#but because she'd think it would just magically work out this time

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

This is precisely why I don't keep alcohol at home. Because if I did I'd be drinking right now, and that would neither change the situation nor make me feel better about it after sobering up. But I reeeally want to forget about it.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[ckret2]

So a while ago some friends were talking about fans who claim the Same Coin theory is canon. And I made the mistake of saying:

Do you know who also has tons in common with Bill? Mabel. Yet nobody claims Bill reincarnated as Mabel. …wait now I want a "same coin but it's Mabel" AU. Funniest Bill reincarnation option. The all-seeing arsonist is making macaroni glitter art. The omnipotent tyrant is crying because a unicorn called her a bad person.

And then I overthought it for two months.

So—AU where after death, Bill's soul shoots 13 years into the past and reincarnates as Mabel. I'll call it ✨ Sparkly Coin AU ✨

Don't leave yet. Lemme show you why it works. Behold the eerie amount of parallels in their personalities, dialogue, behavior, mannerisms, tastes...

I could have kept going but my attention span ran out. All right, we all on board now? Convinced we could segue from one personality into the other? Great. Now here's why you should be interested: the juicy post-Weirdmageddon angst potential.

As long as a small fringe of the fandom still thinks Weirdmageddon is Mabel's fault, why not amp that up x100 and have some fun with it?

Is everyone sold now? Great. Let's get into the details. I've got 8 more pieces of art under the read more.

So the AU starts the instant Bill dies. Thanks to invoking his deal with the Axolotl—one way to absolve his crime, a different form, a different time—the Axolotl gives him a new shape and shoots him thirteen years into the past. Apparently, the Axolotl thought it would be very funny to stick Bill in the family that defeated him.

Which probably made for a jarring transition.

(It's fine, she's like 10 minutes old, she probably can't even tell who she's looking at. Not being able to tell who she was looking at is what got her into this situation ayyyy)

When Dipper & Mabel come back from Gravity Falls complaining about this triangular jerk Bill, their parents mention that Dipper's name was nearly Bill. See, after they knew they were going to have a boy, one night their mom dreamed about a visitor—some kind of magic pink salamander??—calling her child "BILL." Then at the next sonogram they found out they were having twins, the girl must've been hidden at a weird angle the first time, and they wanted matching names, so they thought, Bill and Bell. But they didn't really like Bell; but eventually they stumbled on Mabel, so to keep the names matching they switched from Bill to Mason. Isn't that the darnedest thing?

(Of course, Mabel and Dipper assume Bill harassed their parents to try to trick them into naming a kid after him. To be a jerk.)

When Bill meets Mabel, he's unaware that she's his future self—Bill's notably bad at doing things like, say, double-checking to see whether he's going to die anytime soon—but like... he can tell something's up.

Naturally, before visiting Gravity Falls, there were echoes of who Mabel used to be—but nothing anyone would be able to identify without context. All her Bill-ish quirks either smoothed out with time (see: how between second grade and fourth grade Mabel went from being the "freak" to the popular girl in class), or else they were accepted by her family as Mabel-ish quirks.

After they meet (and kill) Bill, they have the context to understand some of Mabel's behaviors... and unfortunately, some of Mabel's latent Bill-ness starts surfacing after she's been directly exposed to her prior incarnation.

The part of the Pines family familiar with Bill thinks the worst case scenario is that maybe Bill's survived and is slowly possessing Mabel; but far more likely, they think this is just some weird way of trying to subconsciously process last summer. Mabel doesn't think she's being weird, you guys are being weird, stop giving her weird looks. They get attacked by one triangle and now she can't wear yellow or pick up macrame as a hobby??

(It's not all red flags and uncomfortable triangle imagery, though. When Stan asks her what she'd like as a gift for some important event, she shyly admits that she thinks she's starting to outgrow her plastic gem jewelry and maybe she's old enough to get her first piece of real gold jewelry, if that's not too expensive? And Stan's never been so proud of her. Thirteen years old and already thinking about buying gold!)

But of course, the real fun starts when Mabel finds out.

That's the face of a girl who's just discovered that she tortured her great uncle. Now imagine running into the brother she possessed.

But I've already spent a million words and thirteen images on this post. If enough folks are interested in the AU maybe I'll expand on it later. Let me know what y'all think.

[loriache]

Butch up that Elf: my Marcille manifesto

TBQH, this came into being because the Falin "dragoness" fanart rewired my brain completely. It's sillytimes, but we're going to make a serious argument: trying out being a little butch would Fix Her.

1. Marcille Gender Discomfort

Now, Marcille LOVES feminity. She loves playing dressup, she loves elaborate gowns, she spends her free time going to the spa - the absolute last thing I want is to deny that. However, there's also a definite vibe that this isn't just a preference. Specifically, the way that she pushes Falin towards femininity suggests that she isn't comfortable with gender nonconformity in the people around her.

If this was something she was 100% confident about ("I'm doing this for myself and nobody else!") surely what other people do wouldn't be a big deal? Of course, you can read this as a little bit of solipsism; "what works for me must work for you too! I think this is so cute and would suit you - wouldn't you agree?"

But for the sake of this argument, all I'm trying to suggest is that gender nonconformity (and probably sexual nonconformity... well, frankly, any kind of sexuality at all) is unlikely to be something that's on Marcille's "radar". She hasn't tried out other ways of presenting and decided she doesn't like them. I do think she'd be a very flamboyant butch - "ouji lolita" vibes, you know? It's a whole new set of wardrobe options she could play dress-up in, even.

After the story ends, she starts dressing like her mother in all black, which makes sense - her mother was also a court magician, so she's probably emulating her in order to project confidence and authority. But I can't say I think she should stick with this. Break away and be your own person, Marcille! Try a fancy waistcoat and frilled jacket!

2. Haircut

This is another potential hard sell, I'm sure. The people she loves doing her hair is a cute symbol of their care for her, and her hair is key to her magic - so there's plenty of reason for her to keep it long. But like... think practically. Having someone do your hair every morning, for the whole of her long life, while it gets messier over the day (because she can't remember to keep it neat)... That's got to be such a pain. My hair gets messy when I put a hoodie on. And I have short hair.

It would require her to go through a change of mind, and probably a little more growth in how secure she feels in her relationships, but - the hairdo's a symbol. The more important thing is the relationships themselves. Eventually I think there might be something liberating about cutting it off, even if she might eventually decide to grow it out again.

The lion, her trauma, took something away from her which was really important to her. The people around her are able to make that easier, and make up for it, and soften that loss, but... Mithrun isn't the person he was before, you know? He's a new person. The relationship he has with his brother is new, and I don't know if it's one that the person he was before could have had. If Falin hadn't died, they wouldn't have gone on that wonderful adventure! They wouldn't have met Senshi or saved Izutsumi and Laios and Marcille wouldn't have gotten so close. So I think it's totally congruent with the themes of the story that the burning away of this part of Marcille's self might eventually create the potential for new growth in a new direction, not clinging onto the parts that are gone.

This also isn't totally out of the norm for elven mages - both Otta and Flamela have short hair. Otta is canonically butch, and potentially Flamela reads that way to elves too, but the point is it clearly is possible to be an accomplished mage without long hair.

3. Desiring (to be) a chivalrous prince

Marcille's succubus is clearly General Halleus from her favourite book series, the Daltian Clan. The fact that this is her ideal man.... it certainly plays into readings of her as Not Straight. But at least, this conveys the way her conception of sex and romance is strongly idealised, dissociated from the bodily and from physical desire.

There are many ways to interpret that, including thinking about what types of desire this fixation is obstructing because she is not comfortable with it, but I am going to focus here on what this desire does signify. She likes the trappings of courtly romance, and is clearly comfortable putting herself in the role of the princess, being taken away on a white horse by a noble (but tormented; eyepatch has "death" on it lmao) prince. (Though I think he's actually the token male lead who isn't royalty; he's a General. There's always one in Romfan, lmao. IYKYK)

A kiss on the hand - this is so chaste, I think it's clear it's more about desire to play a role in a dynamic than it is about desire in a physical sense. There is undoubtedly a big part of Marcille that wants to be a beloved and chased-after princess, but I think it isn't at all impossible that she'd also enjoy being the powerful, cool, and chivalrous "prince" to someone (a pretty girl, perhaps) who needs her protection.

This is a little silly, because it's clearly just aping the shoujo artstyle that articulates basically the same idea as her succubus, that Marcille is attached to highly abstracted and idealised romantic (and Romantic) tropes and ideas. But the imaginary "successful" Marcille from chapter 4 looks quite similar to her succubus. (Another thing I noticed is that in the fantasy she has sharp ears... like full elves have. Despite what she says, I think the cultural messaging that this trait is "attractive" and hers are inferior got to her at least a bit. 😥)

Also, the way that she treats Falin, scolding her indulgently, trying to look after her and wanting to be looked up to and respected by her... that aligns more with the "masculine" role in the trope that her succubus is referencing. "What are we going to do with you...?" I can imagine her saying this to Falin, word for word. Whereas, if anyone real started talking down to her, even affectionately, I don't think she'd like it, given the negative way she reacts when people don't respect her or her skills. Especially after canon, given the way the Winged Lion was treating her.

Her attitude to Falin is partially down to her reluctance to acknowledge Falin as an adult, who is independent and can grow beyond her and leave her behind. But I think even as they move on from that unhealthy dynamic, Marcille is still going to get pleasure from feeling capable, reliable, able to look after and protect Falin. She'd like to pull the chair out for her in a restaurant on a date, you know?

4. Conclusion

Even after the growth she goes through during the story, there are parts of Marcille's character that are very much obstructed. Romance, sexuality, and gender, feel like one of those to me. The way that her discomfort with the messy origins of food betrayed a deeper, more significant discomfort with the cycles of life and death.

