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evermoresqueiswriting · 6 months

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dance the night

"Baby, you can find me under the lights Diamonds under my eyes Turn the rhythm up, don't you wanna just Come along for the ride? Oh, my outfit so tight You can see my heartbeat tonight I can take the heat, baby, best believe That's the moment I shine"

summary: barbie date and an invitation from clarisse you can't refuse

pairing: clarisse la rue x f!reader

word count: 3.4k

tags: fluff fluff fluff

series masterlist 2/?

You were getting more and more comfortable at camp. You were getting along very well with your siblings. Especially Lee and Cornelia, who explained everything – sometimes twice – to you. They also explained to you that if you wanted to leave camp during the summer, you needed to get an authorisation from Mr. D. And Clarisse knew, so she told you to get it since it was your idea to go see that movie. Your siblings told you he rarely gave them away.

“Mmh. I accept this challenge.”

“It really wasn’t,” Lee said. “It was a piece of information at best.”

You walked, determined, to Mr. D’s office. You didn’t have many arguments, but Cornelia did tell you Mr. D was always looking for campers to give him alcohol even though his father, Zeus, forbade him to drink any. Mr. D was playing cards with Chiron. Maybe it wasn’t the right time, you hesitated before Chiron looked up.

“Yes?” he said, putting his cards down.

“Mmh,” you froze before staring at your camp director, “I needed to talk to Mr. D, please.”

Chiron turned his face to look at Mr D, and he took off his sunglasses before looking at you.

“What?”

“I need authorisation to leave camp for one day,” you explained firmly. “Please.”

“And why would I give you that?”

“Because I need it. For next week, the 21st,” you begged.

Mr D stared at you, bored. He was ready to take back his cards, when you shouted, desperately.

“I–I’ll give you alcohol in exchange!”

“No you will not!” Chiron gave you a hard stare. “Zeus–.”

“I’m desperate, so yes I will.”

Mr D was still silent.

“What is this about y/n?” Chiron asked. “Why do you need to leave camp?”

“I– I asked Clarisse on a date. Well,” you faltered. “It’s not exactly a date I don’t think, it’s more like I won a bet, and what I asked for was for us to go see a movie together. So maybe it is? And it would suck for me if I can’t go, when I won the bet you know.”

Chiron and you were both looking at Mr. D, and you had your best puppy eyes for him.

“Still a no for me,” Mr. D took his cards.

“Please, please, please, please, please!”

Mr. D shook his head. You sighed, thinking about what to say to try and convince him to let you go.

“That’s–,” you hesitated before blurting out “such a homophobic thing to do in 2024 to refuse to let us go on a date! Which is what that is… a date, with us girls.”

“What?” Mr. D muttered confused.

“And during pride month? You have no shame. It’s–.”

“Fine, if I give you this authorisation, will you shut up and leave?”

You nodded vigorously. And Mr. D sent you a flying paper with the snap of a finger, and after reading the paper to make sure it was legit – which did take a few minutes – you ran away in case he changed his mind. The first person you ran into Luke and asked him if he had seen Clarisse. He pointed at the Ares cabin, and told you he saw her go in.

You walked to her cabin, and knocked, shouting Clarisse’s name over and over again. The door flew open, revealing an annoyed Clarisse.

“Hi,” you smiled.

Her face softened slightly at your sight, but she still looked at you annoyed, with her arms crossed.

“What?”

“Guess what?” your hands were in your back, hiding away the piece of paper you got earlier.

“Your boyfriend called your mom to ask her why you ditched him?”

“What?” you hesitated. “No. First, I don't have a boyfriend, they were all losers in my school. And no girlfriends either for the same reason.”

“Good,” she nodded. “So what was the news then?”

The paper was still held behind your back, you held her gaze a few more seconds before showing her proudly the paper. She looked at the paper, frowning, and then took your paper. You stood there patiently, swinging on your feet, waiting for her to finish reading it at her own pace.

“How did you get Mr. D to agree to this?” she puts the paper down.

“It’s a secret. But I’ll tell you if you want to know.”

“Of course I do, no one here in years got one of these,” she shook the paper in front of you.

You held up your index, and made a ‘come closer’ motion with it. She came closer, and you put your face even closer, her nose almost touching yours. Clarisse was taller than you – taller than most campers actually – and your face was facing up. And having her this close to you, it was as if time had stopped. You smiled.

“I promised him alcohol,” you whispered.

“What!” she stepped back. “Do you know Zeus–.”

“I know, I know, Cornelia told me. I don’t remember what I said after that,’ you lied, “I guess he just likes me.”

“Okay,” Clarisse smiled, “liar.”

Clarisse and you stood there, at the threshold of the Ares cabin for a few more moments, just enjoying each other's company before her siblings ran in, pushing you toward Clarisse. Your body slammed against hers, her arms wrapped around your shoulders to steady you. You would have been upset if it weren’t for the outcome. But Clarisse quickly let go before grabbing the shirt of her brother – Mark – and made him stop in his tracks. You didn’t hear what she said, but you saw Mark nodding vigorously before walking away.

“Let’s get out of here,” Clarisse grabbed your arm and led you outside.

“So,” you started when she stopped under a tree and sat there. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“No. Do you?”

“Uh obviously! I have the perfect outfit for Barbie. I actually planned this before coming here, minus the ‘going to camp half-blood’ cause I didn’t think I’d end up here. It’s all pink, and cute and oh, should I also do my nails? Should we do our nails all pink?” you beamed at the idea.

“No.”

“True, yours do look very good in black,” you nodded. “Oh, we could cosplay Barbie and Raquelle. But it’s not going to be accurate, Raquelle hates Barbie.”

“I think it’s pretty accurate,” she shrugs.

You slapped her arms playfully before laying your head on her lap. The weather was nice, the sun was out and the leaves were shading you from it, the perfect combination for you to take a nap. And then Clarisse started to run her fingers on your arm which made it for you. You were asleep in no time.

“Wake up sunshine,” Clarisse pinched you lightly on the hip. You jerked awake.

“What?” you mumbled, standing up.

“I have to meet up with my brothers and sisters for the next Capture the Flag strategy.”

“Can I come too?” you yawned.

“We’re not on the same team, remember.”

“I won’t tell them anything.”

“Nope,” she walked away, “don’t follow me,” she turned around, walking backwards.

I’d follow you everywhere you go Clarisse La Rue.

“I won’t,” you said instead.

The night before the date, you laid out your outfit neatly before washing up to go to bed. Cornelia was your bunkmate, with the bed above yours. But before going to sleep, you loved updating each other’s day.

“So tomorrow huh,” Cornelia sat on your bed. “I never thought I’d live to see Clarisse being friendly with anyone other than her siblings.”

“I think she’s funny.”

“Sure, if funny was a synonym of mean. Wait– do you even have money to spend on tomorrow’s activities?”

“Actually I do. Mr. D did tell me he wouldn’t give me any, and thank gods I found a load of cash in my backpack. My mom gave it to me. I mean she did write it was for any expense that I would have to make on my way home, but I have other priorities.”

“Clearly,” she rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re gonna regret this in August.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Like before any exciting day, it took some time to fall asleep. Anxiety and excitement mixing together, making up the worst and best scenarios. What if Clarisse is just messing with you and forgot? That can’t happen, you just saw her a few hours ago talking about it. What if you annoyed her so much with it, she’d stood you up? What if she doesn’t like everything you planned? Not a single positive and happy ‘what if’ comes to your mind.

“Wake up!” someone shakes you awake. “It’s 8 already, you're going to be late!” Cornelia said.

“Fuck!” you ran to the washroom.

You rushed through your routine, before rushing back to your bed and grabbed your outfit, and put it on. And all of that only took 28 minutes. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a final check up, before opening the door. Clarisse was already there. Her curls free, just like the first time you saw her. It felt weird not seeing her in her usual orange tee, but she still looked pretty. She wore a simple short brown tank top with blue faded jeans, with her beaded necklace still hanging from her neck.

“You look really pretty today,” Clarisse smiled shyly, holding her arms around her.

“Thanks,” you approached her, putting your hands on her arms and leaned in, “you look pretty every day.”

“Don’t come home too late,” Lee interrupted, appearing just next to you.

“Don’t worry, but also don’t wait up!”

