#angst who?? idk her

[insignificant457]

There is a nebulous jordie lives au which lives entirely in my head in which jordie recovers from the plague while Kaz is still sick. He gets up to find them food and water only to return and discover Kaz is nowhere to be found. Still recovering from the fever, he searches the barrel for days before he finally sees Kaz wandering down the staves in a sort of fugue state, soaked to the bone with a haunted look in his eyes.

Kaz won’t tell him what happened, but jordie knows it’s bad because his baby brother flinches every time he touches him, and soon enough he’s started wearing gloves, even in the height of summer.

Soon, they discover kazs gift for cards, and it keeps them fed and clothed, if not much else. Kaz is angry at jordie for losing the money, refuses to let him make any decisions. Jordie is beholden to his angry traumatized little brother because he can’t deny that he failed them the first time around.

Kaz is offered a place in his pick of the gangs, but the only one willing to take both him and his tag along older brother is the dregs. Jordie dies a little bit inside when they join up, when they take the tattoo side by side, but he’s not sure they’ll survive another winter on the streets.

And the plot of SoC generally goes on from there. Jordie tags along on the ice court, he and Jesper test kazs patience at every turn, he’s constantly offering unsolicited annoying older brother advice about Inej.

This lends itself to a really interesting exploration of Kaz and jordies relationship, what holds brothers together in the face of incredible trauma, the skewed power dynamic of Kaz becoming the breadwinner for them both at the age of nine, etc etc. But mostly, this au is a vessel for the sailing of the ultimate crack ship, which is of course, jordie/alys Van Eck.

[mikayesha]

borgir gworl

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 4

Part 3

Eddie gets settled on his usual kitchen barstool and watches Nancy make a pot of coffee, which is great considering he showed up at the ass crack of dawn, too anxious to wait. Well, and a day early, but sue him, he missed her. 

Nancy and Jonathan’s house is just as cozy as he remembers, while also serving as a solid reminder he’s not the only successful Wheeler. Original hardwood floors complimented with arched entryways and wainscoting. Cream and sage fill the living space, dotted with drops of gold accents. Low, soft lighting illuminates every room with warmth. It’s clean and modern, yet comforting in a way The Harrington’s eggshell minimalism estate and his own dark industrial penthouse have always lacked. 

It’s quiet and domestic and everything he’s missed about having a home. The glow in his chest doesn’t outweigh the thread of tension thrumming through him, but it does ease slightly when she hands him coffee in his favorite Garfield mug.

They catch up for hours as she fills him in on everything he’s missed. Mom and Ted finally retired down to Clearwater after Holly moved out for college. Mike and Will’s adoption went through, after working on it for years– and jesus christ, he’s an uncle now. Will’s still publishing his YA fantasy graphic novels. Mike’s a happy house-husband now stay at home dad. 

El finally quit her shitty government research job and decided she’d rather work full-time at Argyle’s pizza shop learning the ins and outs of the business. She’s better suited for it, he thinks, she’s always loved being around people and working with her hands.

She tells him about her and Jon settling into their new posts at The Chicago Times. Nancy’s managed to make friends with people outside of the Politics department. Jon’s moved from photographing for tabloids to local events like concerts and festivals, currently out of town for the weekend at a festival in Rockford. She says he’s happier now, with a job more his speed, and Eddie has to agree. Although they apparently just missed each other last fall when he’d started the job only a month after Corroded Coffin’s concert at Wrigley.

As Nancy goes on, talking about the rest of the kids while they lounge around the house, moving from the kitchen, to the living room, to the snow covered balcony so he can smoke, he tries to listen– he does. But he’s close to snapping, forced to wait so long for answers. He needs to know everything that’s happened, and why she’s the one who has to tell him. Her and Steve dated in high-school almost ten years ago, and granted they stayed close, but she’s not Robin or Max. She’s one of the few people Eddie’s closest to, except for Dustin, who could easily give him more answers than Nancy probably could.

He’s spiralling. He’s biting his nails, picking his lips raw. His leg is bouncing erratically and the only thing that helps is pacing whatever room they’re in. Nancy’s still talking about Argyle’s newest pizza recipe when he finally breaks.

“Nancy, for fuck’s sake please just tell me what’s going on with Steve.” He reaches down for his smokes but his hand’s shaking, the pack gets caught on his pocket and falls to the ground. When he bends to pick them up, the lighter follows suit and bounces under the couch Nancy’s perched on. 

A manic laugh bubbles from the pit of his stomach as he drops to his knees. Eddie briefly wonders if he even wants answers or if he’s just punishing himself. He bends forward, letting his forehead rest against the hardwood floor, cool and grounding. 

Grabbing the smokes and lighter, he looks up to find Nancy’s eyebrows and nose all scrunched up, lips pursed. She’s looking at him exactly how he knew she would, full of pity and disappointment.