Much in the same way, I'd argue that the simplified, idealistic, and safely fantastical way that she views romance, as well as her very "safe" gender presentation and tendency to push it onto others as well, suggest an underlying discomfort in her own gender and sexuality. The character growth she goes through leaves her in a place where it may be possible to safely re-evaluate her relationship with Falin, as well as her choice of clothing and hairstyle, both things that go through a change at the end of the manga. Neither, I think, reach a sustainable stopping point that we see - there will be a point when it's more servants doing her hair than friends, just out of practicality, because they're all going to be so, so busy. The black clothing to copy her mum is cute, but once she gets some more self-confidence in her own skills as a court magician, I think she'll move on from it. And... who knows what direction her relationship with Falin will develop, over the years? I'm rooting for them, anyway.

In all those cases, I think moving outside of the things she's done before, into something really different from the things that are "safe" and expected, will be the most rewarding path for her. Like in the dungeon, things that she would initially reject were actually able to sustain her and broaden her tastes. She loves dressing up, looking after people, and "princely romance". So I say: Butch Marcille! It'll be good for her!!

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - Chapter 1 - Nesta

Summary: 

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Warnings: 

Nightmares, mention of the blood rite, friends with benefits sort of relationship, stabbing (in the past), magical mental health care (sorta)

(super pretty dividers by @cafekitsune)

The night air was crisp, but not cold, a welcome reprieve from the summer heat.

But none of this was calming down Nesta's racing heart, even when she stamped down the panic that rose in her chest.

She shielded the bond from it as well as she could, not wanting to wake up Cassian...again.

Nesta didn't know what it was but...but somehow the nightmares that involved the Blood Rite were...worse than even the ones that involved her father dying...the ones that involved that gods-forsaken cauldron.

Somehow the Blood Rite...somehow that was leaving her in a state of panic that nothing could touch. Not even Cassian. And he tried. Her mate did try.

She tried to. She tried everything...making herself so busy with training and work that she should fall into bed with pure exhaustion...sleeping with Cassian and hoping that maybe the pleasure of that would wipe away the nightmares…

Nothing worked.

Nothing helped. Each time she closed her eyes, the same images would invade her mind. The endless days of battle, the gruelling journey through the mountains, the horrors of the Blood Rite...they all appeared with a sickening vividness that made it seem like she wasn't just experiencing a mere nightmare, but actually reliving those horrible days.

It made her throw up and want to cry...want to roll herself together in a miserable little ball because she didn't know what else to do anymore

The panic rose in her chest, making her heart pound in her ears. She was getting desperate, desperately searching for a way to make the nightmares stop. She was considering sleeping outside, on the balcony in the night air, just for a change of scenery.

It seemed ridiculous, but...but at this point...at this point, she'd try anything.

She took a shaking breath, her hand gripping the balcony railing tighter, her knuckles turning white. The night air, usually so calming, was doing little to ease the tightness in her chest.

She was contemplating going back inside and trying to sleep again...just closing her eyes and hoping that maybe this time she would experience something different...when suddenly, she heard the flapping of wings...

Nesta turned her head towards the sound, her senses on high alert. The wings sounded large, powerful, and...familiar.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Azriel appeared before her, slipping over the balcony railing, shadows swirling around his shoulders. "Nesta," he greeted her calmly, giving her a slow nod...like it was totally normal for him to appear on her balcony in the middle of the night.

"You weren't there at dinner," she blurted out because she hadn't seen him since this morning.

"I had a late dinner with an old friend," Azriel answered. Azriel's response made sense, even if the notion of a "late dinner" with an old friend sounded strange to Nesta. But then again, who was she to judge? Azriel spent most of his time being the Spymaster of the Night Court, so she supposed it shouldn't surprise her that he had...odd friends.

"Oh," was all she could manage in response.

"I didn't know you had friends." She immediately regretted her words but Azriel just chuckled.

"Just the one," he promised her, as he leaned against the railing next to her. She caught a sense clinging to him that she couldn't place.

She eyed him carefully, her eyes taking in the mysterious shadow clinging to him. It was a scent that she couldn't quite place, but it was oddly...familiar, too.

Azriel chuckled again, his voice still as calm and steady as ever.

"Just the one," he repeated. "An old friend, from a long time ago."

"Can't sleep?" He asked quietly, his voice a deep rumble.

She gave a slight nod, not looking at Azriel. The nightmares were the one thing she didn't want to discuss with him or anyone for that matter. She didn't want them to know how weak she was, how she still couldn't get a rein on her emotions and her thoughts. She didn't want them to think any more of her as a fragile, broken thing than they already did.

The thought of it, it made her sick.

But...but she had a feeling that Azriel wouldn't judge her, or look at her in that way. Maybe she could...maybe she could ask for help. Or at least...let him know that something was wrong.

She swallowed hard and then said, her voice hardly more than a whisper: "No, I can't...I can't sleep. The...the nightmares."

Azriel gave a nod as if he already knew. His voice was still that same calm and steady as he said, "The Blood Rite?"

Nesta gave another nod. How had he guessed so easily? But then again...it wasn't that hard to guess. The nightmares hadn't started until after that event.

But at least these days she didn't wake up with her entire room engulfed in silver flames anymore.  She took a shaking breath, fighting to keep her emotions in check. She wasn't a child. She shouldn't be affected by this. She shouldn't be this much of a mess...

"I am surprised you didn't wake up Cassian when you got up," Azriel said suddenly.

Nesta’s eyes widened a little bit at that. Was she that obvious? Did she look that shake? She had hoped she'd done a better job of putting up a mask in front of the others.

"I didn't want to bother him," she replied quietly. "Let him sleep...I wake him often enough."

"He's your mate," Azriel said evenly. "He would want to be there for you."

His words were like a punch to the gut. She knew that her mate would want to be there for her, and would want to help her. Hell, he probably would already be here, holding her, comforting her...if he knew how bad the nightmares were.

But...but she didn't want to burden him like that. She couldn't keep burdening him...

"He tries to comfort me and then he gets no sleep as well. And I will not be the reason why he has a moment of inattentiveness that ends up costing his life, just because I can't control myself," Nesta hissed.

Her voice was bitter as she spoke. She hated admitting it, saying it out loud...but it was true. She was a burden. She was holding Cassian back, making him waste his nights trying to soothe her instead of getting the rest and preparation he needed for a mission.

She couldn't keep doing that to him. She just...she just couldn't.

A silence fell between them then, her words hanging in the air. She didn't know what Azriel was thinking, what was going on in his head. But he didn't try and refute her words, which only further confirmed the terrible thoughts swirling in her mind.

Another beat of silence, as Nesta let the terrible, awful thoughts swirl through her head.

Then, quietly, as if he had read her mind. "You are not a burden," Azriel said.

Another beat of silence, as she let the terrible, awful thoughts swirl through her head.

Then, quietly, as if he had read her mind. "You are not a burden," Azriel said.

"You are not a burden," he repeated, his voice even. "You are anything but."

She didn't reply, just continued staring out over the railing, her hands gripping the cold stone until her knuckles turned white. She was a burden, she knew that. And she didn't know why he was lying to her, trying to convince her otherwise.

"I have nightmares too," Azriel said suddenly.

Her eyes widened and she jerked her head around to look at him. Wait, what? Azriel had nightmares?

Her mouth opened, an astonished question on her lips, but Azriel didn't give her the chance to ask. He continued in the same even tone as if it was no big deal: "And many of them are about the Blood Rite too."

Her mind was reeling at his confession. Azriel had nightmares about the Blood Rite? The strong, mysterious warrior, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court?

She couldn't even process the words. And he said it so casually, so nonchalantly as if he was merely discussing the weather and not admitting to being tormented by such horrible, painful nightmares.

"Even now, 500 years after it happened."

His voice was still emotionless, still so calm and steady, even as he admitted that.

It was unfathomable. How...how did he manage to survive through 500 years of these nightmares? She barely could make it a week…

She couldn't even fathom what it would be like, to have those memories torment her for 500 years and counting. To have no hope of them ever stopping.

A silence fell between them, her mind reeling at Azriel's confession. She was about to ask something, to say something...when he suddenly spoke again.

"You want them to stop? The nightmares?" He asked, his voice quiet, yet with a hint of command in it. A hint of that darkness within him, the shadows that swirled around him like an ever-present cloak.

Her eyes widened, a shiver running down her spine at the command in his voice. She gave a slow nod, not trusting her voice to speak.

Somehow...somehow the shadows around him seemed to swirl and dance a little faster, seeming almost excited at her nodded response.

She would give everything for these nightmares to stop

Her voice was a mere whisper, but the honesty in it seemed to resonate like an echo in the night's silence.

She would give anything to stop reliving those memories, to stop seeing those images, to stop...to stop feeling this pain. Anything, she'd give anything for that respite.

Azriel continued to regard her with those dark eyes, those shadows whirling around him. A part of her wondered, for a moment, just what the shadows were thinking. Did they know what Azriel was about to offer, what he was going to say? Was that why they seemed so excited, so anxious…

"Then let's go." He said that so easily as he held out his hand for her and Nesta took it.

In a heartbeat, she'd taken his hand, her slender fingers closing around his. His grip was warm, strong, and...and it felt oddly steadying. Like an anchor to the ground.

The shadows engulfed them in a swirling vortex of darkness. For a moment, her heart thundered in her chest, a brief moment of panic at the feeling of being lost amid the shadows, at being so far from the ground.

But then...then the shadows seemed to shift, Azriel's firm grip on her hand the only anchor to reality, to the ground.

A moment later, the shadows faded away, and she found herself standing in a street in Velaris.

"I thought you couldn't winnow at the House of Wind," she said weakly.

"No winnowing. Shadow Walking," Azriel corrected her absentmindedly.

What? She had no clue what even was the difference.

"I am only wearing my nightgown," she hissed at him a moment later.

For the first time since they'd left the balcony, Azriel turned towards her, his eyes taking in her appearance, raking over her form.

His dark eyes scanned over her frame, her pale nightgown and slippered feet. For a moment, she felt self-conscious, almost shrinking back from that gaze...but then a smirk curled his lips.

"Don't worry, she won't care," he said drily. "She's seen a lot worse. And a lot more."

“It’s the middle of the night!” she protested next. 

“It’s a full moon. She’s pretty much nocturnal during this time of the month,” he waved her off. 

What kind of friend was this even?!

"Who is she?" Nesta demanded as Azriel led her to a door that was looking...harmless.