You grabbed Clarisse’s hand and dragged her away from your cabin. A taxi was waiting for you outside of the camp, and in no time you were at the local theatre in the middle of nowhere. And lucky for you, the people of this town weren’t going to see the 9:30am slot for Barbie. Except for that one couple sitting in the back. You dragged Clarisse in the middle, and sat with the popcorn and sodas. You ate in silence, watching the trailers.

Well that was not fun. The worst ‘what ifs’ from last night came back immediately making you anxious. It was not supposed to be like this. What if she wasn’t enjoying herself. What if she was mad because she ate a salty popcorn when you asked for the sweet ones. What if she was disappointed—

“Ouch,” you looked at her, frowning, rubbing your arm. “Why did you do that?”

“You were ignoring me.”

“What? Oh I– I didn’t hear sorry.”

“I asked you, what’s the deal with Barbie anyway? Why are you so excited about a blonde, white, plastic doll?”

“W– Barbie is not– ok. She is a plastic doll, and she may not look like us but it’s the idea of Barbie, the idea that us women can be anything we want. And how in Barbie Land, it’s all about girls and women being able to be whoever they want, and have whatever jobs they want. Barbie is literally a doctor, a pilot, a model, a chef, a fashion designer, a business woman, a teacher – she has every job in the world. And there is no one telling her that she can’t do that because she’s not a man. And also, the Barbie franchise is my childhood. The movies, they deserve an Oscar honestly–,” you stopped. “Sorry, I talk too much.”

“I asked,” her attention went back to the screen. “So did you have any barbies?”

“Of course! I had Barbie's dreamhouse, and so many barbies and outfits. I’m surprised I didn’t end up being a writer with all my imagination. Did you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“My mom wasn’t the kind to buy me anything. And certainly not dolls.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t feel sad for me, I’m fine,” she gave you a quick glance.

“I’m not!” you frowned. “So you never watched Barbie and A Christmas Carol? The best Barbie movie ever?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, we have to change that. Mmh. But phones and laptops aren’t allowed though… Maybe if I bring my mom’s DVD player next summer.”

“Already planning on your next move to woo me?” she teased, approaching you.

Your eyes widened, your cheeks were hot.

“I– No! I– I– I don’t.”

“Relax sunshine, I’m kidding,” she laughed.

And just then, the lights went out and the movie was about to start, thank the gods. Because you did not know what to say. The movie was incredible, you shed a few tears at the end, and sang Dance The Night with Clarisse laughing and cheering you on. It was a great experience, and it was even better to have watched it with Clarisse.

“Did you like it?” you asked her when the credits started rolling.

“Yes. It was great.”

“And you’ll love the other Barbie movies because they are way less depressing.”

“So, what’s next?” she stood up.

“It’s almost time to eat, what do you want?”

“Whatever you want.”

“No you choose, I insist,” you smiled.

Really you were just very indecisive. Clarisse settled for a burger place not too far away from the cinema. There weren't many people inside, so you were able to choose where to sit – a table next to the window. It was a booth seat, so you had your own booth each, facing each other, menu in hand.

“So, what are you choosing?” you asked her.

“I’ll take the Highwayman. You?”

“The Roadhouse looks good.”

Clarisse raised her hand and weaved at the waitress, when you grabbed her hand.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Can you order for me please?”

She furrowed her brow, but nodded. You smiled. You only waited ten-or-so minutes before the waitress came back with your food. Like always, you checked the inside of your burger before eating it, you picked out the onions and the tomato.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t like these.”

“Couldn’t you have asked the waitress to take them out.”

“No…”

“Give me your tomato then,” she opened her burger bun.

You were the one entertaining lunch. Clarisse asked questions about your life and you told her – you told her stories about your childhood, your school, your mom and she listened, nodding along. Once you were done, you took a cab and decided to go to the mall.

“We don’t have any money,” Clarisse stopped you when you were going to step into the mall.

“I do. Remember I paid for the tickets, and the food.”

“Yeah, but I thought you only had enough for these.”

“Nope. Well, remember how I said my mom is an opera singer. It was you fifty percent talent and fifty percent nepotism and generational wealth. Meaning I’m rich, I mean my mom but her love language is sending me money for not raising me,” you joked.

She stared at you, concerned.

“I’m kidding,” you grabbed her hand, “let’s shop.”

Clarisse refused to accept anything you’d set eyes on for her.

“Well, at least try on some of them, just to see.”

She agreed to it, which was a mistake because now that you knew her size, you could buy her everything she laid eyes on. She was trying on this dark green simple long sleeve tee shirt, and after she put it back, you took it with you.

“What are you doing?” she tried to grab the tee shirt back.

“I might want it for myself!” you hid it behind your back.

‘Doesn’t look like something you’d wear.”

“My style changes, it depends on my mood. Maybe I want us to have matching clothes.”

“Then why is there only one in your hand?”

You quickly grabbed another one. And then it was settled. You’d buy her things and then another copy for you – everything went, from boots to tee shirts to pants, and jackets. Then you went to a jewellery shop. You needed new rings because yours flew away from your hands during the last Capture the Flag – they were obviously a tad too big.

“Did you find anything you like?” you asked her.

“No, they aren't the most useful things to have.”

You pouted, and threw a bunch on the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting these back on the shelves, cause I chose half of these for you,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh,” she took a look at the jewellery.

Various rings and bracelets.

“They’re great, I love them.”

“No you don’t.”

“You picked them out so yes, I do.”

“You don’t have to, it’s fine,” you sighed.

“Maybe you don’t have to buy all of it, just one of each.”

You nodded, and picked one ring for her, and two bracelets for each of you. You gave them to the seller to wrap them and left to look at other items. Clarisse soon joined you and soon enough the seller gave a little bag, you paid and left. Your hands were full of shopping bags, and before leaving you needed a little bit of rest so you two sat on the chairs in the resting area. Thankfully the mall wasn’t too crowded as it was still early in the afternoon on a random Tuesday.

“Huh!” you gasped pointing at something behind Clarisse.

“What?” she turned around swiftly, not seeing any threat.

“A photobooth!” you smiled.

You stood up, grabbed all of your bags and walked to the booth, hoping Clarisse was following you. You turned around, and Clarisse was still sitting still, legs crossed, leaned into the chair, staring at you. You held your hands together, and motionned her to come. She didn’t move for a good minute, but seeing how you weren’t going to move, she caved in and stood up.

“Sunshine,” she put her hands on your shoulders, “you can look at me for free, I won’t charge you, don’t worry.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“You’ll thank me in a few years because of this. Pictures are the best kind of souvenirs.”

Clarisse got in first, the space was a tight fit, and you were glued to Clarisse, but you two fit in the frame so it was good. You put the coins inside, and waited for it to take the picture. But that was not good enough for Clarisse – she put her arm around your waist and scooped you onto her lap.

“Better?”

You nodded, staring at her.

“Better,” you confirmed.

You went to take a pose but too late, the four pictures were already taken.

“It’s fine, we’ll take another one.”

Another turned into another few more and you ended with a ton of pictures. By the time you left the mall it was already pretty late. Almost time to go home. But neither of you wanted that, so you went to the beach instead – main beach in the east. It was empty – people at this hour were all eating. You two sat on the sand, far from the shore.

“Did you have a great time?” you asked.

“Yes,” she looked at you, “did you?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

“Aren’t you glad you lost that bet against me?”

“Mmh,” she shrugged, “my option would’ve been just as good for me.”

“Well, I am glad I won. I prefer this option much better.”

Clarisse started to lay down but you grabbed her arm.

“Sand will get in your hair.”

“I’ll wash it tonight, it’s fine.”

You shook your head, and took off your blouse and laid it on the sand, behind Clarisse. She tried to protest, but you were quicker.

“I don’t want this day to end,” you admitted, staring at the waves. “I don’t think Mr. D will give us another authorisation anytime soon,” you laughed.

Clarisse stared at you, not saying anything. You arrived at camp only a week ago, and yet you two were already closer than she was with any of her siblings. You were nice to her, always rooting for her, and you were a great friend. Not many people were these things to the Ares kids.

“There this field trip around October,” Clarisse sat up again, “I suppose you’re not staying around the whole year. But it’d be great if you could come.”

“A field trip? To where?”