There’s something underneath the expression though that Eddie can’t quite pick out– anxiety, maybe. He wouldn’t have such a hard time reading her if he hadn’t been gone for almost a year. Another reminder added to the long list of his life-altering mistakes.

Eddie stands on unsteady legs, moving to the balcony for another smoke, with Nancy hot on his heels when there’s a knock on the front door. She shoots him an apologetic look, but he waves her off. He’s waited this long for answers, what’s another minute in misery.

When Eddie’s finished his smoke, he does his best to sneak back inside without being noticed. An unfamiliar voice calls him out.

“Oh, Nancy I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company!”

Eddie pokes his head around the corner to find Nancy standing next to a petite woman with dirty brown hair and thick platinum highlights, who’s dressed in an uncoordinated riot of colors and textures. Knee-high navy blue socks, tucked into tan polka dot flats, end just below the hem of her corduroy skirt. It’s a deep brown, matching the polka dots on her shoes, and the material’s so stiff it moves around her like a hoop skirt. She’s layered a puffy-sleeved periwinkle button up underneath a teal sweater vest.

It’s an odd assortment of colors, patterns, and textures that’s not quite artistic enough to be considered eclectic or interesting. Just bizarre and– if he’s being bitchy about it– a little boring. Eddie’s worn enough dramatic getups in his life, but beige isn’t doing this girl any favors.

The petite woman is blushing, eyebrow cocked in question, and Eddie realizes she’s been holding out her hand to him in greeting while he’s standing her silently judging her, like an asshole.

“Hi, you must be Nancy’s brother Eddie,” she says. Her voice is a light soprano, tonally off in an overly polite, customer service way. “I’m Becky.”

“Nice to meet you.” He finally manages to shake her hand, noticing they’re both wearing rings on each finger topped with chipped nail polish: his black and hers a sparkly baby blue. But while his rings are chunky and silver, hers are delicate gold bands stacked to varying thicknesses. “Umm how do you know Nance?”

“Oh, we met at work,” Becky says, smile widening. “Nancy’s told me all about you.”

“Hopefully just the good stuff.” Eddie tries for a joke, but her eyes tighten for the briefest moment.

“Yeah, she told me you were going to be back in town for a little while, I just thought you were coming tomorrow, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered you.” She glances toward Nancy, her smile straining further.

“No it’s alright, Nance and I were just catching up.” Nancy’s shuffling her feet, eyes darting between Becky, the floor, then Eddie, and back again. Becky is staring at her too, and Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen Nancy this anxious. She looks completely checked out of the conversation.

He’s always suspected she’s been a bit embarrassed by him. Throughout school, he was the loud obnoxious troublemaker, and Nancy the wholesome straight A student. Every new school year, Nancy spent the first few weeks convincing her teachers that no, she’s not like her brother at all, thank you. Eddie played it off when he could, and has most of his life. But to see it now, so plainly written on her face, hurts more than he expected.

“She said you’re in a rock band?” Becky asks, attempting to fill the silence left in the wake of Nancy’s awkwardness. “Very glamorous.”

It sounds slightly sarcastic, but Eddie’s not sure if he’s just feeling overly defensive. “Playing and songwriting are by far the best part. The rest is just missing out on what’s waiting at home.”

“Mmm, so that’s why you’re in town then? Missing Chicago?” She seems genuinely sympathetic, but he can’t help puffing up like an angry cat at the drip of pity hanging from her lips.

“More like the people,” Eddie snaps. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. God forbid he has a panic attack in front of the first person Nancy introduces him to when he comes home. He’d really be living up to the nightmare older brother stereotype Nancy’s dealt with her entire life.

“Well then,” Nancy interrupts, clapping her hands together loudly causing both Becky and Eddie to flinch. “Thanks for dropping off my laptop, Becky, I really appreciate it.”

“Umm, no problem, Nance.” Becky eyes her warily, but takes the cue. She turns to Eddie to say their goodbyes as Nancy sees her out.

He heads towards the kitchen to get dinner started for the two of them. It’s almost ten minutes by the time Nancy makes her way back and her entire demeanor’s changed. Her spine’s straight with shoulders back, head held high, eyes steeled with resolve. A classic Nancy Wheeler I’m going to tackle this problem head on attitude, except it’s directed at him. Which is seriously not great.

But instead of saying anything, she pulls out the same kitchen stool Eddie had been perched on earlier and plops herself down, all without breaking eye contact. He assumes she’s got something to say, he can spot a Nancy lecture coming a mile away.

Once again, anxiety’s filling out space in his chest as he finishes cooking. They sit in relative silence on the living room couch while they eat, and all he can do is wait. Eddie wants to hear what she has to say, he wants answers, but he’s dreading it all the same. She’s upset with him, which he can’t hold against her. He deserves all of his family’s rage. That doesn’t mean he’s necessarily looking forward to it.

