who smiled, knowing what it felt to go through something like this.

“You could give your job to Curtis,” He joked and Bernard rolled his eyes,

“Santa, I’m trying to have a serious conversation-” He started, but after noticing the way Santa looked, he shook his head with a little laugh, realizing that he’s supposed to take things in a more jovial manner. “You’re right, I need to loosen up. All that stress just builds up and I end up taking it out on the wrong person.”

In the following weeks, Bernard managed to be a bit nicer to his peers. When he caught them playing around, instead of yelling like he always did. He let them play for a few more minutes before telling them to get back to work, nicely. He had confidence that all the elves knew the importance of Christmas and getting their jobs done. After all, they absolutely adored doing their job so he trusted them more than he did before. 

As he roamed around, he took notice of the schedule. Today was the day. Santa was set to embark on his trip, delivering toys across the world and Bernard was just as excited as the rest of the elves. All their hard work was going to pay off and they’d all celebrate with a massive party like they always did and as he stood on the steps, commending his fellow elves with a speech like he always did, he couldn’t help but notice that (Y/N) was missing. His face fell, but instantly he forced a smile and pulled through. When he was done and the elves dispersed in preparation for Santa’s departure, he suddenly started panicking, eyes searching through the crowds in hopes of finding the familiar mischievous laugh that she always had. He noticed her green hat sitting idly on the baking department’s counter and he caught onto it, fearing that she might’ve left the workshop forever. In any of the 500 years, he would’ve been so happy that she left, but his heart ached now. He couldn’t believe the thoughts racing through his head,

He genuinely missed her.

Halfway through his search, the red signal fired through the workshop with Curtis’s voice through the intercoms stating that Santa’s sleigh was having some technical difficulties. Oh great, wonderful! thought Bernard as he stuffed the hat in his bag and ran towards the takeoff site, watching Santa fumble around the controls as the reindeers stood there in confusion. Santa turned to the Head Elf,

“What’s going on?” Santa asked and Bernard’s eyes widened,

“I should be asking you do that, Santa!” He cried out. With that the elves and Santa all started bickering, all of them in confusion as to why the sleigh wasn’t working properly even though everything had been checked at least a million times. If Santa was going to be behind schedule now, everything would be ruined. 

(Y/N) emerged from the crowd, with a toolbox and she noticed the way everyone completely ignored her presence as they were busy arguing with each other. She growled, realizing that their fighting would only delay everything further and so she stood at the edge of the sleigh, placing her hands over her mouthn

“Everyone, listen up!” She screamed, silencing them immediately. When she got their attention, she stepped down and shoved the toolbox into Bernard’s hands, “I need everyone to quiet down, and work together. We gotta do this carefully but gotta make it quick as well. Where’s our sleigh engineers?” She barked, and at once 5 elves came front and began going underneath the sleigh, tinkering away. She occasionally extended her hand out, ordering Bernard around to give her a wrench or a screwdriver and Santa could no longer hold back the giggle that escaped his mouth when he noticed Bernard’s flustered expressions when he accidentally gave her the wrong tool, to which she started yelling at him. 

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Santa chuckled out and the Head Elf sent him a glare before (Y/N) and the other elves moved out of the way, 

“You should be good now, Santa.” She stated, wiping the sweat off her brow and Santa thanked her, before turning to Bernard,

“Told ya!” He laughed out loud before calling out all the reindeers and ascending into the cold, frosty air to surprise the sleeping children who had been on their best behavior the whole year. After seeing him depart, the elves all started to go back, praying that they weren’t late this year or that Santa comes back safely. The only two remaining were Bernard and (Y/N), both of them standing awkwardly since they didn’t know what exactly to say but neither one of them wanted to leave.

“I’m sorry for being so mean for the centuries I’ve known you,” Bernard apologized as his hands fidgeted nervously around his bag. 

“I should be sorry for getting you all worked up, though. I did it because-” She hesitated, not wanting to reveal her feelings just yet since they just got on good terms. She swallowed, thickly before continuing, “because I just thought it’d be fun... but I was clearly wrong. You work hard, Bernard, even if you don’t know the most basic names for tools,” She laughed, taking the toolbox from his hands. Bernard raised his eyebrows, a snarky laugh escaping his lips,

“Oh, so that’s how you wanna take a jab at me, huh? I was just stressed out, alright? Ask me any other time, I would’ve known them.” He replied, crossing his arms and she scoffed,

“Yeah, sure, Mr. I-can’t-tell-the-difference-between-a-screwdriver-and-a-hammer.”

Bernard threw his hands up in the air in defeat, knowing that this conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere because he was indeed in the wrong. As she walked off, Bernard suddenly realized that her head was missing the most important accessory and he called after her, silently admiring the way she turned around, swiftly.

“You left your hat, so I thought I’d give it back to you. You know, since your head might be cold. Not that- of course, not that your head looks like it’s frozen, your head looks great, you’ve got nice hair, yknow? I don’t know why I’m commenting on your hair that has nothing to do with it-”

“You like my hair?” She asked, grabbing the hat before placing it firmly on her hand. As he stood there in a flustered state of confusion, trying best to work around with his words, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek and Bernard was suddenly forced into silence, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red. She slowly backed away with a smile, happy that she managed to subtly let him know how she felt about him. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic thing as she was covered in grease and soot from the sleigh and usually Christmas meant a strong kiss underneath the mistletoe. But after 500 years of pining and yearning, this was enough and as she left, she noticed the way Bernard’s hand softly felt his cheek where her lips had just been a few seconds ago. 

Bernard stood there, a bright smile on his face. This Christmas was the best it had been in a very, very, very long time and as he laughed to himself in joy, he ran behind (Y/N),

“You think you could give me some extensive lessons about toolboxes, later? One on one?” He asked, chasing after her. She let out a hearty laugh as she started running, glancing back every so often,

“That’s enough shenanigans for this year, Bernard. Maybe next year,” She said, as she held onto his hand, taking him outside to enjoy the Christmas air and the warmth from the merry night.