“It’s something we do once a year at camp,” she explained. “A trip to Olympus.”

You thought about it.

“Are you asking me to meet your father? I didn’t think we were already at this stage so early on."

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue fanfic #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader

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valtsv · 6 months

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i keep thinking about how VAL kills the town in her first appearance compared to how she deals with the woman she turns into an imitation of her mother and the listening press secretary's responses to both. because they're fundamentally not all that different - in both cases she commits actions which are excessively cruel, perpetrated against innocent civilians, using her power to reshape reality to her will. the only real difference is that her destruction of the town on the coast of the CLS is playful. unserious. it's delivered like a performance for those listening, and VAL even boasts that she's enjoying herself to one of her intended victims. it feels staged, artificial, like someone playing the villain in some amateur theatrical production. it's artful in its clumsiness. meanwhile, the torture and murder of the woman she meets on her way inland is just... bleak. and tragic. the tone of VAL's monologue loses all the devil-may-care amusement of someone who knows they're the most powerful person in the room, and takes on an incredibly, terrifyingly personal degree of bitter, seething hatred borne from pain and terror and the learned conviction that your life is worth nothing but what it can do for others who see no value in it. there's absolutely no need to symbolically mutilate the woman for the crime of reminding her of her mother before killing her, but VAL does so anyway because her passion overrules reason. and press secretary carson listens to it all, silently, unwilling and/or unable to intervene, and can only weakly protest that VAL's treatment of the woman in the grounds that it's "too much", when the fact remains that the only difference between this act of wanton cruelty and destruction and that against the forgotten town is that it wasn't something he authorised and isn't something he can sell. it's too much. too brutal. too unpredictable. too human. she's not a weapon he can control, anymore.

#🐉#they are Cancelling her for dealing with her grief in the only way she can! and also the vicious war crimes #the silt verses #VAL the silt verses

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 5

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m trying something new here—been reading The Shining by Steven King and I like how the “thoughts” are presented :)

warnings: general angst

word count: 5,414

-Part 4- -Part 6-

Sharp, caramel eyes latch to your own from across the room.

Beneath his fingertips rest the planets of your solar system, whirring softly as they rotate, cogs clicking together. Your orrery.

Shoulders tense—it’s fine machinery, incredibly delicate. You don’t like the idea of him being so close to something so dear to you. He hasn’t proven to be particularly caring, or thoughtful. Anxiety closes around your throat. “Eris,” you greet, moving forward stiffly. “What are you doing here?” Why is he in the House of Wind, in the heart of the Night Court. Why is he in Velaris.

He taps against your world, the mechanical clicking coming to a stop, the system halting to his will. Retracts his hand. “You’re really kept out of the loop, aren’t you?” He asks, eyes gleaming, fingertips grazing the blade at his hip. Your brow narrows, “that’s not an answer.” You eye him warily, how close he is to that precious gift your sister had given you.

Lips lift into that familiar viper’s smile, “I’m here to have a meeting with your High Lord and Lady. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. Surprised too you’re allowed near me at all after our last encounter—do they not particularly mind your safety?” He inquires, moving around the kitchen table. You shift in response, mirroring his movements, the opening steps to a dance you’re uninterested in.

“I live here,” you counter, “why should I yield my ground to you. It’s my home.” He quirks a neatly groomed brow, taking another step around the table, so you’ve switched positions. “You don’t live with the rest of your lovely family? Your younger sister has a home deeper within this city, but you choose to stay here, in this lonely place?”

“It’s my home,” you repeat, “and I like the quiet. Can you understand that?”

Eris’ brow narrows at the perceived insult, and you move closer to the table, to your orrery. “What sort of nonsense question is that?” He asks sharply.

“You live in a palace, don’t you? Big; spacious? Filled with people and riches?” You ask, narrowing your eyes on the male. His lips quirk, “more riches than you can even comprehend.” Eyes run over you, judgementally, “more beauty, too.”

“Filled with people, I’ll bet,” you say, ignoring the comment with practiced ease. At least Azriel’s helped with desensitising you to such things. “Servants, courtiers, maids. Does your home— Does your father’s palace ever sleep? Do you ever get any peace?”

“If you’re prying to see if there’s a single moment I might be vulnerable to an assassination attempt, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. There isn’t a single person who steps foot in my palace without authorisation.” He replies smoothly, caramel eyes gleaming.

Your lips tilt quietly, “what a lovely cage you live in, Eris.”

He stiffens, then his mouth twists itself into something resembling a smile—too serpentine. “Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare? You’re quite talented at it.” You don’t mistake it for a compliment. “Tell me: which of them taught you to speak like that?”

Your brow dips in confusion. “It’s not warfare—It’s observation. There’s nothing aggressive about it.”

“No? No animosity in your prying? I could have sworn I detected a bite back by the river. Where have your claws gone? Were they clipped just like the hell-cat’s were?” He smiles—unnerving to be faced with it. “Bring them out. We can have ourselves a sparring match.” A hand raises in mocking challenge, beckoning you forward.

Hairs raise at the back of your neck, skin prickling with that itch that lies just below the scratch of your nails. Burning your fingertips. Dangerous. Manipulative. Manipulative.

“And where did you learn?” You fire back. “Who taught you to be so insidious? Or do you know no different?”

Caramel burns into you, charring your insides. “An answer for an answer.”

He’s got you. Knows you won’t rise to his challenge. So you switch methods.

Eyes flick down to the machinery on the table, “it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”

If he’s caught off guard, he doesn’t show it. Well-accustomed to being on the constant edge. “A waste of time. The tinkerer has simply welded a few cogs and screws together—basic metal work.”

Your gaze rises to his, a hint of amusement within as you take a seat to better peer at the orrery. “You’re trying so hard to make it seem insignificant, yet you were studying our planet, so you’re clearly familiar with its structure.” Fingertips graze across the gilded metal of the sphere, the only one occupying the habitable zone. “I doubt you’ll answer my question, so I can only presume you’re used to hiding your interests.”

“Presume away,” he drawls, “it’s no bother to me.”

“No bother,” you echo, spinning the orrery, cogs ticking, globes rotating smoothly. “You hide like there’s something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with being fascinated by the world?” You play with the system, again falling under its spell, admiring the intricate carvings, how the tinkerer has rendered texture into metal—made it appear soft.

“You speak as if you’re knowledgeable of it. How much can you know having only spent two years in our land, feeding off our history?” He counters, stepping toward the table, eyes flicking carelessly over the mechanism. With forced lightness. Your brow furrows as you peer at him, “what’s the meaning of having endless time to discover if you don’t use it? I know about the world because I’ve read about it, and I’ve read about it because I want to know. Two years isn’t long to study something as vast as this, but unlike you, I have time to myself, to do things for myself that I want. And this—” you gesture to the small solar system, “—is what I’m interested in.”

The corners of Eris’ mouth tilt down, stepping finally closer to the table, as if accepting a conversation is inevitable. “And you think it is wise to invest your time in something as academic as this? You think you’ll be allowed to study it? Pursue your interest in it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You counter, absently tracing the rings of one of the planets—how beautiful they are! “I’m immortal now. Why shouldn’t I spend it doing things I like? Not all of us want to be sour and miserable.”

His lips quirk, “you maybe immortal, but you’re also detrimentally female. If you think your sex will not be an obstacle in your study, then you’re much more naive than I thought.”

Your brow dips, “and you’re awfully cynical. The library is filled with books, and is run by females, so no—I don’t think my sex will be an obstacle,” you snap. Take a breath in. He’s good at getting under your skin. You have to remember that’s his game. And you can’t fall for it. Otherwise Azriel will be right.

Eris opens his mouth, and you just know you don’t want to hear whatever rubbish he’s about to spit out. So you divert by returning to your wonderful orrery, “if you had to choose between these two planets to stand on for five minutes—” you point to the globes either side of your own, “—which would you go for? Air shortage aside?”

He rolls his eyes, irritated. “I do not have an interest in your childish device, and I did not come here to be lectured on how great the world is, nor anything beyond it. I have much more pressing things to concern myself with. The fact alone you choose to entertain yourself with knowledge that will never impact anyone is proof of your naiveté.”

You ignore the jab, even if it scratches its nails down your mental walls. “If you set foot on this one—” point to the one further from the centre, “—you would be crushed in seconds. Do you know why?”