“Ok, ask me,” she states, setting the empty bowl down on the coffee table, turning fully face him. Leaning against the the armrest, she pulls one knee up to her chest while sticking her other foot right in Eddie’s lap. He matches her position, grabbing her ankle and plopping his own foot down beside her, hoping the small amount of contact will keep him grounded.

“Ask you, what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Eddie,” she says, “the entire reason you’re in Chicago isn’t to catch up with Jonathan or Mike or me.” Nancy’s chest deflates with a sigh, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the fact that she’s right. He hates himself for it, one more way he’s disappointed her. “He’s completely offline, the kids don’t post about him even though half of them have you blocked anyways. I know you probably did as much digging as you could and even though you hired a fucking private investigator– jesus christ Eddie–”

“That was only to find out where he lived, I swear.”

She scoffs, “Like that makes it any better.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, lifting one hand from her ankle to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry, keep going. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s ok,” she says, squeezing his leg. The small gesture loosens some of the building tension, and he relaxes his shoulders.

“The point is, you probably don’t know anything about what’s happened with over the thirteen months you’ve been gone. But, I just thought, if you’re going around looking for answers, it’s probably best for everyone if they come from me.”

She looks away from him then to stare out the window next to them, and Eddie can’t help but follow her gaze. The sun has long since set, the only light coming from the end table lamps on either side of them, and the street light across the way. Dark winter nights always left Eddie feeling a little hollow, a chill even the warmest blankets couldn’t chase away. A feeling only Steve could ease out of him. 

When he looks back at Nancy, she’s already looking back like she can read his mind. Except she’s chewing on her bottom lip, and when he meets her eyes, she can’t hold his gaze.

“Nance,” he says, confused at the sinking of his stomach, “why is it best if it comes from you? No offense, but you’re not necessarily as close to him as Max or Lucas, and they seemed pretty clammed up when they came around. Especially when they mentioned the fiance.” Eddie chokes around the word. Swallows around the dry bitterness coating his throat.

She squeezes his ankle again, except this time it’s too tight, her nails digging little moons into his skin. Like whatever she has to say will send him running, because everyone knows he’s a coward, will disappear exactly the same as before. It’s how he knows he’s still the same person as before– undeserving of the people he loves most– when her next words send a small shock through his system.