"Just a friend," Azriel said simply, his step not faltering as he led her towards the unassuming door.

It looked ordinary, so much so that a passerby would never guess that there was anything special behind it.

He didn't elaborate on the mysterious "she" who was behind the door...and Nesta had a feeling that he wouldn't, not until the moment she would see his friend for herself.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as they approached the door, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation swirling within her.

Azriel was being infuriatingly coy about everything. He wouldn't tell her who they were visiting, how he knew this person, or why this person could help her.

All she could do was follow him towards the unassuming door, her nightgown swishing around her ankles.

When they reached the door, Azriel gave her a slight smirk, as if silently saying, "Ready to find out?"

Nesta shot him a glare back, her eyes narrowing. If he was trying to drive her crazy, he was doing a good job of it.

She had about 5 different insults on the tip of her tongue, but before she had a chance to voice any of them, Azriel pushed open the door, revealing a...darkly elegant interior.

Her breath caught as she stepped across the threshold, her eyes scanning over the elegant yet dark interior of the shop.

Dark tapestries hung on the walls, illuminated by the dim light of the numerous candles scattered throughout. The scent of various herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the lingering scent of something...stronger. There was a...mysterious energy to the place, a sense of something ancient and powerful.

And then, Nesta came eye to eye with a pitch black...something. Golden eyes with slitted pupils watched her from the darkness and she froze. Like a cat, it stared at her. But for a cat, it was...too big. Too tall. It would at least reach Azriel's waist.

Her heart quickened at the sight of the...thing, watching her with its unblinking golden eyes. It was like a cat, but wrong, far too big to be a house cat. She was frozen, her body tense as she held the gaze of the feline creature before her.

She was about to whisper to Azriel what the hell this thing was if he could explain this...but it was Azriel who broke the silence.

"Hello, Bella," Azriel said, his voice smooth and even.

His words sent a small shock through her, her eyes widening as she stared between the strange cat creature and Azriel. Bella? This creature was named Bella.

Azriel continued, as if oblivious to her shock, "I hope you don't mind me bringing some company this late at night."

The feline creature...Bella...huffed in response, seeming to look at Azriel with those golden eyes, as if silently judging him.

For a moment, Nesta was convinced that the creature would attack them, throw them out of the house, but then...

Suddenly, Bella turned her golden gaze back to her, those feline eyes seeming to scan her from head to toe.

And then it moved.

Bella moved with a fluid, almost graceful motion, its jet-black fur rippling as it stepped out of the shadows, its golden eyes still on Nesta.

It was a cat. A massive cat. A huge cat. Big enough that it would reach Azriel’s waist. Bella yawned, showing a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. Nesta thought she was going to faint

The cat-like creature circled her, its movements slow and deliberate. Her heart was still thundering in her chest, her eyes wide as she followed Bella's every movement, half prepared to flee if the creature attacked.

Nesta tried to remain steady, to keep her breathing even, but her heart was racing, drumming against her chest.

Bella continued circling her, those golden eyes never leaving her form for a second. It was like the creature was studying her, silently judging her, and it made her feel...uncomfortable.

"Oh, she likes you," a female voice said. "Did you bring us a toy, Shadowsinger?"

The new voice startled her, and her head jerked to the side just in time to see a woman moving into the room, stepping out of the shadows near the back of the room.

The woman was…utterly gorgeous, with green eyes and long red hair cascading down her back. 

Her eyes widened as she took in the woman before her, her body covered in a gold satin nightgown that clung to her curves and left very little to the imagination.

The woman -who could only be called a Goddess - smirked and was amused as she took in Nesta, her eyes scanning over her from head to toe in the same manner as Bella had.

She was clearly taking in every detail, her gaze sharp and unwavering, as if evaluating every bit of her appearance and body.

"I am not a toy," Nesta bristled.

"Of course not," the woman said with a smile, her voice smooth and silky. "But you are  very pretty."

The compliment sounded more like a statement, like the woman was judging a painting or a piece of jewellery. Her words were not rude...but they didn't hold much kindness, either, more like simple facts.

And they didn't do anything to soothe that flicker of envy that had arisen in Nesta at the sight of the other woman's beauty.

"We are in need of your services, Cate," Azriel said at that moment. Cate. Such a normal name...for such a woman. Her ears were pointed but...Nesta would have bet anything that she wasn't High Fae. She wasn't sure what she was but she wasn't...

Her eyes darted to Azriel, who had stepped up next to her, his gaze on the woman - Cate, it seemed she was called - with an expectant look.

"Services?" Cate repeated with a raised brow, her eyes flickering between them, before a smirk curled at the corner of her mouth. "And what sort of services can I render you, Shadowsinger?"

Her mind was spinning to try to make sense of the exchange, of that subtle… undercurrent of something that lay just beneath the words.

It was almost like there was a conversation happening she wasn't privy to, like they were speaking in a language she didn't understand.

She glanced at Azriel, trying to read his expression, but he was giving nothing away.

Cate's smirk widened as she took in both of them, her green eyes scanning over them with that sharpness that made Nesta feel more self-conscious of her own plain nightgown.

Azriel, meanwhile, remained as stoic, his features betraying nothing of his thoughts. He seemed to be waiting...but waiting for what, exactly?

The silence seemed to stretch on between them, the tension so heavy that Nesta could almost feel it pressing against her skin.

But then Cate moved, the silky fabric of her nightgown flowing around her as she took a few steps towards Azriel. Her eyes were still on Nesta, a smirk still on her lips as she purred out, "Why don't you tell me what services you require?" The woman's voice was low, almost sultry, and her eyes...her eyes were still on Nesta, studying her still.

Azriel's face remained expressionless as he spoke, his voice calm as he said, "She is in need of your help. She's been having nightmares. Bad ones. The same ones, over and over."

Cate's face changed into a look of understanding, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she took in the information. Her eyes flickered towards Nesta before returning to Azriel.

"The same nightmare," she repeated, her voice now thoughtful, before adding, "Every time?"

Azriel gave a grave nod, his voice steady as he replied, "Yes. Every night."

Cate's eyes widened just a fraction, her face taking on that thoughtful expression again, as if contemplating the information.

The woman suddenly moved towards a small table on the side, gesturing with a, "Sit. I'll make us some tea." Cate's words caught her off guard, her eyes widening a fraction…At that moment, Bella the cat walked over to her and rubbed herself against her legs.

Nesta froze for a moment, half expecting the creature to bite her. Instead, the cat merely purred as it rubbed its head against her shin. She glanced at Azriel questioningly, but he only shrugged in response, seemingly well used to the cat’s…usual antics. 

She took the hint, stepping over to the nearest chair and hesitantly taking a seat.

The room was so still, the only sound was the soft rustle of Cate's nightgown as she moved to prepare the tea, the occasional purring of the cat…now letting itself be pet by Azriel, leaning its massive head against his thigh. 

Azriel relaxed. She had never seen him that relaxed before. The shadows were swirling around Bella, the cat lazily swiping at them and that was that. 

Nesta, on the other hand, was anything but relaxed.

"What is she?" Nesta hissed at Azriel.

Azriel's expression remained unchanging, his gaze fixed on Cate as she moved about the room, preparing the tea. "Cate?" He repeated, not looking at her. "She's a witch."

Nesta's eyebrows shot up at the revelation. A witch? 

A witch. The one time she had been confronted with the idea of a witch had been in Illyria. Devlon had been terrified at the idea of Nesta being a witch.

Her mind immediately flashed back to her time in that cold, wretched camp.

Devlon, the sneering face of the war-camp lord. The memory of that small village, the whispered conversations…She couldn't help but remember the fear in Devlon's eyes when he confronted her about the rumours about her being a witch. He'd almost looked terrified like the mere thought of a witch was enough to frighten him.

And here in front of her, a witch stood before her, preparing to make her tea. She tried to keep her nerves in check, but her heart was hammering furiously.

Cate set the tea set down on the table in front of them, her movements graceful and fluid, like every move was a performance.

"Don't worry, I haven't eaten anyone in centuries," Cate quipped as she brought the tea to the table. "You can ask Azriel."

Cate's words startled her, a jolt of...fear mixed with surprise rushing through her at the woman's casual mention of potentially eating someone.

Slowly, Nesta turned back to Cate, trying to control the pounding of her heart in her chest. "You...haven't eaten anyone. In centuries," she repeated, unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

Cate gave her a smile that was full of teeth as if she knew exactly what effect her words were having on her. She seemed to find the whole thing amusing, her green eyes sparkling with humour, as if she was enjoying the fact that she was frightening her.

Azriel started laughing.

Nesta turned towards him quickly, utterly bewildered by the sound.

He was laughing. Azriel was laughing, his eyes sparkling with...amusement at the look on her face.

"She's joking," he said, his voice laced with humour. “A poor sense of humour, but still a joke.”

"You tend to like my sense of humour," Cate quipped, seating herself, a smile playing around her mouth. "I have never eaten another fae or faeries, I promise you, Nesta Archeron," she said easily.

Cate's words should have reassured her, but still, there was something about her that made her feel...unsettled. Cate moved with the grace of a predator, her every gesture full of a...confidence, a power, that was hard to ignore.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

Cate's smile grew wider at the sound of her question, her green eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Azriel told me, of course," she said, her voice smooth and silky.

Her gaze flicked over to Azriel, who was still watching the interaction with those calm hazel eyes.

It was...annoying. He was just watching them, like this was all some sort of game to him. Was it all just...a game?

Nesta couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation at the thought. And at the fact that he seemed perfectly relaxed while she felt like she was ready to jump out of her skin

Cate noticed the irritation on her face and her smile grew wider, a spark of mischief in her eyes as she took in her expression.

"You're annoyed, aren't you?" Cate said smoothly, her voice full of amusement. "Annoyed that Azriel hasn't told you more about me, hasn't warned you about the 'scary witch'."

She couldn't help but flinch at the accuracy of Cate's words. She was annoyed. Annoyed that Azriel had brought her here without properly preparing her, without telling her more about the woman she was about to meet. It all felt...like a power play.