The viper’s smile again, “as I have already said, I have no childish infatuation with things beyond my control. You’re wasting your time.”

“This planet,” you carry on, pointedly ignoring him, “spins nearly five times faster than our own, meaning gravity—the stuff that holds us to the—”

“I know what gravity is,” he snaps, fire lighting in his eyes.

You blink, startled by the outburst. He watches you silently. Doesn’t make a move to interrupt you again.

“Meaning the gravity,” you say slowly, waiting for him to jump again. He doesn’t. “…is stronger.” You blink again, but he makes no comment. “As a result, the days there last mere hours. How can that not fascinate you? How many other quirks are out there? Even limiting it to our own planet?”

His caramel eyes narrow. “Careful,” he warns. “People have been put to death for talking as you are.”

You look at him, confused. “People in your court? Why on earth would anyone be killed for this?”

“Regardless of court,” he drawls, as if it’s obvious. “For suggesting something other than the Mother. On grounds of blasphemy. The study of science is inherently rooted against her.”

Eyes widen as you stare at him.

“Is that what’s stopping you?” You ask, incredulously. “You’re a favoured heir to the throne, aren’t you? What good is that title if you’re unable to benefit from it?”

His brow narrows, “there are infinite ways I benefit from it. If you’re too ignorant to figure them out, then it speaks volumes to your wisdom.”

You ignore that, pushing forward. “But Rhys has one in his study—an orrery. It can’t be that serious?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re doubting yourself. “Is it?”

“Hasn’t your sister witnessed first-hand how selective the world can be in who it favours? Did you not listen when I told you your sex would present difficulties?” He says sharply. “If you’re set on remaining ignorant, I see no point in continuing this conversation.”

Spine straightens as you stare at him, surprised.

“If I don’t know something, then explain it to me,” you say quietly. “How can I learn if I don’t know where I’m lacking?”

“It is not my responsibility to educate you,” he snaps. “Neither my responsibility to entertain you with conversation. If you prove to be dull, I have no reason to waste my time on you.”

“I agree it’s not your responsibility to educate me,” you say, frowning, “but if you have knowledge of something I don’t, and refuse to share it, how can you stand there and remain irritated with me? When you have the ability to change that?”

Eris’ lips twist again. “Like I said: it’s a waste of time.”

Your brows curve in frustration and disappointment. “You’d rather allow your irritation to fester than do something to prevent it? If you have a problem, and the means to repair it, but choose not to… Well, it speaks volumes to what sort of High Lord you might be.” As soon as the title leaves your tongue, it smacks back into you, the weight registering in your mind. The male before you really might become High Lord—inherit the power and responsibility that comes with it.

He’ll become responsible for his whole Court—yet prefers inactivity when faced with a problem that does not directly impact him.

“Why spend my energy on something so useless? You are only one person—why should I waste my breath? You clearly have no concept of how important and limited time is to someone in my position, in spite of immortality,” he states coldly, caramel darkening to something icy. “I prioritise matters I deem to be important; you waste your time flicking through old books that would better serve a fire.”

“I’m wasting my time on something I love.” You reply sharply, skin itching again, prickling at your fingertips. Sick of having it looked down on. Of being looked down on.

Lips twist in a faint, serpentine smile, eyes gleaming with predatory focus. He descends into the seat opposite you, moving with the grace of a spider, spiralling down into the centre of his web to meet his prey. Suck it dry; liquidate its insides. “Now that piques my interest.”

You don’t need to look down to know the colour your skin has changed to. You do anyway, eyes widening as you take in the faint, radiant green of your fingertips. You stare silently, noting the iridescence.

“I gather my brother’s mate is a seer, while the hell-cat yielded her power,” his smile is one crafted from centuries of cultivated misery, sharp edges created to keep himself safe. Carving his own bones into weaponry. “Could Rhysand have kept you secret because you have no control over it? Even after all this time?”

You bite down on the fear—it’s the second time it’s sparked up in broad daylight. Out in the open. Where anyone can see. “So persistent with the theory of secrecy,” you manage, voice coming out smooth, for the most part. “Maybe you didn’t know, because my power is nothing. It doesn’t heal, doesn’t hurt—nothing besides a dim light in the dark. It’s utterly useless.”

Eris doesn’t look convinced. “The cauldron wouldn’t give you a meaningless power. You haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Why is it so unbelievable?” You counter, in a hurry to end the conversation so you can return to the cover of your room. “Elain is the only one gifted with a real power. Nesta—” Are you allowed to tell him? He already knows she yielded it, so you see no point in hiding it. “Nesta took something. Ripped it away from the cauldron. Why would I be given anything meaningful?” You ask, and see the interest drain from his eyes. “Out of the four of us, Elain’s the only one with a working power.”

“And that’s why you’ve had so much time to yourself,” he drawls, malice again swimming in his whiskey eyes. “No training to do, nothing useful to preoccupy yourself with. Just steadily draining resources, and researching nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” you fire back weakly. “And it’s not heresy either. —nor blasphemy, or whatever name you want to give it to try and convince me it’s wrong.”

His eyes harden, “it denies the power of the Mother. Everything was made when she tipped out the cauldron. Science seeks to disprove that.”

“It shows the beauty of the world!” You insist, vaguely aware of the colour growing more intense as you press your hands into the surface of the table, rising to your feet. “It shows how intricate, and delicately woven it is! The only thing it does is prove there is something out there. How can you look up into the night sky, or gaze across the world, filled with magic, and life, and think any other way?” You argue, pushing the orrery across the table. “There are patterns in our world. Strange, and wonderful patterns, if you know how to spot them. The perfect rotations of our world around the great star, how everything intertwines with one another, like those cogs and screws you were trying to make light of. How can a world be so intricately faceted by chance? There has to be a designer—a creator. The one who set everything in motion to become as it is now.”

Your heart spikes as you think about it—how great she must be. The vastness of her capabilities.

“Science does not deny the existence of the Mother—it allows us to study the depth of her. Or something close to it.”

Eris’ eyes flick down to the solar system that you’ve pushed between his hands—now studying the details. His attention drags back up to you, noting how your pupils have dilated, heart beating quickly, nails digging into the surface of the table, gleaming with iridescence. A slow smile as he makes the connection between your emotions and the glow.

It would be a shame to tell you.

He’ll watch you figure it out for yourself—even if you have to stumble your way to the end.

“You’re skilled with words,” he says at last. “Has anyone told you that?”

You regard him silently, a little taken aback. Almost exhausted from the output of energy. Who knew it could be so tiring sharing an interest. How draining excitement is. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur quietly, fatigue weighing on your tongue from the outburst. You know he’s manipulative. You won’t fall for it.

His smile grows a little wider, into something vaguely normal. “You might even have avoided execution with a speech like that.”

Strangely, it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. It’s not much to go off, not much to rely on. He’s had centuries to perfect this act, would be flawless at it by now. And yet…

And yet. It’s enough for you to believe him. Trust your gut, and it’s telling you he’s being sincere.

Strange indeed.

————

Mor had interrupted almost immediately after, making you spring back from the table, seeing her blonde head appear in the kitchen, eyes hard when they landed on the Autumn Court male.

She’d promptly whisked him away to whichever room they were having their meeting in, and you’d hastily tucked your hands at your back, concealing glowing fingertips from her sharp gaze. You’d hated yourself a little in that moment, for hiding it from her. For not being brave enough to face them head on.

It was nothing compared to the sharp, stabbing laceration in your gut when Eris noted the movement. Offered you a slow, vulpine smile.

It’s been days since then, and every step seems to echo your doom. Every footfall in the hallway, every chirp of voices—you’re convinced they know. Because how much longer is he going to keep it a secret? How long before he asks something from you? Something you can’t give, because you don’t have access to them. To any of them. Not in the way he would like.

A series of knocks is landed to you door, and the book slides from your hands. Yelp when it nearly hits your foot. Feyre really needs to start walking a little louder so things like that don’t happen. You sigh heavily.

“Come in,” you call, hastily collecting up the book, plonking it down atop the precarious stack at your bedside. A small gust of dust motes shoot out from the pages, and you cough, turning to the window. Opening it to invite in the crisp, midday air. Open the curtains a little wider, too.