“Because I’m the one who set them up, Eddie. And I’m not sorry.”

~~~

Part 5

Tag List: @5ammi90

[thelilylav]

The fact that Briar is listed as one of Rosabella's best friends in her profile but Briar's profile barely mentions her..

[little-pondhead]

man i'm on a roll tonight

DP x DC idea:

Bruce Wayne has somehow managed to become the unofficial guardian of at least two more kids. Maybe three. He's not sure yet. Various members of the Batfamily have made new friends recently and have been having them hang out at Wayne manor for extensive periods of time. Now only if he could actually meet the rascals face-to-face, maybe he could adopt them for real.

or

Danny, Elle, and Jazz have all made friends with different Wayne kids at different times from different places. Damian met Elle at school, Danny met Tim while working at a coffee shop, and Jazz met Cass outside the local theater. All three visit the manor separately, and no one communicates that they've befriended people from the same family. Eventually, however, their hangout sessions accidentally overlap and the Waynes have to deal with the excitement of three Fentons under a single roof.

Let's just say there's a reason the three of them live separately.

[tempestmothstorm]

Ok since Monika still has her admin powers in the side stories you think she could just discover them accidentally or use them without realizing

Anyways au where Monika and friends discover her admin powers but dont know about the wider context of what it means. So they just go around thinking Monika has magic and try practicing with a bunch of silly fun shenanigans because they figure it’s some chosen one bloodline stuff and not like. A product of their reality being a constricted digital science experiment.

This au will not end well

[cluescorner]

Little Bits I got from the hangout (Spoilers for Kaeya’s Hangout)

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

Things in parentheses are my own thoughts rather than canon stuff. 

- Kaeya is a very kind person at his core. Both to those he loves and total strangers. 

- So many people love Kaeya. From the staff at the Winery to the KoF to the citizenry of Mond to mild acquaintances to total strangers, Kaeya is truly loved by those around him. 

- The KoF are all co-parenting Klee together, though they disagree a bit on exactly HOW to parent her. 

- Kaeya is a great schemer but he TERRIBLE at coming up with fake names (Albert Rich...really?)

- Kaeya was a very shy child while Diluc was rambunctious. Diluc would get them into trouble and Kaeya would go along with whatever Diluc wanted. (I hope that we get a bit more of their dynamic when they were younger explored and that we see more of what Diluc did to be a good brother to Kaeya)

- The entire winery loves Kaeya. Not just Adelinde, not just Adelinde and Elzer. Everyone. They watched him grow up into the man he is today and they consider him a member of the family. 

- Adelinde has covered for Diluc and Kaeya’s antics in the past. (probably why she’s so adept at covering for Diluc’s darknight hero stuff.)

- Tunner knew that something bothered young Kaeya, that there was some sort of deep-rooted issue that it’s implied Kaeya never talked to them about. (If Tunner knew, it is very likely that others at the Winery knew that this kid had TRAUMA. My guess is that at some point somebody brought it up to Crepus, who had noticed something similar, and he then asked Kaeya about it. Whether Kaeya confessed at that point...IDK)

- Klee is the cutest thing to ever exist and she loves Kaeya so much (that is not opinion, it is fact). 

- Kaeya sometimes forgets which lie he has told to a person before and uses it twice. Diluc WILL call him out on this, before inevitably capitulating to whatever Kaeya asks. (Standard older sibling behavior, you put up a fuss but ultimately you will do literally anything to make them happy. It’s why I think Diluc is the older of the two, even if Kaeya also has many older sibling traits). 

- Kaeya got sick fairly often as a child, but has grown up to be healthier. Adelinde took good care of him whenever that happened. (Chronically ill Kaeya truthers rise up! Also, he was probably sickly because of a few factors: not having the immune system for Mond’s diseases, probably living in the Abyss, probably having malnutrition, he was abandoned in the MIDDLE OF A STORM, and because winters in Mond are harsh).

- Adelinde knows exactly how Kaeya likes his food.

- Adelinde cares a lot about how maids are supposed to behave, but only on the surface level. If Kaeya can word something correctly, she’ll happily capitulate. 

- Kaeya knows a lot about the winery business. (Supports my personal headcanon that Kaeya was supposed to take over the Winery’s business after Crepus’s death, but then the fight happened). 

- Kaeya loves to act and would consider doing it full-time. He is also apparently very good at it (wow shocker. Boy who was raised as a child-spy and is constantly lying is good at acting.)

- While onstage, Kaeya is allergic to subtlety. (I love this. 10/10, throw off the shackles of destiny and toss a prop into the audience). 

- Kaeya doesn’t like to bask in the glory of the good things he does, sneaking out just as songwriting preparations are getting good (Kaeya is also fairly shy at his core, but the persona he’s formed won’t allow for that). 

- Kaeya is known to be thoughtful and is a good gift-giver. 

- Venti wholeheartedly accepts Kaeya as a child of Mondstadt, considers him a friend, and wants to see him throw off the shackles fate placed upon him. (I actually liked Venti a lot this hangout. We get to see him be silly but also wise, understand how he feels about the whole ‘worshipping Barbatos’ thing, and watch him encourage the creativity of others. Plus, imo this hangout basically confirms that Venti 100% knows about Kaeya’s predicament and more than anything wants to see that Kaeya is happy and cared for in Mondstadt). 