"It's not about you, it's about that mate of yours," Cate said with a shrug. "The General and I have had a rather...tumultuous past."

"With that, she means that she has once stabbed Cassian on general principle," Azriel jumped in with some amusement. "He has never forgiven her."

She felt her eyes widen in surprise, not just at the revelation that Cate had stabbed Cassian, but at the casual way Azriel mentioned it.

And yet, somehow, she suspected there was a lot more to the story than that...and that there was also a lot left unsaid between the two of them.

Cate rolled her eyes at Azriel's comment, her voice full of dry humour. "Cassian has always been one for holding a grudge, hasn't he?"

Her gaze flicked between the two of them, her mind swirling with questions...and curiosity.

There was a history here, between the two of them. A history filled with, it seemed, a whole lot of tension and...probably a lot of violence. And yet, they still seemed friendly. Even close, in a way.

Nesta was dying to know more, to dig deeper into the complexities of their relationship, but they were both being so...cryptic, answering some questions while conveniently ignoring others.

"Now," Cate spoke, her voice soft, "How long, exactly, have you been having these nightmares, Nesta?"

Her attention snapped back to Cate at her question, the mention of the nightmares sending a pang of anxiety through her.

She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady as she answered, "A few months, now."

Cate's face grew serious at her reply, the amusement and mischief in her demeanour fading away, replaced by a look of concern. She leaned back in her chair, studying Nesta intently like she was trying to discern something from her expression.

"A few months," she repeated thoughtfully. "And they're every night?"

She gave a small nod, her heart rate picking up at the intensity of Cate's gaze. She didn't like how perceptive those green eyes were, how it felt like the woman was able to see straight through her, straight into her mind.

"They get...worse, every time," she muttered, her voice low. "Louder, more vivid."

She could feel Azriel's eyes on her as she spoke, the weight of his gaze heavy on her skin. But she didn't look at him, too focused on Cate, on the witch studying her so intently.

"The Dreamcatcher Spell," Azriel said, his voice even. "Can you cast that on her?"

Cate's eyes flicked to Azriel for a moment, a flicker of some undefinable emotion passing over her face before her gaze returned to Nesta. She took in the Shadowsinger's request, considering it for a moment.

Finally, she nodded, her voice calm and cool as she replied, "I can. Yes."

Her heart skipped a beat at Cate's confirmation, a mixture of anticipation and...fear stirring inside her. The Dreamcatcher Spell. She had no idea what that was, what it would do. But Azriel seemed to trust Cate.

"What..." she began, faltering briefly before steadying her voice. "What exactly does that spell do?"

Cate's expression was calm as she replied, "It's meant to help with vivid, recurring nightmares." Her eyes, though...her eyes seemed to hold a flicker of something else, something that made her stomach twist. "It won't help you get rid of the nightmares altogether, but it will...ease them, a little. Blurr them around the edges. Make it possible for you to go back to sleep...it blunts the emotions attached to these memories."

Her breaths came out a little faster at Cate's explanation, her heart rate increasing at the thought of...having the nightmares be eased, even a little. It sounded...too good to be true, almost.

She glanced at Azriel, whose expression was unreadable, before turning back to Cate. "And...there's no drawbacks? Nothing I should be worried about?" Cate gave her a shrug, the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile.

"Do you really think Azriel would trust me with his sister's mind if he hadn't had me cast the same spell over him dozens of times?"

His sister? He claimed her as his sister? 

Her head snapped towards him, but Azriel just inclined his head. 

Azriel trusted her The Shadowsinger, who was always so careful, who was so skilled at maintaining his secrets, trusted this...strange witch enough to let her cast spells on his mind?

"There's nothing to be worried about. The worst side effect could be a headache," Cate continued. "And that would be from an unskilled witch."

Her eyes flickered back to Cate, her mind still struggling to sort through the implications of all this. Azriel really did trust the woman and...

She wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust Cate's words, and believe that there were no dangers or side effects.

But a small part of her mind was still sceptical, wary of letting someone—a witch even—mess with her mind.

"How much does it cost?"

Cate's smile widened at her question, a hint of sharp teeth visible as she leaned back in her chair, her hands coming to rest on the armrests.

"You are wary about letting me mess with your mind, aren't you?" she said smoothly, her voice full of humour. "You're thinking, 'What's the price I'll have to pay for this?'"

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady as she asked again, "How much?"

Cate's smile grew into a full-fledged grin as she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I'm not going to take your firstborn if that's what you're worried about," she said, her voice still amused. "I don't want gold or jewels or anything of the sort."

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction at Cate's words, her anxiety receding slightly at the reassurance that she wouldn't have to pay anything like those things. But she still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more...a catch.

"Then...what?" she asked, her voice still a little wary.

Cate's expression didn't change as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes flickering over to Azriel for a moment before returning to Nesta.

"You don't need to worry about that," she finally said, her voice calm. "Azriel and I…We've...done each other a few favours, over the years.""

Her heart leapt into her throat at Cate's words, her mind swirling with more questions. Favours? Azriel had asked favours of the witch? What kinds of favours?

"That's all?" Nesta insisted, her eyes narrowing a fraction. It didn't sound like that was, in fact, all. The way Cate kept looking at Azriel, the way she said they had done each other ‘favours'...

It sounded like there was a lot more to that than she was being told.

Nesta shot Azriel a look, her eyes narrowing at his seemingly relaxed demeanour. He was being so...unfazed by all of this. So calm, while she was the apprehensive one. He really didn't seem concerned about her letting Cate cast the spell.

Nesta let out a breath, letting her eyes focus back on Cate.

She also hadn’t expected to be led into a chalk circle in the middle of Cate’s living room…or for her to light the candles with a wave of her hand…

Nesta watched in complete befuddlement, her eyes wide as Cate began to chant. The language sounded...foreign, guttural, the words flowing out in a steady rhythm.

She had expected...something different. She had no idea what, but it wasn't this.

Her breathing was uneven, her heart pounding in her chest, the sound almost drowning out the strange language.

And then it was done. 

Nesta watched as Cate finished her chant, the final words reverberating through the air like a spell. For a moment, the room was utterly quiet.

And then...nothing happened.

She stared at Cate, waiting for...something, anything. But the witch just kneeled there, peering at her through half-lidded eyes.

"That's it?" Nesta asked, her voice coming out hoarse and a little shaky. "It's...done?"

Cate gave her a small smile, not saying anything, just watching her with that intense green gaze of hers.

She shifted a little in her position, feeling strangely...naked under the woman's stare.

"That's it," Cate agreed. "What did you think was going to happen?"

She swallowed, feeling a little foolish for her question. She didn't really know what she was expecting. Something flashy, maybe. Or some...sign, some kind of indication that the spell worked.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice a little sheepish. "I suppose I thought...it would be more dramatic, somehow."

Cate let out a chuckle at her words, the sound rich and amused. "That's what everyone expects," she said. "Some grand gesture, some great wave of magic."

She lifted her hand, a small flicker of green magic dancing over her fingertips. "The truth is," she continued, "most spells are not as interesting as people think they are."

"Most?" she repeated, her voice curious. "So some are?"

Cate's lips curled into a small, sharp smile at her question, her eyes sparkling with humour.

"Oh, some definitely can be," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "It depends on the witch, really. Some love to show off. Others...prefer the subtle approach."

"Don't let her fool you, she loves to show off," Azriel said drily.

"Only for you, shadowsinger," Cate shot back, flirtation clear in her voice. And then, somehow the last thing Nesta had expected…The last thing was for her to gain her feet, cross the room and kiss Azriel. Right on the mouth.

She could only watch in stunned silence as the kiss deepened, as the Shadowsinger's hands came up to caress Cate's face, to pull her closer.

It was so...unbelievable. So unreal. But also...so...hot.

She kinda wished Cassian was there. 

The thoughts swirled in her mind, her body heating up just from watching them. Watching Azriel lean in to kiss this dangerous, gorgeous witch with effortless grace like he'd done it a thousand times.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the kiss ended. Azriel stepped back, his cheeks flushed and his breathing slightly uneven.

Cate, on the other hand, looked completely unflustered, her hair still perfectly arranged, her expression unruffled. She simply smiled at him, a secretive, intimate smile, before turning back to Nesta.

For a moment, all Nesta could do was sit there, utterly gobsmacked, her mouth still hanging open slightly.

Finally, she found her voice, forcing out, "Uh...How...long has that...?"

Because, judging by the casual intimacy between them, this...relationship, or whatever it was, definitely wasn’t new.

Cate let out a small laugh at her question, her eyes sparkling with humour.

The look in her eyes was almost...predatory, as she added, "We've been… friends… for a very long time, haven't we, shadowsinger?"

At her words, Azriel's cheeks darkened, his ears turning slightly red as he let out a grunt of assent.

Nesta’s eyes darted to Azriel, taking in his flushed cheeks and averted gaze, the way he shifted his weight slightly, as if uncomfortable. It was so rare to see him off-balance, so rare to see him anything but completely composed.

And it was all Cate's fault. This witch somehow had the Shadowsinger flustered and blushing like a schoolboy.

"We've had...quite the history," Cate continued, her voice smooth and velvety.

Her words were cryptic, and somehow also laced with innuendo, as if there was a whole world behind them, a world full of…memories.

Nesta couldn’t help but wonder just how...intimate their 'history' was.

"Now, if the nightmares persist, have Azriel bring you back to me. Otherwise, you should be nightmare-free for the next few months,” Cate said easily. 

She nodded numbly, her mind still trying to process the implications of all this.

Nightmare-free for the next few months. That was good. That was...incredible, actually.

But her mind was still swirling with so many other things…mainly Azriel and Cate and this...history of theirs that she knew nothing about.

"And…" she began, faltering slightly as she tried to gather her thoughts. "If I...do need to come back..."

Nesta trailed off, her eyes flickering to Azriel as she thought of what she was about to say. It felt intrusive, and yet she couldn’t help herself from asking, “What are your…rates?”

Cate raised an eyebrow at the question, tilting her head as a small smile curled her lips.

"My rates?" she repeated, amusement clear in her voice. "Well, that depends on the…service, I suppose. Some things can be done for a few gold coins."