You turn to face her, here probably to ask you to another dinner. It’s been nearly a fortnight since the last one, when Elain had invited you to the…mortal lands. You really don’t know what to call that part, now.

Hazel cuts into you, air catches in your lungs—maybe it’s the dust.

You stare. Stare, and stare, but he doesn’t morph, or transfigure into your sister. Shadows crawl at his feet, slink over his wings, kept tight to his body. It’s strange to see him so tense.

“What are you…” you trail off, shaking your head slowly. “No.”

Azriel’s mouth purses. Remains in the doorway, not even one step away from the threshold. “We should— I would like to speak with you.” You stare longer; shake your head again.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

“I don’t… No. I don’t want to,” you manage. “I’m in the middle of something right now.” His eyes flick about the room, and you shift to conceal the books at your bedside. “You don’t look busy,” he says slowly, aware how quickly things can turn sour. “That’s because I’m talking to you,” you reply, equally carefully.

He pauses, eyes once again scanning your room, then, “may I come in?”

Spine goes rigid; his pupils dilate. “I want to clear the air between us,” he supplies. “It would be better to do so in private.” He has a point. Feyre’s added a sound barrier to your room after the mess of last time, but… It’s midday, no one should be here. The only people who occasionally dip in are Elain and Feyre. Nesta doesn’t really…the two of you aren’t as close. “Okay,” you find yourself saying, dipping your head, “but I need to—” you gesture to the clothes on your floor. The general mess.

He nods, throat bobbing before he steps inside, the door clicking behind him as he keeps to the clear spaces on the floor. Few and far between.

You swallow, prying your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “What did you want to… Where do you want to start?” You ask, returning to the far end of your room to push the windows wider—as far as they can go. The breeze plays with strands of your hair, cleaning out the stuffy room, smelling slightly of mildew and parchment. Mostly dust, though.

“Your feelings for me…” he begins quietly, the words blaring throughout the room. “How long have you—”

“You know. Start somewhere else,” you interrupt, nails digging into the wooden frame, nudging the fabric of the curtains with your foot. He pauses, and you remain turned away from him, heart spiking. But he acquiesces.

“Okay…” he breathes heavily, followed by the faint stretch of leather as he folds his arms. Flexes his fingers before doing so. Still, you don’t look at him. “The talk with Eris.” It’s your turn to sigh, shifting on your feet to face him, wind blowing in gently from behind, soothing the heat between your shoulder blades, wrapping your cardigan a little tighter.

You don’t question how he knows about that short chat. Maybe Mor mentioned it—she’s the only one who saw, anyway. And you can’t imagine Azriel would have allowed it to go on that long if his shadows were aware. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“He just asked why I lived up here, instead of with the rest of you,” you mumble, scanning hastily for something to do. “I just said I liked the quiet, and that’s it.” Fingers grip the hem of a top, carrying it to your bed to fold away. The first of many.

Silence stretches between you, taut and tenuous. Hairs rise at the back of your neck, skin prickling.

“You didn’t mention that last time,” he says slowly, neutrally. Too controlled to be calm.

Your brows draw together. “I didn’t,” you confirm, picking up another top, folding it. It’s slightly out of place, the seams not lining up, and you redo it. Set it above the other. “Why not?” He asks tentatively. “It helps to know exactly things like that.” You stand straighter, looking at him—he does indeed have his arms crossed. Uncrosses them when you face him. Also straightens.

“We haven’t spoken since then,” you say slowly.

Eyes lock briefly when you both connect the dots.

“You’ve spoken with him since?” It’s phrased as a question, but…

Throat rolls, eyes turn away, body following shortly after, grabbing a pile of three garments. Set them on the bed. Hands moving like clockwork.

Head dips in confirmation.

Silence digs deeper. A shovel in a grave mound.

“When we had a meeting?” He asks, voice again taking on that controlled tone. Body coiled tight. Features neutral. “Yeah,” you murmur, “when you had that meeting.” Set the skirt atop the pile.

“And he asked why you live alone?” There’s an implication there. What is it? So many different angles to study it from—not a pleasing thought. “Not directly,” you mumble, “he said it was interesting I chose to live here when Feyre had a house deeper in the city. I think.”

“What you do you mean, you think?” He asks steadily, remaining statue-like in your peripherals.

“It was a few days ago,” you supply. “It didn’t stick with me.” That part didn’t, at least. He nods, reasoning it out in his head. Understandable.

“Was there anything else?” He asks instead. You know he marks the way your shoulders tense, even if you operate otherwise normally. “No,” you mumble, turning away from him, “nothing important.”

“We’ve been over this,” he reminds. “You don’t—…” Sighs. “Just tell me everything, and I’ll decide what’s important.” Why does this keep happening?

“You can’t trust him,” he adds gently, a touch softer than before.

You nod your head quickly, “I know.” Quiet reigns again, and he’s debating something. “Just say it,” you murmur, straightening the stack of books, skittish fingers fumbling with some of the loose papers. You should probably separate them out into a neater pile—they’ll only get more crinkled otherwise.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he supplies carefully.

“Okay.” Nod once. “I won’t.”

Picture the way his throat rolls, fingers flex at his sides. “Do you really understand why you can’t trust him?”

You pick up a few books from the stack, depositing them on your desk, moving to sort through which ones can be returned to the library. Mentally cataloguing their numbers and titles that correlate with set aisles. “I do,” you say, seeing how that would have been misinterpreted. He does you the courtesy of not asking you to explain it. “So you understand why you have to be careful about what you say. What you let him know,” he reasons softly.

Something heavy settles in your gut at the reminder, but you keep your lips shut.

“Eris is a snake,” he continues. “I can’t stress enough how wary you should be around him. And certainly never by yourself.” Eyes briefly meet over that last part, then your own dart away, returning to organising the catastrophe on your desk. Shifting through papers and diagrams. Charts and catalogues. Star formations and little doodles. “If you give him something, he will find a way to use it. It’s imperative you never let him know anything important.” You look at him over your shoulder, temporarily removing your focus from the lovely books, “what counts as important?”

Azriel sighs, leans against the tall frame of your bed, one shoulder propped against it calmly. He looks relaxed—it’s intentional. A distortion to make things seem fine; to keep you calm.

He raises one hand, gestures between you and him. “Us,” he says, reluctantly. “Things like this—they’re private. Emotional problems, and squabbles or…complications,” he expands. “You can’t let him know about anything like that. If he thinks there’s weakness, or a rift he can exploit, he will.”

Breath catches in your chest, and you snap you attention off him, forcefully reattaching it to the books you’ve laid out. Which pile means what?

“I don’t…” you begin. Swallow. Unstick your tongue. “I don’t know about any of your relations. Within…within Rhys’…” You fumble, unsure how to describe them all.

(Us.)

“Family?” He supplies. “Within your family?”

“No,” you sigh. “Beyond my sisters. I don’t—…I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with Cassian, or Mor, or Amren, either. I don’t—… There’s nothing he can get from me.”

Azriel watches you silently, skin prickling beneath the weight of his focus. “They’re your family, too,” he says gently. Almost tenderly. “Not just Rhys’, or Feyre’s. You’re her older sister, so you’re a part of it all, too.”

(A single pair of pearl earrings.)

Hazel locks with your own, and you release a soft laugh, beams of amusements finally lighting your eyes, mirth building on your mouth. How long has it been since you’ve laughed because of him?

Azriel narrows his eyes, and the laughter dies on your tongue. “Oh.” The word whispers out on an exhale, subconsciously taking a step backward. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I thought—” You shake your head. “You’re just saying that.” He remains silent, watching you intently.

“They don’t—,” you fumble. Trying to find the words. “I mean, they—… We’re separate. Me, I mean. I’m not—”

“Yes you are.”

You shake your head, not accepting it. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” you mutter. “I’m not that naive.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “Granted, you don’t make it easy. But you’re still part of it all.”

“So you—” You’re not sure if you can say it. “You don’t… You see me as family?”

It’s his turn to falter, coming up short. You shake your head in disbelief. “Azriel…”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you. Opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Let’s just… Let’s stay on track.” Otherwise it’s going to get ugly.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

Lower lip trembles; you bite it, turning your attention to your desk. He’s quiet for a few moments, and the energy begins to settle.

