#any excuse to share something from my gallery folder on my phone that is just. chock full of tl images ...

[pineappical]

I’m literally in love with the way you draw Ted. He’s so babygirl he’s soooo middle aged I love him so much. I’m gay

hes SOOOO babygirl <33 thank u anon i too am gay as all hell.. look at this image i have of him im obsessed ❤️❤️

[overnowsfcb]

halfway out the door; fermín lópez

summary: fighting to keep a little flame alive underwater, you couldn't lose the only stable thing in your life

warnings: ANGST!!! (no good ending) mature language, mental health issues (panic attack, anxiety, emotional distress), relationship struggles, unhealthy dinamics, brief mention of smut themes. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 3,3k

note: hiii! it's me again, this time posting for my sweet boy (who is not as sweet in this story) fermín. im planning to do something with all the 1989 vault tracks x barça players. so take it as the first from the series!! also, apologies if the angst hits hard, promise to post fluff next time (its a bit of challenge for me haha) super excited about this and would love to hear your thoughts or suggestions! – venus 🫂💐🫧 p.s.: im so proud of this one tbh

He didn’t seem to have enough time for you anymore. You didn’t want to see the subtle twist, but you knew him all too well and an imperceptible change for everyone was an imposing earthquake in your world.

It was in the hours that your messages would be waiting for a response and the way he wasn’t starved to taste your lips anymore. Once, he’d find an excuse to be with you, even if only for brief minutes. He’d dash to your apartment bearing your favorite chocolate with the pretext of keeping you fed. A smile brightening and your stomach still produced the same fluttering butterflies, as the first time he kissed you underneath the moonlight at fourteen.

Back then, everything was perfect, the chill air in your faces as you ran with sand getting between your toes, you could still feel his timid hands and tender touch on your waist as you both shared a breathtaking kiss.

Your mother's words echoed - relationships don't last forever. You'd always dismissed her musings, attributing them to the bitterness stemming from your father's departure. But now, that thought held a glimmer of truth.

He was your soulmate, your solid backbone, he would hold the candles for you even if his arm grew weary, drawing strength from unimaginable places. Unseen pictures would fill his phone, capturing your candid moments, proudly setting you as his lock screen. One cherished memory stood out: a photo of you, pajama-clad, returning from a late-night ice cream run, a victorious smile on your face. You had lost a bet that day, darting to the store at 1 AM, just a street away from your building.

However, now everything appeared to be falling apart; the last picture in his gallery folder, titled 'I love, mine, mine, mine,' dated back to July, and it was already November. It contrasted the warmth of July with the chilling absence of recent affection.

Yearning for something to blame, tears seemed futile as memories replayed relentlessly, etched deep within your heart. Each sob felt like a painful reminder of the emptiness in the cold, desolate bed without him by your side. Staring at it blankly, your mind echoed the silent void, your chest tightening with every expelled breath.

Sleeping alone always felt unbearable. You reached for your phone, gazing at the lock screen displaying a snapshot of both of you in a summer pool. His outings with friends never bothered you; you accepted that he was now part of Barcelona's first team, and you weren't his priority. However, deep down, a simple goodnight message like "Sweet dreams, Pip, I love you" was all you silently longed for. Was it too much to ask from someone who claimed to love you?

The absence weighed heavily as you saw the clock strike 4 AM. This hour always induced a sense of dread, a time too late to sleep, opening the gates to wandering thoughts about life's choices. Moving to Barcelona for him might have been a hasty decision.

In Sevilla, there wasn't much to lose. Your little town overwhelmed you, especially under the weight of your living nightmare, your mother and her pursuit of perfection. That was until she married your toddler brother’s father, her focus shifted almost forgetting about your existence.

He was your escape from that suffocating environment. Initially, it felt liberating, but gradually, it became confining again. The cage expanded as you became his pillar while his name was in everyone’s mouth, especially girls who found him attractive. The weight of being his support, witnessing the attention he received, caused an internal storm. But he wouldn’t change you, right? Yet, the conflict brewed within, the tug-of-war between being the support he needed and holding onto your own identity.

You grew tired of waiting for him, tossing and turning in bed for ten minutes, before finally succumbing to sleep, cocooned in blankets to ward off the cold.

Abruptly opening your eyes, hours later, your body spasmed and your heart raced, reflecting the recent struggles with sleep these days. Observing to your side, relief washed over you; he lay there peacefully, an arm draped over your waist.

Tears welled in your eyes, a sense of loss filling your chest. Deeply in love, you realized your first waking thought was about him, albeit taking a negative turn.

What if I lose him? What if I lost the lighthouse in the middle of the sea? The uncertainty of the waters and the potential fall weighed heavily.

You wanted to get back to those times when you smiled as you landed your eyes, his body next to you, where blonde strands of messy hair framed his face and you delicately organized them while you talked and kissed every morning, staying in bed like an old married couple, feeling each other's warmth, laughter used to fill the air as he playfully booped your nose.

The weight of invisible hands squeezed your chest, making each breath a desperate gasp for air.

You didn't want to feel this anxiety; your breath became erratic. Rushing to the terrace, you breathed as if your mind forewarned a trailer of what has to be.

Struggling to regain control, your hands tightened on the cold railing, a reminder of the grounding reality you struggled to grasp.

Peering down, the height induced paralysis, intensifying your vertigo. "y/n, estás bien?" (are you okay?) His concerned voice, muffled and distant, struggled to penetrate the thick fog of panic, fear rooted you in place, afraid the floor would fall through if you made a step.

"Amor, háblame." (darling, talk to me) He approached, unsure. This panic attack was the first in years. His hand on your shoulder offered reassurance like an anchor, and you emerged from the state, meeting his gaze with your tear-stained eyes; he was still your gentleman. He was still yours.