The look in her eyes, in Azriel’s eyes, said some things couldn’t be bought.

Her mind was still trying to process the implications of that, when Cate spoke again, her voice now completely free of amusement. "But some things...can’t."

Azriel visibly stiffened at her words, his eyes flickering to the witch, a silent communication passing between the two of them.

"Some things," Cate reiterated, her eyes fixed on Azriel, "can only be paid for in... favours."

Nesta was getting the distinct feeling that she was intruding on some unspoken conversation between them, on some agreement, maybe, that she knew nothing about.

"What kind of… favours?" she asked, glancing between Azriel and Cate, her mind swimming with possibilities.

Cate smiled a sharp, predatory smile, her eyes flickering to Azriel before returning to her.

"That," she said, her voice now dripping with sweet condescension, "Is for Azriel to explain, should he choose. Though I’m sure you’ve gathered some idea of what such favours could entail by now."

Azriel rolled his eyes. Nesta stifled a small laugh at Azriel's reaction, his eye roll speaking volumes. It was clear that he was used to Cate's taunting, used to her...provocation.

"Good Night, Cate," he said drily and the witch laughed as they left the house.

"See you soon, Shadowsinger!" she sing-songed in response.

The night air outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the warm intimacy of the cottage.

Nesta took a deep breath, trying to clear her head off the whirlwind thoughts that had been running through it.

The kiss between Cate and Azriel, their history, their…agreements.

It was all so…unexpected. So strange and…intriguing.

"I thought you were in love with Mor," she finally settled on saying.

Azriel shot her a look at her words, a mix of irritation and...amusement, perhaps.

"I am," he replied, his voice gruff. "But Cate and I…" He paused, his expression becoming contemplative as he chose his next words carefully. "Cate and I have...history. It's...complicated."

"And Elain?" Nesta asked, crossing her arms. Whatever had been going on between Azriel and her younger sister…before it had come to a screeching halt sometimes around Winter Solstice. 

Azriel's face shuttered slightly at the mention of Elain, his jaw tightening. "Elain…" he began, his voice hoarse as he looked away. "That's…over. It was a mistake, really." His voice was rough, almost...ashamed as if the memory of his involvement with her sister pained him

"Elain has a mate," Azriel said carefully. "It has been made very clear to me that I have no right to interfere with that." The way he said these words made Nesta wonder who exactly had done that. 

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice as he spoke, a resentment that he quickly masked with a brusque "It doesn’t matter."

But, it did. It mattered to him, that much was obvious from the tightness of his expression, from the tenseness of his shoulders.

She could guess who had made that clear to him.

Feyre must have found out about it – or, perhaps, Rhysand. And they must have intervened.

She swallowed. It made her uneasy, though she understood why Azriel had…pulled back from that. Unless Elain finally outright turned Lucien down…getting in the middle of that was just begging for a fallout. 

“And you and Cate?” she asked hesitantly. 

Azriel’s expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.

"Cate and I..." he repeated, his voice hoarse. "We have...a history, as she said. An agreement, you could call it."

He let out a huff of breath, almost like a sigh.

"We're...friends," he finally said, his voice firm, though there was an edge in it that suggested there was more to it than that

“Cate…Cate makes it very clear what she wants from me,” Azriel said quietly. “When we happen to be in the same place, every few years, we…spend time together. We aren’t beholden to each other in any way. She takes other lovers and so do I,” he said with a shrug. 

Azriel’s words were quiet, spoken matter-of-factly, as if he were simply stating a fact. But there was an undertone of something deeper there, hints of…feeling, maybe.

It was so rare to see Azriel openly talk about this stuff, to lay bare even a portion of his personal life.

“Cate has never been scared of me. I appreciate that.” 

He said that like he held that so precious. That little fact. 

Nesta could just stare at him. 

"It’s...nice," he said quietly. "Being with someone who doesn't...shy away. She’s much scarier than I am after all,” he quipped, a small smile on his far too handsome face. 

[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 1

Eddie kept up a texting chain with Steve while making himself a breakfast of coffee and cereal. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. Not since, well, when he thought of it when he was a teenager up all night in chat rooms and forums. When you found someone who you just clicked with.

[11:30] Any advice on how to fry an egg with a perfectly runny yolk?

(11:32) You like runny yolks??? 🤢 (11:33) It's scrambled or nothing for me (11:33) Cant help ya even if I wanted to

[11:35] I just want an egg on my avo toast

Normally Robin fried the eggs for breakfast. Her yolks were always perfect. But unlike Steve, she'd actually scored last night and was still with whoever she'd gone home with last night.

Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliche. A guy who jogged and then came back home for some avocado toast with an egg on top? He just had to let his stance be known.

(11:35) Next ur gonna tell me bout your acai smoothie bowl rite? (11:36) Avo toast? Really???

Steve realized how he was coming off and had to quickly amend it.

[11:38] It's not what you think! We only got the avocados to make some guac the other day. There was one left and I wanted to use it before it went bad. And I'm all guac'd out. Hence the toast.

(11:39) At least you didn't use the avocado to make like ice cream or some shit

Finished with his own, normal, regular, average citizen breakfast, Eddie cleared his place and started to actually get ready for the day. His shift went from 2 to 10 tonight, so he needed to prepare for the long haul.

While brushing his teeth, getting dressed, and making something for his lunch later, he and Steve kept up the texts. Through their conversation he found out Steve's favorite ice cream (peanut butter), that he could cook eggs just about any way except sunny side up, and that he lived with a roommate named Robin.

Eddie got to his place of work and in a place like that you need to have some semblance of focus and attention, so he told Steve he had to get to work. He realized he was basically saying 'busy now, text you later?' to a stranger he'd only started talking to last night. Steve was completely in his rights to end the conversation there.

He could've ended it at any time really. What obligation did he have to keep on talking to him?

[2:01] Okay. Talk to you later

Steve stared at the message, already in the middle of agonizing over it when Robin finally came through the door of their apartment.

"Good afternoon. I wanna feel offended that I didn't get any texts or calls asking if I'm okay but I'm gonna choose to think it means you trust me and are a great judge of character."

For the first time in a while, Steve checked the time and actually realized how long it had been.

"Shit, Robs, I'm sorry." It had been over 12 hours and he hadn't checked in on her. All because he'd been texting a random number. "So you had a good time?"

Steve had been sitting on the couch and Robin plopped right down, laying her head in his lap.

"It was magical. Like something out of a movie."

"Aren't you glad I made you go and talk to her?", Steve smiled smug.

Robin smushed his face with her hands with a groan. "Don't look at me like that. You were right, okay? Me and her hit it off like, like uh, one of your sports metaphors."

"Robin you were in a soccer league just last year, stop acting like you don't know sports."

"Anyway, something grand must've kept your attention off me. Things go well with that girl you were talking to?"

"Umm, yeah."

Robin sat up, eyes narrowing. "And you came back here with her? Gross! Steve! Did you do it on the couch?!" She shot up immediately.

"I didn't", Steve rolled his eyes.

It was one of their main rules. No sex in the common areas of the apartment. Steve wasn't gonna tell her about the wrong number given to him. And he especially wasn't going to tell her he kept talking to it. The following lecture would have been unbearable.

"She gave me her number and we've just been texting back and forth."

Robin slowly sat back down on the couch. "Just texting? That's all you did?"

"That's all."

"Wow. You usually move faster than that."

"Well, I want something a little more this time. But enough about my snail pace romance. Let's talk about you and that girl, what was her name?"

He and Robin sat a long while, talking about her night, eventually going out for lunch together too. Not-Misty had said they were at work, but Steve couldn't help himself when he saw that Robin had ordered a burger with avocado on it and Steve had gotten a taco salad that came with, you guessed it, avocado.

[3:14] image.jpeg [314] Okay me and Robin might have a problem. But I swear it's not on purpose!

"Did you just send a picture of our lunch to someone?", Robin asked.

"Yeah to uh, to Misty. We were talking about avocados earlier and I figured she'd get a kick out of it."

Robin smiled through her chewing. She teased but she was glad that her friend had made a connection last night.

Meanwhile, Eddie saw the message, but didn't have a chance to reply, even on his lunch break. Through all the texting, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so it was on the plug and he was leaving it alone for now while he talked to his co-worker, Grant. He went through the rest of his shift, thinking about Steve.

What did he look like? How old was he? Where did he live?

He got off and made his way back home, stopping off somewhere to get dinner. It was a sandwich shop and he honestly contemplated getting avocado on his just to see Steve's reaction but he resisted.

'I can't be that down bad that I'm overthinking food now', he thought to himself.

When he got back home, he turned the tv on and took out his phone to reply to Steve right away.

(10:31) Back at home now (10:32) Work was crazy (10:34) And the 1st step to recovery is admitting u have a problem (10:36) But thru hard work we can get you addicted to a sensible veggie (10:37) Like broccoli

He thought since he kept Steve waiting for so long it might take some time for a reply to come, but his phone pinged almost immediately.

[10:39] First of all, avocado is a fruit. Second, I eat plenty of other vegetables. And third, what happened at work?

(10:41) It may be a fruit but I dont want it in my smoothie (10:42) And some guy came in and started throwing axes at the wall

Sunday evenings were usually more relaxed. It was why Eddie typically didn't work Friday or Saturday nights unless he needed some extra cash or they needed someone on deck.

[10:44] Hold the duck up someone was throwing axes!! [10:44] *duck [10:45] *FUCK

Eddie snickered through his eating and had to take a moment to swallow before something came up. He always enjoyed telling people what he did for a living.

(10:46) Cool your jets man (10:47) I work at an axe throwing range (10:48) The problem with this dude was he didn't have an appointment (10:48) Just came in and started throwing an axe at the wall

[10:50] Are you okay? That sounds dangerous

(10:50) My uncle handled it (10:51) Eventually the dude left

[10:52] Oh wow. Well I'm glad you're okay. Axe throwing tho. What an interesting job for someone of your age? 🤷

Steve was lying in bed and he buried his face into his pillow as he sent it with the shrug emoji. It was so transparent, he knew it. But he needed to have a better idea of who he was talking to. That way when Robin did eventually find out, he'd be able to tell her something, anything.