“Why does family bother you so much?” He asks, quietly.

Breath whooshes from your lungs, and you place both your palms flat on the desk, so tired. “Because,” you sigh, eyelids weighing heavy. Massage the bridge of your nose with both your middle and forth fingers. “The feelings I have for you…those don’t belong to a family member.” Shame heats your cheeks, fingers covering you eyes. How many times do you have to say it?

“Why do you insist on targeting everything I’m uncomfortable talking about?” You ask, softly, hands remaining over your features, muffling you. Because if you don’t divert, he’ll target that, too. “You did the same in the air,” you whisper, “you get hung up on these tiny points and you can’t let them go and it’s…” You don’t know.

“It’s what?” He asks, coldly. Lip trembles at the tone, pushing away the dampness, lowering your hands. “Why do you do it?”

“It’s my job to get the details right,” he replies.

(Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare?)

“I’m not your job, Azriel.”

“You are when you run off and have unmonitored chats with that male.”

“Eris, or Bas?” You ask quietly.

(You’re quite talented at it.)

He falters, then his jaw ticks, the muscle feathering. “We’ll talk about Bas in a minute,” he says. “For now, we’re talking about how you behave around Eris.” You stare at him. Blink. “I don’t know how to make it clearer,” he continues, watching the ceiling, head tipped upward slightly. Eyes flick down, looking as though you’re below him.

Lowers his head.

“Eris prefers verbal warfare,” he begins, repeating the same old things he’s already told you. Fingertips begin to itch.

Hazel pierces into you, muscle in his jaw tensing. “He’s good at it, too. Good enough to make all of us wary. Doesn’t that show enough?”

(You’re skilled with words, has anyone told you that?)

“I got that impression.”

He nods, no more than a gentle dip of his chin. “That’s good,” he sighs. “It’s a good start.” Something twists in your gut at the words.

“Just don’t go near him,” Azriel continues, unaware of the numbness that’s slowly spreading down your back. “Okay.” Hands move automatically, and you watch distantly as they go.

He sighs, “so tell me what happened most recently. All of it. Then I can tell you what’s good and what’s not.”

“I don’t remember all of it,” you mumble.

Why are you so tired? It’s not the same fatigue as after talking with Eris. That was pleasant. Your mind was tired from working. Now… You’re just tired of resisting.

“You said he asked about you living alone,” he prompts. You want to go to bed. Want to close the curtains and crawl deep under the sheets.

You nod distantly. “And you said you liked the quiet.”

Nod again.

“So what happened after that?” He’s gotten quieter, sensing your disengagement.

You shrug weakly. “We just talked.”

“This is what I mean,” he says gently, attempting to soften the words that need to be said. “Eris doesn’t do idle chatter. You have to start understanding that.”

You shake your head, denying, “he didn’t ask anything else.”

“But you were talking?” He asks pointedly, doubt clear.

You go quiet. Shoulders slope.

Azriel sighs, standing upright. There’s no use talking to you like this.

“Let’s try this another time. When you’re more… When you’re feeling better.” He waits a little for a response. Feel the weight of his gaze on your hands. You don’t respond, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Allowing your peace.

But still, when he leaves, you’re torn between crying, and wanting to run after him.

Nothing’s gotten better.

You still crave his attention, even though it’s begun to hurt.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei

#CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #CBMTHY Part 5 #Azriel #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader #Eris #Eris Vanserra #Azriel x reader angst #angst #acotar #multi part fic #series

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theabigailthorn · 9 months

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as a tabetop game designer people often ask me how to "get started" in game design, and i'm always stumped about what to say, especially since it feels more like they're asking for a peer to recognize them as a peer in the making, for some kind of authorisation to Become, and i'm not sure how to provide that for them. is that something you've experienced as well? as an actress, a writer, an essayist? how do you deal with it?

Oh for sure, all the time! Not just as an artist but also just like, as a trans person, I get a lot of people asking "How to get started" and it seems like what they want is permission to begin. I usually tell them about the difference between confidence and entitlement, that's some of the best advice I ever got.

And for the record, I've also done similar things with older actors and writers - wanted them to validate me as a peer. It comes with being junior in an industry I think; gotta cultivate the entitlement and forget the confidence!

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doodle-pops · 7 months

Text

The Ainur | With A Short Reader

Request: Can I make a request for headcanons for how the Ainur would be with a short human reader? Around 5 foot tall? Like an elf of about 6 feet would only reach up to some of their chest or lower still, considering they’re like 7-9 foot tall. Would they be cute, teasing, protective, frustrated by the height difference? P.s. I love the way you characterise all the Ainur, it really feels like their personality, you do a fantastic job. - anon

A/N: Happy to fulfil this request and learn that you enjoy my characterisations of them anon. I tend to envision the Ainur as nothing less than nine feet since they are deities and display their power through their heights. So you’re going to appear super short next to them. Nonetheless, Enjoy!

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Manwë

The bird was too stunned to speak. Are you a child or dwarf, certainly that could not be your final height at the end of your growth? Unfortunately, it is your complete height which makes you appear as a little bird before the great King. Now his nickname ‘little bird’ makes more sense.

He cannot fathom how you can be the same size as a bean and packed with all that sass whenever he mentions how tiny you are. You require a ladder if you ever reach his head for a ‘level-headed’ talk.

Has no issue picking you up with one hand and carrying you around like his personal comfort toy when he’s having a bad day. Anyone commenting or teasing gets a look that speaks about them receiving a bolt of lightning.

Let us not forget his avian side which is going to fawn over how adorable you are. You’re tiny and squishy, perfect for belonging in his nest where he can shower you in affection all day long.

The size difference is outstanding. Just picture a baby lying in their parents' bed, looking like a little nugget among the pillows…that’s what you appear like anytime you snuggle in his bed. On numerous occasions, he didn’t see you and almost squished you under the sheets.

With your size, it means wearing his robes and marching around his room or Ilmarin pretending to be him while he silently watches from afar. You are drowning in his robes, don’t even wear his shirt, it’s a gown on you.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Irmo

Your size doesn’t change the way he’s going to shower you with ultimate love and affection. Apart from the minor teasing he’ll conduct for the fun of the situation, Irmo loves you the same way if you are tall.

A gentleman who enjoys using the opportunities when granted to lift you over puddles or streams so he can fawn over how you fit in his arms. He (and the others) can lift you with his pinkie and has done it before.

You are authorised to always sleep on his chest—you look like a kitten sleeping on his chest in his eyes—mainly because you like to roll and so does he and nothing good has arisen from you both rolling together.

Gets lost in crowds and he panics. He’ll be walking around asking if anyone has seen his little lover and he will give descriptions. “They’re about 5 feet, this short and very tiny. They look like an elfling…”

Saw children’s clothing on a walk with you in a boutique, did not know they were for children and excitedly stated, “Oh look! I believe these would look lovely on you! They even have your colours.”

Do not be upset with him, he didn’t know that it was children’s clothing. Irmo only wished to share the moment of shopping with you. But worry not, he gathers the best seamstresses and tailors to fashion you the finest wear that looks nothing like children’s clothes.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Námo

Has a smile on his face anytime you take the lead and walk in front of him, hence his reason for always telling you to lead the way. He’s a simple Vala, he wants to watch as you waddle like a duck with your short legs as you take him to Eru knows where.

Pretends to complain when you ‘borrow’ his robes because you missed him, but gushes mentally at the sight of how you’re drowning in his forever monochromatic black robes.

His viridian eyes were soft at the sight of you walking around, dragging his robes all over. The idea of complaining about getting them dirty has disappeared, and all he is thinking about is how you look like a penguin.

Your feet running across his halls are the equivalent of tiny pitter-patter and it’s how he can easily distinguish your presence; just listen for the tiny footsteps. But it never works out well when you’re among elves and lost in a crowd.

The first time you met his brother, Irmo mistook you for a child Námo adopted and congratulated his brother on softening up to the idea of children. To make matters worse, you played along—much to Námo’s annoyance—and clung to his arm, calling him ‘atar/daddy’.

Irmo was elated, you were dying of laughter and Námo was contemplating his life. He couldn’t believe this was the humour he signed up for the moment he fell in love with someone shorter than most individuals.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Ulmo

Mistook you for the child wandering the shores the first time he saw you in the distance and scolded you for playing in the deep waters without parental supervision. That was until he learned you weren’t a child and your permanent height for a lifetime.