And you needed to repeat it to stave off madness.

"Abrázame," (hug me) you whispered in a fragile plea. His arms enveloped you, he was the refuge that you needed; his familiar scent eased your breathing.

His head on yours, he sought to share his heartbeat, attempting to quell the sudden anxiety and the questions that haunted your mind. His furrowed brows hinted at his confusion, but conversation could wait. For now, it was about you. The one who never failed him; he couldn't fail you now.

When your body distended completely, he gently guided you back to bed. You clung to him, as if he could run away at any moment.

You walked to your side of the bed and he tucked you in like no one ever did before, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead, an attempt to dissipate the negativity.

“What time is it?” you inquired, looking up at him.

“Six a.m., sleep. ok?” He stroked your head, and your eyes closed under the weight of fatigue. “I love you so much.”

Days passed after the incident. He chose not to ask more about the reason behind your anxiety, he decided to act as if everything was fine.

This didn't imply he lacked concern for you, but it certainly felt that way. His demeanor towards you was still unchanged.

Feelings unaddressed hung in the air, manifesting in the cold kisses and the superficial small talk that never deepened. But, in front of everyone, you maintained the façade, accepting compliments from everyone about your seemingly perfect relationship. Only if they knew the underlying truth…

Yet, you personally sensed his gradual withdrawal, a palpable feeling of him slipping through your fingers. The strain became evident as you found yourself having to repeat things that were important to you at least three times, only for him to continually forget. Or the lackluster pecks he gave you, making you feel pathetic.

Although feeling unwanted, you weren't a resentful person, so you would religiously sit in the stands at every game and witness how he gained fan's hearts with outstanding performances on the pitch, earning the title of man of one of the champions league matches and you loved how the stadium echoed his name as he made an incredible goal.

You found joy in his happiness, doing his thing with the team of his dreams. In that moment, your mind transported into a different time – those moments when you stood by his side, offering comfort during his moments of self-doubt, back when he believed his dreams would forever be just that – dreams.

His satisfaction meant the world to you. Meeting him as he emerged from the dressing room, already showered, you couldn't help but admire how his wet hair framed his face.

A big smile adorned his face as he approached you. Opening your arms, your bodies collided as he effortlessly lifted you spinning around, creating a whirlwind of laughter that filled the air.

Once he gently set you down, you couldn't contain your pride. Cupping his cheeks, you locked eyes with him. The sense of accomplishment and joy was overwhelming. Your lips met his in a deep, meaningful kiss – one that hadn't been shared in weeks, but in that moment, it felt like the perfect reunion.

You believed this moment marked a fresh start, a much-needed rejuvenation to propel you forward. That optimistic outlook, however, disintegrated after he bid you farewell at your apartment, scrolling through TikTok on your couch, a video of his post-match interview caught your eye, and an involuntary smile crept onto your face.

His voice echoed through the video, captivating in its beauty. The interviewer's final question lingered in the air, "Who are you going to celebrate this with?" Anticipating a mention of teammates, family, and you, you were bewildered as the final words left his mouth – your name conspicuously absent.

And in that instant, the realization struck: he hadn't kept his promise to do a heart gesture to include you in his celebration either. But you decided to let it slide; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins that caused him to forget, and you were willing to overlook it.

You turned on the TV to avoid your thoughts. He no longer watched movies with you, and lately, the time you spent together felt like his phone held more allure than anything you did to catch his attention.

Without even mentioning that he wasn't fucking you lately, offering excuses of exhaustion from training or unexpectedly halting any progress when things got heated and leaving your folds wet.

But still, your mouth stayed shut, justifying every action. What you didn't know is that only one drop was missing in the glass before it overflowed – the last straw.

And eventually, the bomb exploded in the least suitable scenario. You stood by his side, his arm around your waist, desperately wanting to take his hand out and shout your feelings in front of everyone.

You didn't want to be there; you longed to be at home with your fluffy cat, who offered more comfort than Fermín did in these past months.

He was so smooth about it, engrossed in the conversation with his friends, seemingly oblivious to your distress. You whispered in his ear that you needed to get home, you weren’t feeling at your best, the strobe lights blinding you, the music pulsating louder than your heartbeat. It felt like water was reaching your nose, and you feared you'd stop breathing any moment.

Yet, you stayed, like a naive girl striving to make everything perfect for her lovely gentleman. But was still that gentleman who put you above all else?

The voices and laughter from his friends overwhelmed you. While you genuinely liked them and had never encountered an issue before, this night seemed a challenge you couldn't survive.

Your gaze darted around, hoping for a savior amid the sea of faces. But there was no one.

The air seemed to get thinner, and your chest constricted, as if locked in a slowly tight embrace. The blue dress discomforting your skin, felt like an additional layer of confinement, fantasizing to shed not only the fabric but also the skin beneath.

It was as if transparent walls were materializing around you, and this was the moment to escape a place to which you didn't belong, feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece, you watched him again with pleading eyes, silently urging him to notice you.

“Fer, really, I need to go home.” You whispered, careful not to let his friends overhear. He scanned your gestures, it took him a few seconds to realize that something about you was off. You wish he had seen it earlier.

Everything he did was later than you needed it, when he did the things, you have already fixed yourself into the uncomfortable.

“Okay, let's go.” He nodded and he finally took out his hand off your waist, allowing a momentary exhale. Greetings were exchanged with his friends and you reciprocated, not wanting to show an impolite image.

Almost running, your feet propelled you outside of the disco, pushing people out of your way, without waiting for Fermín.

The doors swung shut behind you, plunging the abrupt silence upon your ears. Relief washed over you.

Closing your eyes, you took deep breaths. You needed to hold yourself like the grown woman you were and not cry. As the doors swung open and closed again, you turned to find Fermín, a frown etched across his face.