(10:53) Smooth (10:53) I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours

Eddie knew now was the time to be cautious. But he was also curious as to how much Steve would tell him and just what he wanted to know. He wasn't disappointed.

[10:54] Male, 23, 5'11

It was like the bare minimum of information and yet Eddie was already aggressively tamping down any hope that he might have a chance. Without his permission, hope bubbled up anyway

(10:55) Male, 24 going on 25, also 5'11

Steve stared at the text with the mystery person, mystery man's information. It seemed like so little and yet so much. He still hadn't an idea of what he looked like. But now he could at least get a general silhouette.

(10:56) Ur not one of those guys who lies about his height are you?

[10:57] Robin says my hair gives me two inches but she has no idea what she's talking about.

Eddie was thinking about how Steve must wear his hair. It could be in a sizeable pompadour, or maybe a nice afro. Maybe it was in a bun all the time? That was not what he typed out however.

(10:59) You know what they say (10:59) It's not the size but what u do with it

Okay this was it. This was where Steve stopped texting him. You can't just say that to guys you don't know-ping!

Eddie bit his lip and only had one eye open as he looked at Steve reply, preparing for the worst.

[11:01] Oh I know how to use my inches

Eddie dropped his phone onto the table and had to get up and pace, touch his face, his hair, throwing his hands in the air. Was this flirting? This felt like flirting. He wished he knew for sure. Maybe it was the lack of emoji. Had Steve put a winking face, he'd know for certain. Eddie leaned against his fridge, staring at his phone, sitting innocently on the table.

On the other side, Steve was burying his face into his pillow, pretending he didn't just say that. Would it come off as playful? As flirty? As casual? Should he have sent a wink? The seconds ticked and it felt too late. Like coughing after saying something awkward.

God, he was so desperate. Why was he even still texting? He had work in the morning. He should start preparing for bed so he had any hope of getting up on time. Steve pushed off the bed and went to his closet when he heard the notification sound and instantly returned.

(11:05) Let's get out the measuring tape (11:05) image.jpeg

Steve felt his heart skip a beat. The picture attached was of the very top of mystery man's head. He was holding up a lock of long, curly hair into the air. Steve studied the picture like he was getting paid to do it. He couldn't see any lower than the bangs on his forehead but there was still plenty to see.

The rings on his fingers for one, how his curls went this way and that. Steve quickly saved it and then replied with a similar pose, holding some hair by the fingers as far as it would go above his head.

[11:07] image.jpeg [11:08] I think you have me beat

They texted for about an hour more before Steve finally decided to be an adult and put himself to sleep, bidding mystery man good night.

Part 3

Fun fact, years ago I worked at an axe throwing place and yes, what happened to Eddie did in fact happen to me! On like my first week too I think

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @lolawonsstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @420-hun @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Keep hearing people say maribug keep asking adricat if he's ok and he keep saying he's ok instead of telling her his problem but I don't remember it happened more than once in s4 in Rockettear but even then the circumstances of that episode did warrant the "nothing" answer he gave her unless he want to tell her that "nino tell me you let nino and alya know each other identity" which will reveal adricat identity. So when else did she ask? about the thing in hack-san, I think another credit goes to alya since she's the one who bring the topic to maribug who seems to be blissfully unaware that her leaving without telling adeicat that she send subtitute would be a problem.

I didn't get into this side of things in my other post because it was long and I wanted to focus on why Chat Noir's behavior was so frustrating, but this ask brings up the other big reason why the season four conflict was such a frustrating and terribly written plot line. Specifically, the part of your ask where you point out that Maribug seems blissfully unaware that her actions are having a negative impact on Chat Noir until someone points it out to her.

Yes, she is presented as blissfully unaware of this and every other interpersonal conflict we're given in season four. Your ask treats this as a failing on Maribug's part as if she should have obviously realized that she was in the wrong, but that's the whole problem. Telling kids - telling anyone really - that they should just magically know what others need is a frankly terrible life lesson as that's just not how the world works. You cannot just assume that everyone will have the same view of the world as you do and instantly pick up on the same issues as you do. That is the path to easily avoidable frustration and conflict. It also teaches people to assume that their view of the world is inherently correct when that is rarely the case. We often don't know the whole story and the other person's point of view may end up being equally or even more valid. This issue is extremely present in season four as Marinette has legitimate reasons to behave the way she does, which I'll get into in a bit.

If Marinette were written as feeling guilty about how she was treating Chat Noir, then this would be a different story. She'd be way more in the wrong and would shoulder a much greater portion of the blame. But as is? She has no idea that she's doing anything wrong. And until someone takes the time to tell her that her actions are causing harm, she is going to continue causing harm because she has no idea that she's causing harm.

In fact, I'd argue that the Alya thing in Hack San is a point in Maribug's favor. Throughout the episode, we see Marinette sending Alya messages on ways to be a good partner to Chat Noir, proving that she does in fact care about him. And then, as soon as Alya says, "You need to talk to Chat Noir," what does Maribug do?

She goes and talks to Chat Noir, giving him a pretty good apology for the problem she now knows she caused. Because, shockingly, Maribug doesn't actually want to hurt her partner. She also clearly cares about his feelings, making me want to take the season four conflict and tear it into itty bitty pieces because what is the conflict even supposed to be when you write shit like this?

I want to briefly step away from Miraculous and talk about this issue in a broader context via this YouTube short:

This short is from a Vietnamese woman who moved to Germany. Her YouTube channel is about her experiences there, including things like the short above which goes into the differences between what it means to be a dinner guest in Vietnam and what it means to be a dinner guest in Germany. In Vietnam, it's apparently standard for the guests to cook dinner with you where as, in Germany, you're expected to have the meal ready when the guests arrive, making this a situation where it's super easy to come across as rude just by doing what you think is normal.

Society is relatively aware that these types of culture clashes are a thing, but you don't have to be from different cultures to have these types of situations. Every person has their own unique needs and ideas of what "normal" is. The culture they were raised in will affect this, but so will their family, their personal needs, and many other factors. Two people can be raised on the same street and wind up with wildly different world views even though they supposedly share a culture. This is extra true when you add in compounding factors like neurodiversity, which is why it's an exercise in futility to say, "But Maribug should have realized..."

Well, she clearly didn't. And you can't change that she didn't realize whatever you're mad about. All you can do is have someone tell her what she's doing wrong. If she then continues the behavior, go ahead and judge away. But if she immediately corrects it like she did in Hack San? Doesn't that just prove that she truly didn't know that Chat Noir was hurting and would have probably fixed all of his problems if someone just pointed them out to her?

This is only exacerbated by the fact that Marinette's behavior in season four is largely unchanged from her behavior in previous seasons. The only major change is that she revealed her identity to Alya, but as soon as that's pointed out as a problem, she course corrects with an apology. After that, she thinks that everything is okay because why wouldn't she? Chat Noir said it was fine and everything else has been business as usual.

Bringing temp heroes into help as needed? That's been going on since season two. Having these additional members has been vital in multiple battles and there have been plenty of times where Chat Noir took a background role to the temp hero of the day like in Sapotis, Rena Rouge's season two debut. So why would Maribug suddenly think that this dynamic is a problem when it's been working fine for so long? We even had a whole episode about how Chat Noir was still needed in spite of the new heroes back in season three! Or, at least, I think that was Desperada's message? This show is shockingly bad at giving clear lessons.

Keeping guardian knowledge from Chat Noir? That's also been going on since season two and was even treated as a conflict that supposedly got resolved in the episode Syren which was the episode that ended with Master Fu coming to the mansion to talk to Adrien after everything was over.

When I watched that episode, I assumed this meant that Chat Noir was going to be more involved in things like picking the temp heroes. I actually thought this was how we were going to get Queen Bee because I knew she was going to be a thing, but it made no sense for Marinette to pick Chloe for a miraculous. Of course, I was wrong. Nothing changed after Syren. Chat Noir remained nothing more than the comic relief while Ladybug got all the insider info.

To be clear, I think that was a terrible move writing wise, but it doesn't change the fact that this is what they went with. This is the established dynamic. I can't even say that Alya learning Marinette's secret led to something new. She's just taken Marinette's old role while Marinette has taken on Master Fu's old role. This show loves it's status quo and Chat Noir has been at least tolerant of that status quo since Syren, so it's not surprising that Maribug doesn't register that this is a thing that should change and no one bothers to point it out to her even though she has a mentor in Tikki (and Su Han, I guess?) and a confidant in Alya and a whole slew of Kwamis who could also provide insight if they were allowed to do that sort of thing. (Sass and Wayzz were robbed of mentor roles.) Additional blame goes to Plagg because he should absolutely have told Adrien to talk to Ladybug. What is the point of giving these characters mentors who never mentor? It's aggravating in the extreme.

To circle back to the first part of your ask, outside of Hack San and Rocketear, I don't think there are any times when Ladybug invites feedback from Chat Noir unless you want to give credit to the end of Kuro Neko:

Cat Noir: (lands next to her) I've been a really temperamental kitty, m'lady. I didn't realize how much trouble I'd make for you by giving back my Miraculous. Ladybug: (sits closer to him) Just because I don't need you all the time doesn't mean that I don't need you at all, Cat Noir. No one could ever replace you.

Which isn't Maribug inviting him to tell her what's up, but she is clearly willing to listen to him and reassure him, further backing up my point about this conflict being some of the worst writing I've ever had to suffer through. If Maribug always fixes the issue as soon as she learns about it, you are not writing a situation where she's clearly in the wrong. You are writing an easily solved communication issue where she gets blamed for something she clearly doesn't realize she's doing wrong and it is so frustrating!!! I feel so bad for her. The next episode is Penalteam, btw, which starts the battle with this gem:

Ladybug: (laughs) Nice scare tactics, but it's not gonna work. Cat Noir and I are the best at soccer! Cat Noir: (Whispers to Ladybug) I don't know a thing about soccer M'lady. Maybe it's time to call the real team?