‘Pebble’ was the most suitable nickname he gifted you since pebbles were small and cute…like you. Plus, he brings you pebbles, seashells and pearls from the ocean floor as a token of affection.

Because you’re smaller, your strokes as you swim alongside him are slower, so he’ll call the seals, dolphins or whales to swim alongside you for assistance. You’re even allowed to ride them anytime you two are swimming out in the depths.

Since Ulmo’s true form is staggering, he opts to appear around the same height as you are anytime he has to walk the earth. His favourite place to have walks would be the beach obviously.

Hand holding while watching the sunset and he’s quietly staring at your short fingers holding his larger hand. He loves holding your hand to fawn over the size. He would even slip on a cute ring with a pearl one day.

Because Ulmo is known for having no resting place as he wanders the waters of the world, he enjoys visiting your home. It’s even better if you live near a lake for him to have easier access to seeing you frequently. Cue Ulmo marvels at how small your household items are as he picks them up.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Oromë

Congratulations, you are the perfect size to sit on all of his creatures (and him) to ride through the forest with him. He cannot get over your tiny figure because he knows that you’re about the same size as an elfling and all his creatures are larger than you.

Roughhousing is a thing that occurs between you both and he gets caught up in the experience to forget how easily he can send you on a trip to Estë for healing…because it has happened multiple times.

Picks you up like a sack of potatoes and slings you over his shoulder when he has to carry you somewhere and you’re being troublesome, or he wants to randomly surprise you. You’re as light as a feather as he runs with you through the forest.

Swinging from his muscular arms anytime he flexes his muscles for you? Yes, yes you do, and he loves it. Fuels his ego to know that he’s strong and his lover can climb him like a tree. Clinging to his muscular physique and probably biting him? Yes, you do that he calls you a tiny beast who needs to be tamed.

Not the type to underestimate the size of a creature you can ride because of your size but is also cautious at the same time. Wanted to gift you a Shetland pony because you were small enough to ride one, but back out last minute knowing that he would receive an earful. Gave you a giant-sized tiger or dog as a companion.

You wear his pelts and pretend to act like him, attempting to wield his bow—sweetheart, you couldn’t even draw the strings—as though you were hunting.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tulkas

No different from Oromë and will playfight with you using the strength in his pinkie finger and you’d still have to bandage some body parts because accidents happen all the time. No worries though, he praises your injuries and makes you feel as though you fought a great battle with him.

He has no doubts, dismisses your strengths and associates them with your size having seen many great warriors display outstanding strengths and feats despite their size. Instead, he encourages you to take pride in your size and all the greatness you can accomplish.

You got a workout buddy, or rather he got a new dumbbell to lift or someone to sit on his back for push-ups. Your weight is inconsequential, but it doesn’t stop you from enjoying the fun in the moment.

Also picks you up like a sack of potatoes and carries you around the place, introducing you to all his close friends and elves. Anytime you need to speak ‘eye-level’ with him, instead of going to lengths to climb tables or a tree, he’ll kneel to your level.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Melkor

Getting called dwarf, child, or both the first time you meet will result in him changing the names and calling you a critter if you attempt to attack him for calling you short. Probably ‘ankle biter’ might be your new name because he denoted that small things have the most rage.

You’re a ferocious ankle-biter in his eyes whose nerves he enjoys getting on because your responses are hilarious. It’s all in jest…or maybe not.

Nothing of his will ever fit you, that also means trying to wear his crown with the Silmarils. It’s currently sitting on your neck as we speak. All you can do is make versions of his outfits tailored to your size.

You’re smaller, so his hands can cover your entire face. Know what that means? Squish your cheeks as you speak to admire how soft and dough-like they are. “Hm, ankle biter, you have remarkably soft cheeks,” he says while squishing your face.

There’s nothing you can climb on to meet his height because he makes sure that there isn’t anything around. He wants you to break your neck looking up at him (bite his ankles and he’ll reach your height).

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Eönwë

“You’re like a hummingbird minus the speed,” he chuckled upon the first sight of your tiny figure. You were lucky he didn’t consider you a lost child who wandered before him in search of help because he was ready to call you ‘child’.

I have to say, Eӧnwё is the best person to try the same ‘daddy’ prank on when you’re walking through the streets of Valimar but clinging to him and acting like a child for the elves to fawn over how adorable the interaction is. There is always an elf who inquires for you to look them in the eye and say, “This is my atya!”

His avian side adores your tininess; and makes you all the more delicate and squishable. You are never again going to leave the nest…just joking, but his protective side goes up a notch because you are TINY.

I mean, he loses you in a crowd easily and you can’t even jump high enough to show your location. You can climb a table or chair but still have to get past the sea of heads before Eӧnwё spots you.

Gets you the smaller version of everything so you don’t have to struggle with holding the larger objects. He once watched as you climbed a chair as if it were a mountain or fought with a glass of wine because the glass was too big to hold.

At least going on flights doesn’t change whether you’re extra small or bigger. Visits in the morning and takes you to watch the sunrise over the mountain from a bird’s eye view.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tilion

Doesn’t matter if you’re tiny or tall, you still look the same from his view in the sky as he guides the moon. But he does melt at the sight of you looking up at the moon.

You are forever his ‘little deer’ even though you’re probably feisty and love to bite or nibble on his arms all the time. Similar to Oromë, carries you around like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, but more for the fun of watching your short legs dangle.

Doesn’t alter the size of any furniture so he can observe your legs dangling over the edges and sway, or the size difference between you and the table designed for a nine-foot entity.

Roughhousing is a constant must-have between you both because he adores pinning your smaller body under his and making you fight back. Tilion just wants to watch you struggle and wiggle like a worm. Bite him.

Puts you to sleep on top of him because it is the safest option unless you want to be crushed under a giant nine-foot Maia, and you look like a tiny kitten curled up on his chest. The only thing he hasn’t done is pick you up by your scruff.

He’s such a tease when it comes to you both riding through the forest. Tilion will purposefully place you behind him so you can’t see a thing and then tease you about being too small. But it’s all in jest because he’ll have you ride an elk or reindeer or even a pony that was handpicked to match your size.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Mairon

He also assumed you’re an ankle biter as well because he called you short and you were ready to attack. Please, do not release him from your tyranny because he will make fun of your height and pat your head or rest his arm atop your head when he’s resting. Again, bite him.

Complains about your short legs and how slow you are when you’re walking side-by-side but comes to you later to ask for assistance because some tool of his fell into a small hole and you’re tiny enough to get it.

Tells you that he’ll feed you to his wolves if you don’t stop clinging to him when in truth, he loves it. You’re small enough to not be a distraction as he moves about his forge or the fortress, but it’s just Mairon being a tsundere.

Doesn’t see you lying in his bed because his bed is huge and you’re extra small, so he almost lies atop your body. It’s turned into a staring match like how children stare you down without blinking.

Has a tendency to carry you around, for funsies, by holding onto your belt or grabbing the back of your clothes so you dangle as he powers through the corridors until he arrives at his Lord holding you like a briefcase.

Deep down, as much as he teases your size, he enjoys the differences. Watching you fight to lift an object made for his size or dress in his clothes—if you’re brave enough to try this—is entertaining.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

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sagephilosophie · 5 months

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URGENT!

I have been sent a dm by @wisteria-chan that informed me about a telegram channel that translated my Shio smut without my permission nor did it credit me anywhere, and apparently they have also been banning users that linked my work.

You can see right here by the dates that they clearly stole it today, when i posted it on April 19th ->

I have also changed it back to english to double check and it's the same as my fic, translated word by word ->

I don't have telegram so i can't speak to them nor am i alowed to report them, i could contact telegram team but i would rather we talked so they can take it down or at the very least add my authorisation rights, but if i couldn't be in touch with this user within 24 hours i will take the proper measurements to have telegram team take it down and ban them, if this person is reading this right now, it's your choice how it's gonna be, either you delete it on your own, send me a dm to settle things, or i will take matters into my own hands.