- (Kaeya at least suspects that Venti is Barbatos. The way the english VA acted things was a little too pointed to seem like genuine lack of knowledge about Venti’s identity.)

- Barbara cares about family the most, to the point that she will suggest that over even the worship of Barbatos himself (this is unsurprising, but also very sad considering how rarely she and Jean get to interact as sisters). 

- Diona will sing hymns about fish-related foods and Venti 100% supports singing about that over Barbatos (also unsurprising). 

- Diluc CAN AND WILL kill anyone who harasses his staff (somebody please draw fanart of Diluc fucking bumrushing poor Captain Wu to defend the maids, the image is simultaneously sweet and HILARIOUS). 

[cloudysarts]

imagine if the federation tried to make a phoenix with birdperson's daughter wouldn't that be fucked up hahaha < insane

like father like daughter.

(pr0/c0mship dni)

[ghostdrinkssoup]

thinking about how abigail only has one real double in the show. sure she has the other dead girls, but they’re just copies of her. fakes. they weren’t real in the eyes of her father. they’re so hollow we don’t know anything about them other than their likeness to abigail, and abigail foils no one else. except one other girl: mischa. hannibal’s golden ticket. the only girl that really matters. the girl will has to chase the ghost of because he desperately wants to understand hannibal, and he knows this is the only way he can, so he visits his ancestral home and finds chiyoh. because ultimately abigail wasn’t the girl all the other girls were mirroring, at least not from a narrative point of view. to hannibal, her new father, she was just another copy of a girl who died a long time ago and could never really replace

[itsdappleagain]

greetings carmen sandiego angst/whump lovers. carmen art be upon ye

[hazbinhappy]

does no one ever wonder about like the children and family members of sinners? like i do A LOT

[sodafrog13]

younger butch (idiot)/older femme (into that) is like S tier combo to me

also some little things that i liked + alt sweetheart thoughts under the cut:

[mangotelevision]

In my diaries rewrite Katelyn and Lucinda's stories are tied to each other a little more, and it's something that as an audience we can see and understand but the characters fail to recognize until the very last possible moments.

I'm rewatching diaries rn so I might come back to this if it conflicts with preexisting lore from the later seasons.

- rewrite under cut because it's long sorry

In my heart I want Katelyn to get the menphia relic but I know logically it's fucking Lucinda's so in my rewrite I'm trying to sort of make it both?? Because I can't let go of Katelyn with the relic- menphia was literally based off of and designed from Katelyn so like I want her to have the relic so bad 😔

So Lucinda has the relic by blood, she's a descendant of menphia and it's not that distant because her mother is hyria who (in my rewrite) is menphias daughter. It's the whole reason why hyria and Irene have their little bonding thing because hyria is like the last thing she has left of the divine warriors.

But Katelyn was made for the relic. Elizabeth is in my rewrite because she's too interesting of a character to leave out ngl. So Elizabeth was trained by Hyria, she's a witch and a powerful one and was a student under the daughter of a divine. It was assumed she was going to be gifted the relic once her training was complete, because Hyria already said she didn't want it, relics only brought trouble. But Elizabeth was getting caught up in the wrong crowds, learning magic hyria refused to teach her from other sources (the demon warlock), and Elizabeth is very much a "magic doesn't have morality" kind of person. Hyria refused to give her the relic it was a whole thing- big fight it was crazy, ended with the demon warlock banished and Elizabeth basically in magic jail by the elves for a long ass time because they deemed her too dangerous to be kept free.

Eventually she gets out because of course she does, I haven't decided if I want Zoey to be involved with this or not because I like the idea of the reason she got exiled in the first place being the fact that she played a part in Elizabeth being set free but I have to play around with that idea a little more. Something that ties back to her barrier magic and her displeasure of using it.

Elizabeth is free and she's like well if I can't get the relic I'll make someone that can. So she finds Eric who's from tu'la and has fire magic given to him from wyverns, the same type as menphias magic (it's the whole reason he's a good black smith he's basically fireproof) and whatever other box he checked and just has a like six kids with him because one of them has got to have both of their magic. And Katelyn does! So she trains her to be a relic wielder, just trains the fuck out of her until the elves catch wind of it and Elizabeth basically bails and Katelyn gets sent to Okhasis to fill the role of Juror by Zane, he needs those knowledgeable in relics, she is useful, she is a weapon after all.

Katelyn was created to fill a role, she's the perfect vessel of a divine and yet the relic will always pick the blood relation. The relic will always go to Lucinda.

[spicyicymeloncat]

You ever think about how whenever you hit a female character with the “buff, smartass, takes no shit, is never vulnerable” gun you might accidentally be reinventing the “tough guys don’t cry” mentality which is part of the reason why men have shorter lifespans than women.

Being vulnerable isn’t inherently female but you’re hating it for misogynistic reasons anyways and it helps no one on the gender spectrum.

[mordremrose]