“Why didn't you wait for me?” his voice held a trace of anger, making you shiver. Realizing the street wasn't the place for such a conversation, you began walking towards the car, your feet aching from the high heels worn that night.

He hurried to catch up, the tension palpable. When the car alarm reached your ears, signaling it was unlocked, you opened the door and entered as quickly as you could.

Sitting there, attempting to adjust to sudden silence, you sensed his presence beside you.

Leaning back into the headrest, you brought your hands on your face.

He started talking again. “What's going on you?” you hesitated to face him, reluctant to confront those expressive brown eyes you memorized like the back of your hand.

As he insisted again to hear a response, anger got to your head. Without warning, you exploded, all the carefully restrained words meant to preserve your relationship pouring into a torrent.

“I'm just so damn exhausted! I feel like I'm invisible. I ache to be seen, to matter in your eyes again. I’ve been here, baring my soul, and it feels like you're a million miles away.” Your scream echoed, tears smudging your makeup. You saw the weight of his actions settling on him as his eyes reflected comprehension. A sob escaped your lips, he stood frozen. “I'm just asking you to hear me, to truly see me, and realize that I'm shattering inside because I've already fought too much alone for the person who I thought I would marry.”

He shook his head, a boy who had always the right words now seemed that they left their mind, leaving him defenseless. A hesitant pause filled the car.

Lips parted, but the sentences seemed to dissipate before finding form. It was as if they were navigating a maze of thoughts, searching for the right words to offer comfort or understanding, yet coming up empty-handed.

You got tired of waiting, you've been doing it for such a long time, you almost felt old. But if he just opened his mouth, you knew you would forgive him. “Let's go home.” You whispered, disappointed about a man who you were calling the love of your life.

He gripped the steering wheel and hit the road. Memories flooded back of the anecdotes shared in that white car, now slipping through your fingers like ash.

You pondered the absence of rain, almost expecting the heavens to open up. Wasn't it obligatory for the sky to weep when something magical began succumbing to rationalism?

When you arrived at the house, he finally was able to speak. “I'm so sorry for everything that I caused you.” He didn't know if physical contact would be well received from you. So he gripped even more the steering wheel, needing to make something with his hands, getting out the tension.

“What happened to us, Fer?” your heart-wrenching question hitting him. You were already talking in past tense.

There wasn't an exit for this situation, and he knew that. He wished he could build a time travel machine and make everything alright, fix the first mistake that led to this big snow ball that was making an avalanche. “I-I don't know.”

“I think I'm coming back to Sevilla.” you confessed, stepping out of the car. Your headache due to the tears that you've been letting out and your eyes were puffy.

As you stood outside the car, the quiet suburban street provided a bleak contrast to the storm raging within your emotions.

Fermín, still gripping the steering wheel, searched for words that could somehow mend the gashes that had formed between you two. The realization of the inevitable distance settled on him like a heavy cloak.

“I never meant for it to come to this,” he finally uttered, voice heavy with remorse. “I let things slip away, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

You, caught between the pain and the need for resolution, gazed at him with a mixture of sorrow and longing. The familiar surroundings of the neighborhood seemed to transform into a backdrop for the end of something significant. You already knew you were never coming back here.

In the distance, a streetlamp flickered, casting intermittent shadows on the pavement. You took a deep breath, the chill in the air stinging your lungs, and said, “Sometimes, we have to go back to move forward.”

His eyes, filled with regret, met yours. “Is there anything I can do to make things right?”

But the answer remained unsaid, it wouldn't be fair to give him instructions and keep rowing and carrying him while he was just there. Wounds were already too deep and your energy was drained.

You turned away, the distance between Sevilla and this quiet street growing smaller in comparison to the emotional gap that now separated you two.

The door creaked shut, marking the end of a chapter that perhaps, in the unfathomable depths of your heart you didn't want to admit that you anticipated it.

In the solitude of your apartment, surrounded by echoes of shared laughter and the ghost of a love that once flourished, you confronted the daunting task of rebuilding your world. The faint glow from the streetlamp outside cast a melancholic light on the remnants of what was.

Fermín, still parked, felt the shared years withering in the blink of an eye, something you had been discerning for a torturing amount of time. The engine hummed softly, an averse companion to the lingering regret in the air. As he drove away, the distance between your hearts seemed insurmountable.

You watched as Blaugrana, your Calico fluffy cat, approached you unawarely of everything surrounding her, you sat on the wooden floor with her purring next to you. The sparkle of her collar made you remember how your life was bound to be lived with Fermín forever, in that collar your initials were carved. You didn't want to fall back to this cruel reality.

You even commanded yourself to religion to save your relationship, months before. Night after night, you poured the essence of your yearning into prayers addressed to Aphrodite, beseeching her to weave the threads of love and passion back into your relationship, to restore its former glory. Each whispered plea carried the weight of your sincere desire, a desperate hope that the goddess of love might heed your call and guide your connection to the blissful days of yore.

But even that didn't work. And you realized the hug of what you thought would be a fresh start unraveled into the deceptive clarity of terminal lucidity. Now you would hear the eternal melancholic tone of the complete loss of vital signs. Forever.

[julemmaes]

Love her like she should be loved

Cassian and Nesta Archeron modern au

So, this morning I was scrolling through Tumblr and I saw this post who said “i just want a fic with cassian defending nesta!!! idc what the context even is i just want to see him being offended on nesta's behalf and being ready to throw hands” and I obviously couldn’t resist. The post is this one.

Nesta is not really present in this specific part, if you want more of this au you can always send an ask (and a prompt if you want) and yall know I would continue this without hesitation. Hope you enjoy, as always:)

Word count: 3,266

His day was not going well.