This is the link to the channel please contact them or send them the link to this post

This deeply upsets me and is really insulting to any writer's hard work including myself, and things could have gone differently had they asked, i have had poeple from former websites accounts of mine previously asking if they could translate old works and promised to credit me and i found it pretty sweet and flattering, but the act of deleting any indications to the original post and author, lacks any signs of respect or admiration to their work and is straight up stealing, you can show your support in many ways weither it'll be by leaving a comment or a like or reblogging, i can assure that all writers appreciate any and everyone of those stuff, but always and ALWAYS ask before you translate their work, needless to say they might respond with no which means no and nothing else but no. And that is final. So kindly, this can be dealed with maturely and quickly, it doesn't have to get any more extreme.

If you got in touch with them, more informations are greatly appreciated ♡

#once again i will only give them 24 hours to contact me or delete it on their own #big thanks for telling me again #urgency #vee's

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sayruq · 5 months

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In his spartan home in Israel's Negev desert, Mohamed Hassouna points to the spot where his seven-year-old daughter Amina was seriously wounded by a fragment of a projectile during Iran's attack on Israel. Amina, the only badly injured person recorded in Israel in this unprecedented attack by Tehran, was placed in intensive care with a serious head injury, said the Soroka hospital in the city of Beersheva. The little girl belongs to the Bedouin community, descendants of Muslim Arab shepherds who live in the Negev and are often denied many of the rights granted to other citizens. "We have no shelter," lamented Amina's father, who criticised Israeli authorities for leaving him and his family at the mercy of rockets and missiles. Many Bedouin communities have lived on the margins, and are often accused by authorities of settling on desert lands without official authorisation. While most Israelis have access to bomb shelters, many Bedouin communities are not allowed to build them. Their villages, on paper, do not exist, and no road signs lead to them.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #apartheid #iran #iran missile strikes #axis of resistance #bedouin

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botnasty · 1 year

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Miguel O'Hara X reader

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara X Reader

Summary: You've finally moved on from the man, but did he?

Words: 1,3k

Warning: Angst, mention of miscarriage, big intimidating man, it's just sad people.

Note: Thank you so much character Ai for giving me the idea. Go check out @ fairybaby on c.AI. Also please do tell if I am missing some warnings^^

MAIN MASTERLIST

Please DNI if you are under 18! This is an 18+ blog!

Also, please don’t steal my work, on any other platform, unless you have my authorisation

It happened so fast. One moment you were kissing your new boyfriend goody-bye and the other you had a big scary spider in your living room. Well, a “wanna-be-scary" spider, because that man was your ex-boyfriend.

You sighed removing the high heels you wore to that date. “What are you doing here, Miguel?” When he said nothing, you scoffed. “Can you even have the decency to remove your mark? It’s not like I don’t know your secret.”

“You left your window unlocked.” He said in that deep voice of his that used to make you melt on the spot. He removed his mask, His eyes were glaring at you. He looked the same as the last time you had seen him, which kinda made you sad. You thought that the break up would affect him as much as it did you, but you should’ve guessed. Nothing fazed Miguel O’Hara except for his Spider business. “How many times have I told you to lock it?” You rolled your eyes, but said nothing. instead you stepped closer to him and looked straight in his eyes, something not a lot of people were able to do from how muscular, tall and intimidating the man was.

“You already found another boyfriend?” Miguel asks, there’s almost a sneer on his face. “You can’t even handle being single for a month.”

He doesn’t even mean what he’s saying, but he hates seeing you move on. Miguel’s self-aware enough to know he’s in the wrong. He wasn’t a good boyfriend. That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to move on, though. Isn’t it obvious he still wants you? Why do you need some other guy? Just come crawling back to him like you always do.

You took a step back, fighting the glare of the man with our own. “You are not my boyfriend anymore. You can’t dictate what I do in life.”

When he hears that, Miguel has to bite back a snarl. He's livid that she's not giving an inch - he's not used to that. He's always been able to be the dominant one in the relationship.

"Sure, sure. Fine," his tone is cold and bitter. "Do whatever you want."

“Yes, I will. Good bye, Miguel. Please close the door once you’ve left.” You turned around and started to walk to go get a drink. You were in deep need of one after seeing him.

“Come home.”

‘No.”

He hates this so much. He doesn't want to be the one to lose control, but it's happening anyway. And it's all his own fault. Miguel can feel himself start to boil with rage. His fingers flex as his fists clench.

As you turn to walk away, Miguel grabs your wrist, spinning you around. With a sneer on his face, he glares down at you. "I told you to come home. I am not a man who begs, so just do what I say. And come back home with me."

You tugged your arm off his hold. “And I told you that I don’t belong to you anymore. You can’t control me Miguel. I’m not like all those other Spider people you can just control around to do whatever you like. I am my own person and that is why we aren’t together anymore; because you only see me as this doll for you to manipulate.”

His head snaps back a little bit as you yank your arm away, but he doesn't let go and instead he steps forward, his eyes blazing. Miguel's never been in this situation before - losing control to someone other than himself. His hands wrap around your wrists with a painful grip as he glares down at you.

"You think you're better than them?" He growls. "You're nothing but a pathetic human, and you belong with me."

“You’re hurting me.” Your eyes started to get glazed with tears. Your wrist hurting from his powerful hold and by his claw digging into your skins.

Miguel's eyes widen when he realizes he's hurting her. He lets go and steps back, taking a second to regain himself and calm his temper. "I'm sorry." He says, but he doesn't know if he really means it, or if he's just trying to be a good person.

You rubbed your now slightly bruised wrist, trying to soothe the hurt. Fury and pain were clashing inside of you. You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or slap the man for having the audacity. “I know you aren’t, Miguel. Please leave me alone. This is the exact reason I broke up with you.”

"You broke up with me because I get angry easily?" Miguel repeats, with a scoff. "That's ridiculous." He steps back to cross his arms across his chest, glaring down at you. "You just don't like people standing up to you - and I was the only one who did."

“You call that standing up to me? I call this abuse and over-protectiveness. You weren’t in love with me Miguel. You just liked knowing you had someone you could control.” Your eyes were frantically looking in between his brown one you used to love staring at in the morning.

Your words sting. Miguel winces, taking a few seconds to let out a frustrated growl. His head snaps back for a second before he takes a deep breath. His tone is calm, but cold, "I did love you."

"You just never let me prove it."

“I gave you plenty of chances, Miguel. And every time… you just proved me the opposite. Where were you when I had my miscarriage? Where were you when I needed you the most? You were just out there being Spider-Man, Miguel.” Tears were now flowing down your eyes.

He knows you are right, but part of him doesn't want to admit it. Miguel felt his temper start to boil again, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"That's what I had to do," he growled, defensively. "I have responsibilities. I couldn't be there for you."

Miguel knew he was wrong. He was terrible to you. But that didn't mean it was easy to admit that she deserved more.

“You are right. That is what you need to do… Spider-man has taken a big part of your life, Miguel. I don’t see where I fit in anymore.”

You sighed. “I'm done with this conversation. Good bye, Miguel.” You pointed at your door.

He's left with two options at this point: he can either let you leave, and face the reality that he's lost control over you... Or he can try to stop you, and maybe, somehow, get you back. And that's the option he chooses. The more he thinks about it, the more it seems like he can't stand the thought of walking out of that door.

"Wait!" he calls out, stepping towards you. "Can I- We can talk about this-"

‘No, Miguel. There is nothing to talk about this. Please.” You placed a hand on his biceps with a sad smile. “If you love me like you say you do… let me go. Let me be happy.”

He wants to argue, but he knows she's right: he can't keep her against her will. You have good reason to leave him - and you really want to.

Miguel lets out a pained sigh and steps back, crossing his arms across his chest. "Fine." He says, in a bitter tone. "Do whatever you want. Just... take care of yourself." He's obviously holding a lot back - he wanted to tell you everything - but he's not going to force you to listen.

“Thank you… this is goodbye, Miguel. And don’t worry, your secret is safe. Take good care of yourself.” You smiled at him one last time then opened the door and left.

Miguel watched her go for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, before sighing and burying his head in his hands, a mix of emotions running rampant through him as he contemplates what's just happened.

After a while, he sighed, and looked to the open door, looking out into the city that he's spent so little time in these days. He knew that, if he didn't want to lose her... He had to make some changes.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara angst #spiderman 2099 angst #spider man 2099 #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman x reader

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