“I’m not him.” The words were choked, strangled even. Caithe set aside the journal she was writing in, and turned to see Bloom. “Who?” She asked, even if she already knew who he was talking about. “Trahearne.” Bloom muttered, his massive form slowly shuffling forward. “I’m not- I tried, but I can’t—“ He paused and a low rumble rattled the lower portion of his strange form, the plates of bark rising in agitation. His tail lashed and his hands dragged over his face. His palms caught on the spines along half his face and he winced. “I know you all see him. In me. You want me to be him.” Bloom seemed to deflate, sinking down to the ground. All of his limbs folded inwards, curling around his torso and Caithe swore she saw him tremble. “But I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry—“ “Bloom.” Caithe spoke gently, standing up and coming closer. His eyes were squeezed closed, she noted. He didn’t open them to look at her, until she reached out and laid her palm on his massive front limb— paw? She still wasn’t sure. “Bloom. Look at me. Please?” She repeated, gently as she could manage. Caithe was not a woman well versed in being a comforting figure, in being someone who offered their shoulder to one in need. But Bloom needed her. He chose to come to her, about this. She could only imagine the courage it must’ve taken him to trust her with this, after everything. Slowly, Bloom opened his eyes and leaned down, so his massive head was closer to her. He still curled his arms in around himself, clawed fingers making grooves in the thicker bark along his arms. Now Caithe could see the tears welling up in his golden eyes, and her heart ached. She could see her brother in his face, or perhaps she merely imagined she could. But his eyes, glowing amber in a way that made part of her mind want to vanish and hide away from his gaze... that was not Trahearne. And it never would be. “I’m sorry, Bloom.” She murmured, stepping towards his face. “For making you believe you had to be him.” Caithe hesitated before she reached out, gentle as she wiped away the tears at the corners of his bad eye. It was a little easier for her to avoid the massive thorns along his cheek and jaw, she told herself, but Bloom leaned into her touch and she knew it wasn’t that simple. “It is cruel, to expect you to be a man you have never met.” Caithe muttered. “You cannot choose to be someone you are not.” Briefly, unexpectedly, a memory surged in her mind- a memory of Trahearne saying something similar to her once, years ago.

“You are not as cruel as you pretend to be Caithe. I think we both know that.” He said, his voice calm but sad. Caithe pretended to ignore him. “…I miss Wynne too, you know. And Riannoc as well. It is okay to mourn, Caithe.” “I don’t need a lecture, Trahearne.” “I am not here to lecture you.” Trahearne’s hand came to rest on her hand, steadying her grip on the vial of poison she was preparing. “Aife told me about Faolain leaving the Grove. I promise you, Caithe, you are not alone. You do not have to harden your heart. You do not have to be someone you are not.”

She had yanked her hand away from him back then, snarled something about not needing him to tell her who she was, and stormed off, not ready to confront her feelings, never mind share them. Caithe took a deep breath, letting her hand simply rest against Bloom’s cheek. “You do not have to be someone you are not, Bloom. Just because you do not know who that is yet, does not mean that you have to pretend.” She said, meeting his eyes. “I am sorry, Bloom, truly, that we… that our expectations—“ She shook her head. “We have made you feel this way. It isn’t fair to you. And for that, I can only offer my apologies, and try to do better.” Caithe hesitated. This was where her knowledge faltered. Was this when she offered a comforting hug? Could she hug Bloom? His size certainly made it questionable, and the pain he has described to Taimi made her wonder if a hug would even feel pleasant in his situation, or if it would just be another reminder of how out of place he was among the rest of Dragon’s Watch. Between Bloom and the Commander... she had a life time of apologies ahead of her, and not the kind that hugs would be enough to bridge the gap. “Caithe.” Bloom muttered, and even though he spoke quietly, she could still feel the depth of his voice in her chest while standing this close. “Yes?” “Thank you.”

[bittermuire]

Be the first who ever did - 2

more unhappily married nessian for the people!!!!!!

read the first part here :)

-

The only word to describe how she feels now is naked.

Cassian holds her hand as they walk through the onslaught of cameras. He doesn’t speak and she doesn’t speak but she feels his mind roiling, a perverse, innate movement inside her chest. He wants to talk to her, she knows that much—he wants to talk it out, let’s talk it out, Nesta, but after last night and I just wish that you could really love me, she’s said enough. He won’t be getting a word out of her.

The second they get into the restaurant she pulls away, makes for Elain’s figure in the corner. Cassian lets go of her. Cresseida snatches her attention halfway there with a fierce hug. “Hi,” Nesta says, voice still a bit hoarse, genuinely glad to see her. Thin, elegant pins sparkle in her snow-white hair. “Congratulations. You look gorgeous. Where’s Alastair?”

Cresseida grins and squeezes her hand. “I lost him fifteen minutes ago, I think Tarquin grabbed him. Oh well. I’ll have him all to myself for two weeks.”

“Ahh, the honeymoon I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“The honeymoon you’ve been hearing so much about!” she laughs, and takes a deep breath. “Truth be told, I’m so ready for this whole thing to be over. The wedding, the parties…” she shakes her head, eyes still elegant and present with appropriate mirth. “Velaris is exhausting sometimes.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Elain joins them, pressing a kiss to Nesta’s cheek and then to the bride-to-be’s. “Hi beautiful, how are you?”

Cresseida smiles. “Ready to be tipsy.”

“Allow me,” she says, and with a wink dives into the crowd, cutting a line straight through to the bar. She emerges in record time with three flutes of champagne.

Nesta gives a startled laugh and takes one. “You’re magic.”

“Cauldron-blessed.”

“I’m being summoned,” Cresseida says wryly, and gestures to her tall, handsome brother, standing on the other side of the room. Alastair and a short, dark-haired woman are with him.