He was supposed to give an analysis exam that morning, but the professor had not warned any of the students that he wouldn’t show up because of something personal. After an hour in which they waited, one of the secretaries of the university came to inform them that no test would be held, Cassian just wished he was dead. In addition, he had spent the entire afternoon serving at Elain's small café and now he was exhausted. Especially since he had to argue with an old lady who insisted on ordering something that wasn't on the menu.

Sometimes the girl would ask him to help her, when it happened that the staff was not available and the customers were much more numerous than one would expect on a Wednesday in the middle of February. Cassian didn't mind, he would have nothing better to do anyway. With his part-time job at a bookstore and his classes at the university, he found it hard to have days to himself and never made plans unless he was sure he could get them done. Then, however, a little extra money would help.

He had just arrived at the door of the apartment he shared with his two brothers when he heard Morrigan's shrill voice, followed by Feyre's loud laugh.

Shit, he had completely forgotten that they were all going to be home tonight.

Puffing, he opened the door and as soon as he walked in he was welcomed by the exalted cheers coming from the living room. He closed his eyes, grimacing. They were all already drunk. He heard Rhysand calling out to him and, taking off his shoes very slowly, went to the others.

"There he is! Fucking finally," shouted Mor, lying halfway down on Amren's legs, "You took your time. Ellie said you left the shop more than two hours ago, where have you been?" she asked with shiny eyes because of the alcohol. Cassian took a look at the others and saw that the only one who seemed to be still sober was Azriel, but looking at the glass in his brother's hand he knew he wouldn't be like that much longer.

He moved his gaze back to the blonde and shook his head, "Taking a walk." he simply replied, then ran a hand over his face, "Well guys, I'm going to sleep. I would kindly ask you to keep it down, but I know it's impossible, so if you could not drag it out too long, you would do me a favor."

Rhysand burst out laughing and Cassian turned to him, noticing only now that Feyre was curled up on his lap, "I don't think so. You haven't partied with us in almost a week." Azriel made a sound of approval, whispering a faint true, "We miss you," he added, sulking.

Cassian snorted again, they were right. Actually, he hadn't been on the couch to have a drink with his friends for over a week, but there was a very specific reason. And the reason was called Nesta.

It had been five very long months and keeping their relationship hidden was starting to get tough.

"Listen," began Cassian, trying to find a way to escape it one more time and go to sleep. "I'm very happy that you only have three classes a day and then you can come here and get shit-faced, but-"

"Oh come on, my sister's coming later too." Feyre interrupted him, slurring her words. "We could play Risiko, with your rules. Would you stay in that case?"

He knew very well that it wasn't Nesta. No, it couldn't have been her. They never invited her. And he wasn't in the mood to play Drunken Risiko at all.

Cassian glanced at her involuntary, clenching his jaw and starting to walk backwards towards his room. "I repeat, I'm very pleased that you still have so much time to lose in these things, but tomorrow I have to work all day and I'm exhausted."

Armen scoffed, "God it's like hearing her sister," said the friend looking him straight in the eye, pointing with her chin to Feyre, who had tightened even more on her boyfriend. Cassian stopped at the living room door, looking at Amren in turn. Feyre nodded, with her eyes closed, "It's true, she’s been a bit of a bitch lately.”

As Feyre spoke, Cassian saw the image of Nesta smiling at him as she sat on her kitchen island, telling him he was an idiot.

Rhysand chuckled and leaned his head against the back of the armchair, "Take the 'a bit' away."

"The other day I met her at the mall and, like any sane person would do, I went to say goodbye to her and she just looked at me and left," Morrigan said, settling better on the couch, in what everyone in their group called the gossip pose. Legs bent under her body and a glass of red wine in her left hand.

Cassian wanted to leave, but couldn’t move. That was the reason why he hadn't been able to go out with his friends in the last few days: whatever they did, in one way or another, they were able to drag Nesta into the conversation and talk shit about her.

"I just can't figure out what's wrong with her," said Rhys, looking annoyed by what Morrigan had just told them. Cassian remained silent. He didn't want to argue with his family and it would have been avoided if he had simply left.

Feyre stood up to pour herself another glass of wine. She sat down next to Amren, resting her head on her friend's shoulder, "I really wish I knew that."

It would be enough if you talked to her from time to time, thought Cassian, crossing his arms on his chest. He caught Azriel's gaze for a second and saw that his older brother was watching him attentively. Too attentively for his liking. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking what he wanted. Azriel was about to open his mouth when the doorbell rang. Everyone's attention sprang towards the door.

"It must be Elain," said Azriel as he stood up, "hopefully she's not as dead as someone else is tonight," he said, making a snide remark to Cassian, who took advantage of the moment to turn on his heels and go to sleep. Elain wouldn’t have been offended if he didn't say hi.

As soon as he closed the door to his room he took a deep breath.

He undressed and lay down on the bed without worrying too much about getting under the covers. He let his hair loose, letting it fall on the pillow and then he starred at the ceiling. He picked up the phone shortly after and opened the gallery, starting to scroll through the photos in the folder called books' stuff.

Rhysand had a nasty habit of taking his cell phone and looking through his stuff and this was the only way to make sure he didn't see the hundreds of photos he had of Nesta and himself.

He thought about the last half year they had spent together.

He thought about how almost five months earlier Nesta had felt sick while she was alone with him and how she thanked him when he was able to calm her down and how she ran away soon after.

He thought of himself, losing whole nights of sleep thinking about what to do, whether to try to talk to her about what had happened or whether to let it go.

He thought of when Nesta had insulted him when he had given her the number of his therapist and when after talking to her for hours about his personal problems Nesta had looked at him with a completely different expression on her face.

He thought about when she had refused his therapist's number again, but promised him she would seek help.

After a month, she asked him if he wanted to go out with her. On a date. Cassian was a bit shocked at the invitation, convinced that Nesta was not looking for anything serious at the time. He had accepted regardless and this had led to several other dates, before they made it official about two months later.