And basically just spends the whole episode making Chat Noir seems like a worthless partner while Maribug tries her best to make him - and everyone else - feel special.

Oh, and the episode before Kuro Neko? Well, it's technically Ephemeral, but that got magically overwritten so let's go one further back and we get to Dearest Family, which ends with this:

Cat Noir: (grabs a golden paper crown on the coffee table) Since I'm the king, (wears the crown on his head) would you be my queen, Ladybug? Ladybug: With pleasure, kitty cat! Tradition is tradition!

Oh yes, these two are in such conflict and Maribug does nothing to validate Chat Noir. He's in pain every episode and she's just totally oblivious to it.

If that was what they wrote, then I'd probably agree that we needed more instances of her asking if Chat Noir was okay. But it's not what they wrote. If you look through the list of season four episodes, you'll find that less than half of them deal with the supposed conflict of the season (by my count, only 8 of the 24 episodes before the final actually showcase the conflict and they are not in a logical order in terms of escalation as I tried to demonstrate above). The rest of the episodes flat out ignore it or even straight up work against the conflict like when Ladybug says this to Chat Noir in Guilttrip: "I probably don't tell you this enough, but I couldn't do this without you. And it'd be a lot less fun too."

Seriously, what even is this season? What is the conflict supposed to be? Because it sure as shit isn't Maribug undervaluing Chat Noir, if memory servers, season four sees her validate him more times than any other season. And it isn't her guiltily hiding things from him like so many fanfics claim because we have multiple points of evidence that prove that she's completely oblivious that there even is a conflict. So what conflict are the writers actually trying to write?

What's even more baffling is that none of this logically leads to the loss at the end of the season:

Maribug's new secrets didn't lead to her downfall. The only reason she lost was because of the secret that's always been there - a fact that's never revealed to her - and a freaking evil twin! So why did it matter that Maribug was keeping secrets? This is made even worse by season five maintaining all of the secrets, once again begging the question of what lesson were we trying to teach here???

Chat Noir wasn't needed for the final fight of the season, Maribug only needed the powers of a few of the temp heroes to win, a baffling ending to a season whose focus was Chat Noir feeling unimportant. You could scrap that conflict entirely and the ending would not change. In fact....

Adrien quitting to be nothing more than a good little boy who obeys his father would have actually saved the world from eventually being rewritten. If you think about it, the season four final actually punishes Adrien for being defiant. So does season five as, if Chat Noir had quit, his father would still be alive. I thought this show was supposed to be a romcom, not a tragedy. Why is Adrien being punished for being a hero? Is this supposed to be karma for lying to Ladybug with the whole Catwalker thing?

This shit is why I say I'm a writing salt, character sugar blog. I can't get mad at the characters when they're in such a nonsense story where things never logically tie together. They all deserve so much better.

None of this is meant to imply that ignorance is a blanket excuse for hurting others. Nor is it meant to imply that you have to forgive someone who hurt you just because they didn't mean to. There's a ton of nuance around these topics. But season four acknowledges none of that nuance while creating a situation that desperately needed nuance because there was no clear right and wrong here. Should Maribug work to be more aware of others feelings? Sure, but that journey can only start after she's made aware of her faults and no one ever points them out to her. Does Chat Noir need to work on clearly communicating his needs? Desperately, but no one is teaching him that lesson so he remains a terrible communicator who suffers in silence. What impressively bad writing.

[vampiresbloodx]

(a series or more of a au between you and librarian!Wanda. Legal age gap, mentions of smut, soft fluff, pinning, lots of pinning, I usually don't write any specific gender for reader ((same goes with physical appearance, but I will slip up sometimes and I apologise)) though sometimes I might mention their clothes, if it may be a skirt, pants etc. And if it's smut I'll always tag it.)

After older!Librarian!Wanda kisses you for the first time, she can't stop thinking about your lips.

How perfect they feel against hers, how she forgets about everything around her and only just focuses on you. She never really enjoyed the way her ex husband kissed her, it wasn't all that pleasant. He was a bit forced, quick, Wanda wanted more than that, even if you're going to work, a quick kiss can still mean something so much more. She was a romantic. She likes to paint the scenes in her head on an empty canvas of what she really wanted him to do at the time, but he wasn't that type of man. It saddened her.

Maybe he too was too caught up in the traditional ways. So was she. After kissing you though, all of that went away pretty quickly, she thought about you non stop, always having to touch you, whether that was a hand on your arm, shoulder, etc, pulling you close to her, she was always a touchy person, once you get to really know her.

She was obsessed with how your touch made her feel, the tingles she got, the sensation of merely just a brushing of the fingers when she passed you something, a book, a cup of tea or coffee, whatever it may be, set her heart off. She surely thought she was going to have a heart attack.

No man could ever make her feel the way you do.

It was truly something magical.

When you'd touch her back, giving her the same attention, knowing she'd want it but would be a bit shy at first to ask you, but it seems you'd know what she wants. It's like this non spoken communication between you two. It was special. She's never had that. Where someone just gets her, you haven't even known her for that long, but it felt like you both had known each other for years.

She understands what people meant by those special connections.

And she doesn't take any of it for granted.

Older!Librarian!Wanda is so precious and caring, loving towards you. She likes to bring you things she finds interesting that you might like, if that was a book or something else, she takes your interests very seriously too, even if she doesn't quite understand them as she grew up very differently. But she loves how excited you get whenever she asks you about it, it makes her happy, she also learns something new she didn't know. Which she likes. She does like to joke around with you, have that little banter as they like to call it, you've even taught her some newer things that may be trendy or help her understand it more. It's nice. Because she'll do the same for you.

After she learns what fidget toys are and whatever helps distract you, keeps you focused, whatever it may be you'll have plenty of it. If you forget a specific fidget toy while you're both out, Wanda has the exact same one in her bag, anything you need she has it. Since she knows you get stressed a lot, especially when there's a lot of people, it can get a bit too much, she gets it sometimes, how overwhelming it is, people being in your face and in your personal space, but when you feel her hand squeeze yours, you feel much more relaxed knowing she's there by your side.

[mimi-cee-genshin]

A Slight of Hand Makes Colour - Lyney x f!reader

Summary: You think Lyney hates you. He's never used his charm on you. Lynette's response? If you look behind his ear, just under the stands of his hair, the answer will magically appear. (A cute and heartwarming getting together fic that I hope will make you smile.)

Other info: fluff, cute, some hurt/comfort, some pining, family, getting together, yes I know it's "sleight of hand", 2.5k words

*****

"Does Lyney hate me?"

You sat in front of the cafe with Lynette, enjoying a late night drink, and typically you'd be enjoying the silence and scenery together. But your thoughts slipped out of your mouth before you could snatch them back, ruining the peaceful moment you were having.

"Forget what I said," you said, eyes darting back to your drink.

Lynette placed her cup down and put a new cake slice on her plate. "Why do you ask?" she said with no hint of shock on her face.

"No. It was a stupid question." You took a sip, hoping she'd drop the topic.

"I see… Have you finally begun to wonder why Lyney has never used his charm on you?" she asked.

Your drink went down your throat the wrong way and you began to cough. "How did you know?" you asked, a little embarrassed.

"I could tell from how you were eyeing him as he welcomed our newest guest," she explained.

Nothing got past Lynette. You knew better than to try to hide anything from her. You'd often wondered if her greatest talent was actually reading minds.

She was right. You had never noticed the slight difference in Lyney's behavior towards you, even though you had known the twins for a long time now. He had always treated you with care and respect, but lately, you felt ill whenever he showered others with his suave words. You used to be happy just to see him smile.

You sighed, knowing exactly why you felt this way. You just didn't want to admit it.

"I think it's the right time to tell you this," Lynette said.

"Hm?" you asked. "Tell me what?"

"There's a reason why Lyney acts differently around you," she said.

You raised your brow, but you placed your cup down anyway and to listen for her next words.

"I'll give you a hint," she said. "If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way."

What? It was always hard to tell what Lynette was thinking because of the lack of emotion on her face. But even if she'd crack a joke once in a while, she wouldn't do so when you had a genuine concern.

Lynette took another sip of her cup and returned back to standby mode, drifting somewhere within the stars.

You weren't sure what to make of her comment

*****

It was four in the afternoon and the workshop needed to be cleaned before you could start any work. You took the vacuum, which Lynette fortunately didn't break yet, and removed the sawdust on the floor from this morning.

Next, you wiped down the workshop's two-way mirror, knowing Lyney would need it to test another trick today. The majority of the cleaning fell on you, which you didn't mind. You used to be a maid after all – a maid to a cold and cruel mistress. You had never expected to see the twins again after her downfall.

Lyney walked to the entrance after the doorbell had rung and greeted the lady here for a delivery. You smiled as he chatted up a storm with her, always happy to meet new people, and he even added a magic trick to top it off.

"And that concludes today's mini show," he said, returning his hat on his head. "With your lovely shirt and trousers, I hope to see your excellent style at my next performance."

Ah. Another compliment, another knot in your stomach.

At the door, Lyney received the package which reached just above his eyes when he carried it. You placed your rag down and got the other package that was left at the front door.

"Thank you, Y/n," he said with a smile.

It was a short and simple statement of appreciation, which you typically didn't mind. Yet, he didn't say, 'Thank you. Whatever would I do without you.' Nor did he say, 'You're just as reliable as always. Why, I must ensure that you never leave us!' You'd often hear these words when he talked to your co-workers.

But not with you.

You placed the package on the table beside the retrofitted vase and the room went quiet. The two of you typically didn't mind a comfortable silence, but today felt different. You went on with your work anyway, cleaning up the scraps on the work table as Lyney worked at his desk. He didn't even hum a tune as he usually did when the others were around. It was only silent with you.

You sighed, thinking you would've noticed earlier if you were as observant as Lynette. You weren't sure if the subtle difference in behavior was something you should be concerned about.

Once you were done cleaning, you peeked over Lyney's shoulder as he sketched out a mechanism he'd need for a trick. He smiled at you and pointed to the drawing, explaining to you how the system worked.

"But if I place this gear here, its axel would obstruct the door of the hidden compartment," he told you. "I'm not really sure how to solve this one."