Then, Mother help them, Feyre materializes out of nowhere in a silver sparkly dress that leaves scandalously little to the imagination and looks, admittedly, stunning on her. “Oh my god, I have to tell you guys something. Fucking Azriel, of all people, has a girlfriend—” She stops and frowns, staring at Tarquin, a bit flushed. “Who’s that girl? With Tarquin.”

“Oh, that’s Nuan,” Cresseida tells her. “She works in Thesan’s court.”

“They’re dating?”

Cresseida nods and takes another sip of champagne. “For the last couple months, yeah. I really like her. I think he does too.”

There was a period of time before Rhysand, after Tamlin, when Feyre’s attention was caught utterly and incandescently on Tarquin. He was younger, much more her speed. He seemed to intrigue her and kept her guessing. With an energetic mind as quick and eager as a butterfly, Feyre inexhaustibly grew bored and he was good for her. Nesta doesn’t know the extent of that relationship. She only ever met him briefly.

Then this, too, was severed almost violently by the bond with Rhysand clicking into place. Tamlin had been nobody; Tarquin become nobody too. Rhysand was everything the moment they met. Rhysand is her entire world, the love of her life, her beloved mate.

And yet, Feyre watches the girl—Nuan—with cold, exacting eyes. That ferocity she bundled deep inside herself, that intensity she conquered within herself to belong—Nesta watches it emerge, watches her little sister, ruddy and tough, almost, nearly—

“I’ll see you guys later,” says Cressieda, waving at the brink of the crowd. “Get drunk without me!”

Nesta smiles and turns away as well, entirely without the patience necessary to entertain Feyre’s company tonight. Elain follows her and links their arms together. She doesn’t feel like speaking. This is something her sister seems to understand as they go to a smaller table in the corner of the vast, loud restaurant. They position their chairs close together to face the rest of the room; to guard their backs, to observe the crowd, both, neither; Nesta’s head is pounding with a worry that isn’t her own, a sick cold spreading through her veins. Her eyes fall inevitably on Cassian. He’s standing with his beloved brothers, hands in his pockets, laughing. He’s so beautiful it pains her. He smiles like it isn’t painful.

He looks at her, then. Sees her already looking. Across the room his smile drops, his eyes soften, his brows pull together. He makes as if to come to her.

She looks down, looks away.

.

By midnight the guests have dwindled to a generous twenty. Nesta twirls her wine glass. On the abandoned dance floor, Alastair holds Cresseida with blinding love as they sway. Elain is talking animatedly with the bartender. Feyre is nowhere to be found—come to think of it, neither is Rhys. She can see half of Azriel through the back door propped open, talking on the phone, crouching on the concrete with a cigarette. It glows red.

And Cassian, silent, a palpable presence in her body, stands as he has been on the other side of the restaurant, talking with Tarquin and the girl, Nuan. He leans against the wood of the bar and gesticulates gracefully as he speaks. His mouth moves in that beautiful way; she can almost hear his voice, low, even, steady.

Maybe she’s tired. Maybe the dam broke last night and now the world is ending. But her heart burns and her eyes burn, too, tears threatening to well up and fall. She drops her head, panicked and sad, tired of being sad. She went three years without shedding so much as a tear—she can last this night.

Her chest twinges; she looks up to see Cassian walking towards her. Alarm jolts within her, joins arms with squeezing pain, derelict, real.

She went to the doctor, once, when the bond had only recently snapped. She was experiencing chest pains, heart palpitations, headaches. Her blood was hot. Her body was cold. There was something inside of her that she had to get out, somehow. She’d sit on the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet, fingers down her throat, trying to eject the pain.

He holds his hand out to her. “Will you dance with me?”

Wordless, she goes with him.

He holds her in the classic style. This is what she learned in her mother’s sitting room. Now, gratefully, that most of the party has gone, the music can be heard. It lingers softly in the air—cello, violin, solemn like a dream already being forgotten. She’s tall, but he’s taller. With a sigh she rests her head on his shoulder. He tenses.

He softens, and pulls her closer.

“Nesta,” he murmurs. His fingers twitch on the small of her back. “Can we talk about last night?”

She huffs a laugh. “No.”

“We’ve got to talk at some point.”

“Talk with yourself. I’m done.”

His hand moves hesitantly to her upper back, where her skin is bare, fingers skimming soft and cautious. “There are things I need to tell you.”

“You’ve had three years, Cassian,” she says lowly. Like always, he startles at the sound of his name. “It’s too late for either of us to make an effort.”

His chest swells and she knows he’s about to make some clipping remark, a towel over her mouth. She braces herself for it. It doesn’t come. His hand slides down again to the small of her back, although the heat of his skin still manages to seep through the fabric.

“Tell me what you want,” is all he says.

What does she want?

Does she want anything?

She used to want love, more than love she wanted happiness, more than happiness she wanted stability. She’s been given a husband, a house, a city in which she can live at the sparkling epicenter; she’s been given money, status, sway; she’s been told, we’ve found a man to love you, we’ve filled your bank account, we’ve picked out clothes for your closet, she’s been told, in words and glances and silences and taut, fierce, ordering voices, there’s no reason for you to be sad now. Is there anything worse than what she is? The oldest sister, unfailingly terrible? A disappointment, too stubborn to give in. She used to wonder—perhaps she’d be happier if she let Feyre reign. Soften to be made again. So, out of tiredness, she took Cassian, accepted him into her body.