Neither her sisters nor his brothers suspected a thing and both were inclined to keep it a secret. Nesta had had no problem doing so, as she hardly ever went out with the group, there was no risk of it slipping out of her mouth. For Cassian it was something else entirely. Especially in the last period.

Nesta was going through a very difficult period and Cassian was always nervous, on edge, ready to do whatever Nesta needed. While their families did nothing but insult his girlfriend.

There had been days when Cassian, worried that Nesta hadn't answered him for hours after calling him desperate because of something that had happened at work, nearly broke down. He had run to her apartment that time and Nesta had not opened the door. He had almost called Feyre to ask her for the spare key, but he managed to convince Nesta to let him in.

They had spent two days in her bed together, Cassian making up a stupid excuse with his brothers for not being home.

His flood of thoughts was interrupted when he heard the others laughing.

He put the phone on the bedside table again and lay down on his side, trying not to listen to what they were saying in the other room.

It proved impossible.

"Have you heard from Nesta lately?" Feyre asked. Cassian brought the pillow over his ears, but it was of no use. "No, not really. She doesn't even answer the phone," answered Elain.

"Yeah no, because I ran into her the other day while I was shopping and she didn't even say hello." Mor repeated in that shocked tone.

Cassian loved everyone in that house so terribly, but if they had continued like that, he would have had to go out.

"I really don't understand how she can behave like that." a little pause, "I've tried so many times to get her to do something with me, but every time she insults me and tells me to mind my own business." Cassian knew about Feyre's various attempts to help her sister. Nesta had told him about all the times she had tried to force her to dress up in a certain way so she could go dancing and meet some guy. Of all the times Feyre had told her that she needed a holiday, that they could go together to places like Adriata or on the south coast, where the beaches were populated with life and people their age.

"God that girl really gets on my nerves," said Rhysand. Cassian wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

"I feel sorry to even talk about her like this, but there are times when I can't understand why she hates me so much." Feyre spoke again. Cassian scoffed, knowing full well that she didn't feel sorry at all. Elain replied, "Oh no, Fey-Fey, don't feel bad. She's the one who gets away from everyone."

"But does she realize that if she continues like this she will die alone and sad?" this comment broke something inside Cassian's chest. Even more so because it was Mor who had said those words.

"Maybe she deserves it. With how she treats you, she doesn't even deserve you looking after her in this way".

"Maybe you are right. Every time I try something new, she pushes me further and further. It makes me feel like a bad sister," continued Feyre, in a lower voice than before.

"See? It also makes you feel bad. She's just a selfish bitch who seeks attention," concluded Rhysand.

Cassian couldn't take it anymore and got out of bed, slamming the door against the wall when he opened it.

"Cassian-"

When he entered the living room Mor looked at him with wide open eyes. She had got up and was coming towards him when he raised his hand to stop her.

"Shut up!" he shouted as he looked at Rhysand immediately afterwards. "Repeat what you said." he challenged him, keeping his distance. They were all looking at him in shock. His breathing ragged.

"Cass...what's going on?" asked Elain, getting up and standing next to Mor.

"I said shut up," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on his younger brother. "Again, repeat what you just said."

Rhysand looked at him with blurred eyes. Perfect, he was completely drunk, "Calm down man, we were just talking about Nesta." He looked at him frowning, "What's wrong with you?" said Rhys getting up and stiffening, staggering slightly. Azriel stood up in turn, shifting his gaze quickly from one brother to another.

Cassian contracted his jaw, clenching his fists.

"Why are you so upset?" asked Feyre, always sitting, probably too drunk to stand. Cassian looked at her and took a deep breath. Feyre looked at Amren as soon as she burst out laughing.

Everyone’s focus shifted to the girl, who looked like she was about to be sick from all the laughter. Mor kept looking at him though and he just wanted to tell her to stop staring.

"Why are you laughing?" Rhysand asked, even more confused than before.

Amren wiped her tears away, "It’s so fucking obvious that Cassian and Nesta are dating at this point that I really don't know how you haven't figured it out yet."

Cassian looked at her with his mouth wide open, "How...?"

"You have no idea how much of an open book you are for those who know where to look." replied Amren without even glancing at him.

"I was waiting for you to tell me about it." Azriel confessed in a low voice. Cassian turned toward him, frowning. Azriel raised his hands as a sign of surrender, shaking his head, "You have hardly been home for a long time, and perhaps I should have asked earlier, but I had my suspicions for a while." he smiled at him, "Well, congratulations." Azriel said, tilting his head and drinking a sip of beer. A toast. Cassian felt a weight lifting from his shoulders.

A weight that fell on him once again when he heard a choked laugh on the other side of the sofa.

"Congratulations? Azriel, are you serious?" Rhysand asked incredulously, passing his hand over his face.

Feyre and Elain were looking at each other in dismay.

"How can you think of getting with-" Mor was staring at him with her mouth open. "-shit, with Nesta? How can you be with such a person?"

Cassian saw red with anger. "Such a person you say?"

Rhysand approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Yes Cass, such a person. You know that she has no emotions other than disgust and hatred." Cassian moved to avoid his brother's touch. Disgust. Hate.

He saw Nesta smiling at him with one of his T-shirts on, lying in her bed, whispering I love you.

Cassian shook his head. "I really can't tell if you're joking or being serious when you talk about her." he whispered not being able to believe what they were saying. "Nesta, your sister," he said, addressing directly the two Archeron present, "is not doing good."

Elain had the decency to seem surprised. Feyre looked at him with shining eyes, whether it was alcohol or emotion he couldn't tell.

"Nesta is sick and the only thing you can do," he pointed out, "is to sit and drink and insult her until you feel satisfied with yourself.

"We've tried so many times to intervene," Feyre defended herself, in a small voice. She put her hands between her thighs. Cassian laughed and threw his hands to the sky.

"Intervene? Intervene, really?" he asked her sarcastically. He laughed again, no trace of amusement in that sound. "You mean when you went to her house, a few weeks ago, and yelled at her because she didn't want to go out with you and she answered you badly when you told her she had to stop being depressed?" now he was shouting. "Or when you told her that she sucked as being a sister and that she should be a better example for you and Elain?" Feyre held her breath, shutting her eyes.

Cassian turned to the other girl, "And you?" he asked her, a false smile on his lips, "Jesus, Ellie, I see you treating the rest of the world with gloved hands every day. You talk to people as if they were wounded animals and it never occurred to you that your sister might be the only one who really needs it?"

He no longer knew who he was talking to as he raised his voice further and started walking around the room. "If instead of telling her what to do, every day. You always say, say, say, try for once and ask for fuck’s sake. If for once you asked instead of doing whatever the hell you want. It would be enough if you were more interested in what she wants to do and less in what you would like her to do" his head was pounding.

He turned to Rhysand at the end. He gritted his teeth, a grimace of repulsion on his face. "You disgust me the most." his voice broke.

"Cassian-" Azriel got in the way.

"No, Az." as he looked at his older brother he thought that he too was no less. He had never said anything about Nesta, never, but he had never even stopped the others or tried to justify the behavior of the older Archeron.

"You were sick once." Cassian said, as he approached Rhysand. He looked at him raising his chin, breathing heavily. "You were sick and I helped you. You treated me the way Nesta treats her sisters. You treated me worse," he whispered, referring to when he and Rhysand ended up beating each other, because Cassian had pushed him over the edge, "You know what she's going through better than anyone probably does, and yet you're the first one to throw shit at her." Rhys looked towards Feyre. "You don't even know her. And yet you’re ready to act like your dad.” Rhys’ eyes shot to him, any trace of color draining from his face. Cassian knew he’d just hit the right spot.

"And you Mor." He turned to his oldest friend. "You're better than that. You all are." he said to no one in particular.

He closed his eyes and ran both hands over his face.

"None of you ever tried to ask her how she was. None of you have ever made an effort. A real effort." he whispered, with anger coursing through his veins. "I get that Nesta can be difficult at times, but we are the only thing she has. The only thing she should have at least."

with that, he left, going to his room. He got dressed quickly, put on his shoes and grabbed the car keys. Before he left he turned towards the quiet living room, where everyone was staring at one another.

"Perhaps it would be better for us all if we searched our own hearts," he said, opening the door, "If something happens, send me a message. At least now you know where to find me."

Rhysand opened his mouth to talk, probably to apologize, but Cassian had already closed the door behind him.

acotar taglist (if you want to be removed or added, let me know with a dm or an ask) (I also tagged the people who seemed interested in the comments of the original post, I’ll just tag you for this part)

@tottenhamboys20 @sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nxssian @lovelynesta @maastrash

[goddessvicky]

Blood Stained

                                      Chapter Thirty-Six: Tell Her

                                        Goddessvicky / QueenVee1

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Rating: Explicit - For all the swears and smut Relationships: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

A flash of crimson at the edge of his vision turned Bucky’s head, and he watched as someone disappeared around a corner. Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he moved quickly down the hall, vindicated when he turned and saw the crimson shock of Natasha’s hair. He jogged until he was able to catch up to her, seeing her shoulders tighten when she realized someone was behind her. “What’s going on, Nat?” 

Turning on her heel, Natasha’s green eyes seemed to flatten when they landed on Bucky, and she clutched the folder in her hands tighter. “Just heading to a meet –“

“That’s not what I mean,” Bucky said, his gaze darkening at her obvious deflection. He could see something in her gaze, a hesitance that seemed to shimmer in the air around her shoulders, like heat on asphalt. She might have been able to hide her inner thoughts from most people, but Bucky knew her better than that. She knew he knew her better than that, too, which explained by was trying so hard to appear normal.

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong.”

A delicate eyebrow raised at Bucky’s words. “There’s a lot wrong. Any idea who planted the bombs? 

“Don’t change the subject,” Bucky admonished, watching her eyes flash at the insinuation behind his frown, “I can tell you’re keeping something from me.” 

A soft snort of derision sounded from Natasha, and she shifted the folder from one arm to the other. “You think I’m the one not telling the truth?”

This time it was Bucky’s turn to become defensive, and crossed his arms over his chest at how difficult she was making the conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw what you were like in that surgical gallery, Bucky,” Natasha rasped, her eyebrow still raised as she regarded him. “You still going to tell me there’s nothing going on between you and Lewis?”

Though he knew she was simply attempting to redirect the conversation away from herself, Bucky couldn’t help the immediate desire to erase whatever she was implying. “Nothing is going on between us.”

“But you want it to,” Natasha argued, the stiffness in his neck and shoulders telling her everything she needed to know. Knowing each other as well as they did was a double-edged sword – they knew exactly what wounds to inflict to cause the most damage, like a road map of memories and half-finished thoughts that could be wielded as a weapon in the right hands. “Why are you holding yourself –“

This discussion was going much like it had with Steve. Bucky could admit his feelings aloud as many times as he wanted, but there was always a roadblock, an excuse that lived on his tongue. “She’s with someone.”

“That doesn’t mean –“

“I killed her father, Nat,” Bucky said, successfully stopping Natasha’s flow of words. He could see the flash of empathy in her gaze, and though he wasn’t sure why, it filled him with a restless anger. Anger at the truth. Anger at the situation. Anger at the fact that he would never be able to punish the people who’d ruined his life. They were gone, or dead, and there would never be justice.

“That’s not your fault.”