So she sheltered his heart. Her lungs stretched to fit his breath as well as her own. Souls, entwined, struggling for room. So he sheltered her.

Hand-in-hand they go together, to parties, to galas, to luncheons, to surprise interventions followed swiftly by tea and pastries. They have sex on regular intervals and it’s fine. He isn’t gentle but he isn’t hard. She can extricate, easily, pleasure from him. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever like it, if pleasure is something her body knows. All she feels is the heat of him on her skin and beneath it as well, his languorous passion, bitter and gratifying, in her mind, in her hands, in her soul, if such a thing exists.

And so he holds her in a dim restaurant and says, Tell me what you want. Says it as though she could be expected to answer.

She lifts her head and looks at him. His eyes flit vigilantly over her face.

“I want,” she says, “a bottle of the wine served tonight.”

To his credit he doesn’t look angry or surprised. He nods stiffly. “I’ll arrange it,” he says.

She pulls against his grasp and he lets her go.

.

Late that night they’re lying in bed. She can tell he’s awake. She’s lying on her side, facing away from him.

“Cassian,” she whispers. Her voice sounds soft even to her in the darkness.

A small pause.

“Yeah?”

“You have to understand, it’s…”

Another pause, heavy with expectation.

“You can tell me.”

She blinks. There’s nothing for it. All that anger, it’s as though it’s now been replaced by a screaming urge to be understood. She pulls the sheets closer around her.

“I used to like you. I had a crush. You were a storybook character to me, a prince from a fairytale.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “And you were—gentle, with me. You were kind and I hated everyone and I wanted you to like me back. I knew you wanted to sleep with me, but I ignored that, I think.”

“Nesta, I—”

“Then the bond happened,” she tells him. “It’s different for men. You have… urges. You walk around getting horny and overprotective. For me I thought I was dying. The only guy I ever really liked was now practically inside me. And you went on living your life.” She shakes her head, swallows. “I lost you. You might have liked me. I knew you’d never love me. I thought, I’ll grin and bear it. At least I’ll live comfortably. I won’t have to work. Well, anyway.” She closes her eyes. Her voice pitches up, the tell that she's about to cry. “There’s nothing I want anymore. I don’t know what I want.”

The sheets rustle, the mattress dips. She feels him closer to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You were in my head,” she hisses, feeling stupid.

“You kept me out,” he says lowly. “And besides. No matter what Rhys tells you, minds are indecipherable. I could submerge myself in your head and not understand a thing. I’ve only ever felt shadows of impressions of feelings from you.”

She frowns and takes a breath. “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does Feyre go through my head?”

There’s a brief, menacing silence.

“What did you say?”

“Periodically, Feyre goes through my head. To check if I’m hurting myself or plotting treason, is what I’ve always guessed.”

“And you agreed to this?”

She laughs dryly. “I haven’t agreed to a lot of things.”

“Do you let her in? How does she do it?”

“She’s my little sister. She’s clumsy at loving people. A family trait. I crack open a door in the corner and she very stealthily sneaks through.” Nesta smiles, despising herself. “Like a gyn appointment but worse. At least you make an appointment for those.”

Then, blessed Mother, she starts crying again, as predictable and irrepressible as an infant screaming for food, for love, for warmth. It’s quiet this time. No shaking, horrible sobs, only salt and water leaking from her eyes, making the darkness blurry.

“Nesta,” he says softly, which, of course, only makes it worse.

She rolls onto her back, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Oh, god,” she laughs. “Oh, god help me. I’m so tired. Maybe I’m still sick.”

“Then let’s sleep,” he says, hesitantly. “I’m sorry, this is a conversation for tomorrow. Want me to go to the guest room?”

She can’t find the words and covers her face with her arms. When she was little her mother didn’t like her to get her hair cut short. Shining hair swirling thick and smooth down her child’s body. She used to grab it in her hands and cover her face with it, like within her flower-smelling hair she could disappear; she would slip between the hanging laundry sheets of the world and no one would find her, not a soul.

With placid fingers he eases her arms away. She opens her eyes to see him above her, blurry and reliably beautiful. She wants to lose her memory. To start over in this bed.

Brow furrowed, he brushes her hair back from her face, painstaking and gentle. She looks at him all the while, examines his face. Such calmness. Dark eyes, darker lashes. His mouth is turned down. How many times has she kissed that mouth, felt its heat?

He bends and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, breath fanning warm over her skin.

She takes a shaky breath. “I have a cellphone,” she whispers. “I have a college degree in literature.”

“I know.”

“A mate bond is a myth, Cassian.”

His mouth tenses. “I know.”

“I’ll always hate you.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I love you. I mean it.”

She swallows. “Sleep here tonight.”

“Alright.”

She rolls back onto her side. She wonders drowsily where she went, where her anger and horror and bitterness went. Sometimes she thinks she feels it in her throat or her stomach; the reaction is split and swift; kill it, kill it, kill it; clutch it tight, Nesta, never let it go.

Sleep gathers her like a child gathers a stray bird’s feather into her basket.

-

they're so bad at communicating it makes me laugh and also cry