Bucky ran a tired hand over his face. In the few days since Darcy had come to stay in their rooms, Bucky hadn’t gotten entirely restful sleep. He worried about every noise. Was this it? Was this the time? Was the person behind the bombing back to finish the job? All these anxieties ran parallel to the worry he had for Darcy’s physical health, which seemed to have become one of his only concerns. Steve had expressed worry that it might feel like torture having Darcy there with him, but even with the ache he felt when she smiled at him, she looked happy, and that was all that mattered.

His shoulders lifted and dropped in a sigh. Over the past few days, it’d become glaringly clear that Darcy held no animosity, despite the knowledge he’d shared. He’d been trying really, really hard to accept that the guilt he felt was one sided, that he’d all but been absolved in Darcy’s eyes, but it was more difficult to believe the words, even as they came from his own mouth. “I know. I know it’s not my fault. She said the same thing, but it doesn’t change the fact that her father’s blood is on my hands.” Something he said made the color drain from Natasha’s face, and he felt the first bite of uncertainty chase up and down his skin. “What is it?”

Natasha stood there motionless, face as flat as a mask, until Bucky reached out and touched her arm, pulling her from wherever she’d gone. She blinked as if she was coming up for air, like she’d been drowning only seconds before. “Andrei reached out to me.”

                                          Read More Here!

[humansunshineao3]

I’m On The Menu

When Clary Fray walks into Maia's restaurant 6 years after her disappearance from the shadow world, Maia is bowled over.

Part of the Shadowhunters WLW fic bingo by @eternalalec! Read here on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~

Hiring a manager was the best decision that Maia had made in years. This time last year, she’d been running herself ragged for 12 hours a day, responsible for absolutely everything and everyone inside the restaurant. She would organise the deliveries, balance the books, brief the staff, deal with problem customers, supervise the standards of food, and then cash up at the end of the night before trudging upstairs to the flat, crashing onto her bed and starting it all over the next day.

Now, sharing those responsibilities with Dot, Maia actually had more than five minutes a day for herself. She could even afford to have an early 45 minute lunch break down in the restaurant, among her customers and staff. It was an opportunity for the staff to sit down with her and raise any concerns about the work environment or food, or make suggestions. Today, she and Dot were discussing the possibility of Dot bringing her daughter Madzie to work with her now that the summer holidays were coming up.

“It won’t be every day,” Dot assured Maia, “she’s going to be going to the academy for four days a week, it’d just be on Sundays and the occasional Friday.”

“I don’t have a problem with Madzie being here,” Maia answered, “but I’m just worried she’s gonna be bored. It’s a long day, and she’s only twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. I think she could probably bring some homework or something, but…”

“Well, why don’t we try it out?” Maia suggested, “if all else fails, she can hang out upstairs in my place and watch TV.”

“Only if that’s okay with you.” Dot insisted, and Maia waved it away.

“It’s absolutely fine. She’s too old for a babysitter.”

“But not old enough to be left at home alone,” Dot agreed, sighing. “It’s an awkward age.”

“Cat’s still working weekends too?” Maia sympathised.

Dot nodded. “Weekends are the busiest time at the hospital. She’ll be able to swing it when she makes Senior Nurse at the end of the year, but that doesn’t help us this summer.”

Maia smiled, reaching over to squeeze Dot’s hand reassuringly. “I’ve got your back, whatever you need. God knows you saved my ass with this place.”

“Excuse me?”

Maia glanced up, her customer service smile on her face. When she met the eyes of Clary Fray, she couldn’t stop the ways her eyes widened. Clary’s face lit up with relief.

“You know me.”

Dot looked around, her mouth falling open when she saw Clary standing there. Clary looked between Dot and Maia, swallowing hard.

“You both know me.”

“Uhhh…” Maia looked at Dot for help, but Dot appeared to be just as shocked as she was. “I-I don’t…”

Clary dug in her backpack for a folder, and put it down on the table between Maia and Dot. “I have a picture of me and you at some bar. You know me.”

Maia opened the folder, several pictures spilling out. The one on top was a printed out selfie that she and Clary had taken at the Hunter’s Moon. Maia felt emotional looking at it, and kept her eyes down on the picture. “Where did you get this?” She asked.

“I should go back to work,” Dot said, getting up so Clary could take her place opposite Maia. As she walked by, Dot gently patted Maia’s shoulder in solidarity.

Clary was looking at Maia with desperation when she finally looked up. “Please. I found myself in a park six years ago with no memory of the two years before. I have scoured social media, hired private investigators… I have no-one left. One minute I was applying for art school, I had a Mom and an adoptive father, a best friend… The next I was in an empty park with make-up running down my face and nothing but the clothes on my back and my phone. Please, Maia. I know you know something.”

“Look…” Maia said slowly, “I don’t know if this a good idea, you talking to me.”

Clary reached across the table, gripping Maia’s hand hard. “Please. I’m begging you, and I think you know me well enough to know that I don’t beg.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Maia replied. “Clary, if you’ve hired private investigators, you must have at least some money. You’ve built a life for yourself, away from all this. You should-”

“There’s a dish named after me on your menu,” Clary pressed, “I meant something to you. You meant something to me. I know it.”

Maia met Clary’s eyes. Six years ago, Clary had chosen to sacrifice her life in the shadow world to kill Jonathan once and for all. She’d left Jace heartbroken. She’d left all of them heartbroken. Everyone had moved on, eventually. Jace had gotten married to a shadowhunter woman last year. Izzy and Simon had moved in together and were probably going to be engaged soon. Alec and Magnus were busy with their second adopted baby, and Luke was stationed in the Lima Institute. They’d all forged lives for themselves in a peaceful shadow world, thanks to Clary.

Maia owed her. She knew that.

“You meant a lot to a lot of people, Clary. You were a good friend to me. I admired you. I wished, after you’d gone, that I’d gotten to know you better.” Maia confessed. “I wasn’t there when you lost your memories, but Alec filled me in on what happened.”

“Alec… Lightwood?” Clary asked, rummaging in the pile of photographs in her folder. “This man?” She shoved a picture of Alec and Magnus’ wedding in front of Maia, pointing to Alec’s face. “This was the last photograph on my phone, the last one I took before I lost my memories.”

“Yeah, you disappeared after their wedding reception.” Maia confirmed.

“Why? How?”

Maia had no idea where to begin. “Hey, look, maybe we should order some food. This is gonna take a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you believe me?” Maia asked. Clary had been silent for at least a full minute, staring at her with shock.

Clary blinked slowly. “I… Yeah. I think I do. I mean, it explains why I have photos of Simon dated months after his Mom told me he died. I’m…” She shook her head, sniffing. “He’s alive. Luke’s alive, I can’t believe this.”

“They really wanted to reach out to you after you disappeared, Luke was bereft.” Maia told her. “But Magnus said it would be too confusing for you. Without your runes, you’re vulnerable. If you got involved in the shadow world again, it would be dangerous.” Maia swallowed hard. “He’s going to be pretty mad when I tell him about this.”

“I joked when I was in the shelter that I must have a fairy godmother,” Clary huffed out a laugh. “When I went to check my bank account with my support worker, to get a new card, I had tens of thousands of dollars in there. No-one could explain it, it just… Appeared. But the bank didn’t seem bothered, they just let me keep it. And then I sold the first painting I did to this super rich mystery patron. It meant that I could stage my own show at a gallery.”

“Magnus promised Jace that he’d make sure you were safe and settled,” Maia confirmed, “it was the only way we could convince him to stop visiting you.”

“You said he and I… We were… Together?” Clary asked.

“Yeah. You were his first love, he cared about you a lot.”

“What happened to him? I vaguely remember meeting him a couple of times, but then he just disappeared. It’s why I went to the private investigator. I knew, deep down, that he knew something.” Clary explained, “and when he bailed I thought, I don’t know, that he was a spy or something.”

Maia snorted at the thought of Jace as a spy. “No, Magnus and Alec stepped in. He was obsessed, it was taking over his life. And it wasn’t fair to you, either. Izzy agreed to transfer him out of New York. He didn’t speak to Izzy and Alec for years because of it, but when he met his wife, he realised that they’d acted in his best interests.”

“I’m glad that he found some peace,” Clary said quietly, “from what you said, he’d been through hell.”

“He’s happy now.” Maia assured him.

Clary nodded. “I’m glad. It’s a little weird for me to think about.”

“How do you mean?” Maia asked, tilting her head to the side.

“I mean, I’ve been out as a lesbian for years now. It’s crazy to me to think that I ever thought I was in love with a guy, especially a guy so… I don’t know, dudey.” Clary shrugged one shoulder. “I guess we went through so much together, I clung to him.”

Maia was surprised to hear the revelation, but also… Maybe not as surprised as she might have been. “Are you seeing anyone nice?”

“No, this has kinda been my life for a couple of years,” Clary replied ruefully. “I had a steady girlfriend but she thought I was getting irrational with all this. She thought I’d been hit by a car or something.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“What about you?” Clary asked. “You said Magnus and Alec ended up together, Izzy and Simon, Luke and Alec’s mom, Jace and his wife… Did you get your happily ever after?”

Maia giggled, shaking her head. “I don’t know, I dated a guy for a while after you left. Bat. He was a sweetheart but I just didn’t feel… I didn’t love him like he deserved. I cut him loose after a year.”

“That’s pretty selfless of you,” Clary observed, smiling slightly when Maia met her eyes. “I guess this place keeps you pretty busy, though.”

“Oh yeah,” Maia laughed, a little nervous all of a sudden. Sure, she’d always thought Clary was pretty, but she’d never thought that Clary liked women. While she was a shadowhunter, Clary had seemed pretty much untouchable. Up on a pedestal, gutting her enemies, shaking the world on its axis. Now, though, sitting opposite Maia in her little restaurant, she looked… Sweet. Small, approachable, gentle. Kind.

“The food is delicious, by the way. I one hundred percent approve of my name being attached to it.” She raised her glass of soda in Maia’s direction.

“Thanks. I worked hard on the menu, I’m glad you like it.”

Clary’s eyes crinkled a little as her smile widened. Maia hadn’t really seen Clary smile so warmly before. Mundane life looked good on Clary, she decided. “So… Maia. Do you think…? Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“You can come by whenever you want,” Maia assured her, “Dot will be so happy to get to know you again.”

“I have so many questions for you,” Clary admitted, “and I appreciate you sitting here and laying it all out for me. You didn’t mention our relationship much so I’m guessing we weren’t as close as I’d assumed…”

“It’s okay. I mean, like I said, you saved my ass along with the rest of the downworld at least twice, so…”

Clary snorted. “I still struggle to imagine that. It all just sounds like a fairytale. I can’t believe I was capable of any of that.”

Maia tilted her head to the side, smiling. “You’re made of steel, Clary Fray.”

“Mmmm… We’ll see, I guess,” Clary chuckled. “But… Maybe next time we could go somewhere else… I could treat you. Maybe grab a drink afterwards… If you wanted.”

Maia bit her lip, her eyebrow arching. “Like a date?”

“If that’s something you’d be into,” Clary said tentatively.

“It’s not weird that I knew… The old you?”

“A little,” Clary admitted, “but you don’t know this me. You can get to know this version of me as I get to know you. And then maybe… Someday… You could introduce me to the others.”

Maia giggled. “I don’t know, Magnus will rip me a new asshole when he finds out about this.”

Clary grinned, the mischief that Maia immediately recognised sparkling in her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”