"I see…" you said, pulling out a stool beside him. "You said the axel needs to be at least an inch long... Could you add a slot for it on the door itself?"

He placed his pencil's end on his cheek. "That could work since it's hidden anyway," he said.

He continued to alternate between thinking and drawing, often erasing his paper and even getting another sheet to redraw it. You had always admired the work he put into his shows. You enjoyed watching him passionate about his craft.

"If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way," Lynette had said.

You lifted your hand up to brush his hair away from his right ear.

Lyney's pencil stopped moving and his hand was frozen in place. "W-what are you doing, Y/n?"

You were right. There was nothing there. You didn't expect anything, but you thought maybe there could've been a secret magic trick the twins set up for you. There was nothing of that sort.

And then you saw it.

"Lyney, why is your ear…"

His hand rushed to cover his ear. "I-It just turns red sometimes. That's all," he explained. "It's unfortunate that most of my tricks are done at a distance, so I don't have any plans to create tricks that involve me turning red."

"What are you even talking about–"

His hand… He was tapping his finger and counting down from five. Lyney would only do this to activate his 'performance mode', when he needed to calm his nerves.

"Lyney, is there something wrong–"

"Oh, would you look at the time... The sun is about to set," he said, leaving his chair.

"Lyney, wait!"

Crash!

The pieces from the broken vase were scattered next to your knees and under the table. Memories flooded back of your mistress's twisted scowl and piercing eyes, and you quickly bowed your head and apologized. Your breathing became shallow and your eyes didn't leave the floor.

A fan of cards appeared in front of your face.

"Now you see them, and now you…"–he pulled the cards together–"Hey, hold on a moment, why didn't the vase disappear?" Lyney said before sighing. "I guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

You looked up to see Lyney's smile and outstretched hand.

"Would you like to be my assistant for today?"

You had never forgotten how you first met Lyney. Two magicians on a secret mission and your mistress and her husband had a lot to hide. And yet, Lyney had taken the time to redirect your mistress's anger and given you a hand, just like he was doing now.

You took his hand and stood to your feet, not once leaving your eyes from his.

"Now, where were… uh…" he said, breaking eye contact. He released his grip from you hand, but you held him even tighter. "You're not going to let go, are you?" he said, running his hand on the back of his neck.

"No," you said. "I'm not."

You wanted an answer. You wanted to hear it – that this man in front of you was attracted to you. A wonderful magician who won you over not only because of his magic tricks and charisma, but also because of his kindness, hard work, and love for his siblings. And yet this same person whom you admired all this time had the tips of his ears burning red at your gentle touch.

"Lyney…" you managed to say. "Do you like me?"

He sighed and laughed a little. "I guess the cat's out of the bag. There isn't a way for me to escape out of this one, is there?"

You shook your head.

He gave you a gentle smile. "Do you remember our second meeting?" he said. "When you showed up at our rendezvous point?"

Panic had covered his face when he saw you instead of Lynette, his posture revealing he wouldn't hesitate to attack you if you had harmed her in any way. You had to quickly explain how you hid Lynette in a storage room after she almost blew her cover.

"You had come up with a detailed plan that helped Lynette escape and sacrificed your own food for her as she hid. And you did all of this while you were terrified of your mistress. How could I not have fallen for you then and there?"

You had never realized that Lynette noticed you gave her your food. You would've done it for anyone, knowing what the punishment would've been if she was caught.

"Anyway, that's the story of my one-sided love. We should really fix up the vase that had fallen earlier," he said, quickly returning to the scattered pieces.

"Lyney, but…"

"Be careful now, or you might get hurt. I wouldn't want to see any tears on that beautiful face of yours–" His eyes saw the mirror behind you before he covered his face. "Um… pretend you didn't see that."

You grabbed his face and pulled it back, observing his red blush up close.

"Uh…" he said, eyes darting away. "What are you doing–"

"You know, I wondered why you never used your smooth words on me," you told him. "Why did you hide it?"

He took your hands from his face and placed them back by your sides. "Nothing good would come out of it," he said with a sigh. "Especially with my association with the Fatui."

"And what if I want to take the risk?" you said, still clinging onto his hand.

"What?"

"You've always meant a lot to me Lyney, even before my feelings turned romantic," you told him. "I've taken risks for you before. And I'm willing to do it again."

He lifted his other hand to fix a strand of hair on your head, gently pushing it back and getting a better look at your face. "You shouldn't do that to yourself, Y/n. You deserve more than that."

"We can work together," you said. "Just like we always have."

He pulled his hand out of your grip. "I… I can't," he told you. "I can't do it. How…" His voice wavered as he turned away from you. "How can I take care of you too?"

A door clicked open and you turned to look behind you. Lynette had walked into the workshop from the other room.

"Oh…" Lyney looked at her with a nervous smile. "Did you see all of that?"

Lynette pointed to the two-way mirror. You wouldn't be surprised if she heard the whole conversation.

"Lyney," she said. "Do you remember when we jumped off the cliff, and you shielded my fall before going unconscious?"

"What?" he said, turning towards her. "How could I forget? That was the day you received your vision."

Lynette placed her hand on her chest. "You've taken care of me so much for as long as I could remember," she said. "But I love you too and care dearly for Y/n as well. So if any issues arise because of your relationship with her, let me help. I'll protect you."

"I…" Lyney lowered his eyes.

"I'll be alright, because as always…" she began.

"... Lynette is by my side," Lyney finished. Yet his shoulders sagged. "I… I don't know Lynette. What if something goes horribly wrong? I don't want Y/n to take the fall too."

"Don't worry," she told him, shaking her head. "I've already gotten some ideas to get you two out of any sticky situation. Keep it a secret as long as possible and I'll prepare for any contingency plans for whatever comes up."

"I'm still not so sure…" he said.

"Both of you are also discreet and know how to keep secrets," she continued. "The rest of the family would be excited and 'Father' would be fine with it as long as she doesn't hinder any missions. We both know that won't be a problem."

You stared at Lynette, amazed she thought all of this through. She really wanted this to work out, wanted us to work out.

Lyney placed his hand on his chin and thought for a long while. Both you and Lynette gave him a chance to think and didn't mind the silence he needed.

"So what's your plan?" he finally asked.

"For now, the biggest issue is that Lyney needs to figure out how to stop blushing." Lynette turned to you. "I figured that giving you the hint would get Lyney the help he needed with that."

"You gave her a hint?" exclaimed Lyney. "About my blushing? Lynette… I told you to keep it a secret."

"It was going to show sooner or later," she said. "Better here in the workshop than in public."

"Oh Lynette…" Lyney whined. "I can't believe you were the one who started this."

The tips of your mouth tugged back into a grin, seeing Lyney's arms relax a little. "So is that all he needs to do?" you asked. "Just stop blushing?"

"It's not that easy," Lyney said, a bit embarrassed. "Which was why I've been cautious with my words around you."

"Then why don't you practice now?" you said with a smile.

"What?"

"Practice flirting me until you can stop going red."

"I… uh…"

"What? Is the great magician who's a master at winning hearts actually at a loss for words?" you teased.

"I can't help it. You leave me breathless," he whined, sounding more like a complaint than a flirty remark. Yet his face turned red once again. He looked up at the two way mirror behind you and covered his face with both hands. "Okay, I need help," he said through his fingers.

"Keep practicing on me," you said with a smile.

"Can't we start tomorrow?"

"Nope. You need to make up for all the times I got jealous."

"You got jealous?"

You giggled as you scooped up his hand. "Of course I did. I just wish Lynette had given me the hint earlier."

*****

I hope you liked it. Please check out my other fics if you're interested. :)

[shdysders]

admiration

pairing: jenna ortega & reader

summary: in which jenna admires you, and every single thing you do.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none

author’s note: here it is! 1.1k words of pure fluff and admiration. enjoy!

Jenna loves you.

Her love for you is so powerful that it felt like it would consume you if she let it pour out completely.

She loves you so much that she would move mountains to see you smile. Your happiness becomes her top priority whenever you're around, and she'd do anything to make you feel loved and cherished.

She loves you so much that her heart skips a beat every time you walk into the room. It's like she's under a spell, completely captivated by your presence.

She loves you so much that every moment spent apart feels like an eternity. When you're together, it's pure magic, like the world stops spinning just for the two of you.

She adores your bright radiant smile that was like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day. The smile that appeared on your face every time you saw her. Jenna would rather see your smile than the sunlight on the sky, because it brightens her world like the sun breaking through clouds.

Your smile had a way of making her heart flutter, filling her with a sense of pure bliss. It was like a gentle breeze on a summer day, caressing her heart with its warmth and tenderness. It was a mesmerizing sight, like a thousand twinkling stars in the night sky.

She thinks your smile is a work of art, a masterpiece that could melt even the coldest of hearts and bring a sense of peace and tranquility. It's a treasure she cherishes, a constant reminder of the beauty and magic that exists in this world.

She cherishes your voice in every tone you have. In the morning when your voice is groggy or husky, darker than usual, or at night when you're tired and about to go to sleep; when it's hushed and slight slurry. She loves your voice when you're speaking softly and gentle towards her, whether it was while enjoying each other or while comforting her, she loved it.

She treasures your radiant and infectious laughter, the sound brought her immense joy and was incredibly delightful to listen to.

Her heart dances with joy every time she hears the melodic symphony of your laughter, like a chorus of happiness filling the air.

Your laughter is a contagious melody that wraps around her soul, creating a symphony of love and laughter that resonates deep within her being. In your laughter, she finds solace and comfort, like a soothing lullaby that whispers to her heart, reminding her of the joy you share with her.

She adores the sparkles in your eyes that would appear whenever you would hold a conversation about something you were passionate about; which was everything, really. She adores the way you speak with your hands, along with the toothy grin on your face when you spoke.

You were the only person in the whole entire world that she could listen to for hours on repeat, and never grow tired of your voice. Even if you would say the same things over and over again. Even if it meant she would never be allowed to speak again, she wouldn't care.

Being with you was the only thing she would ever want and need, that was what she would think of every time she looked at you; what a gift she has received to be allowed to be your fiancée, let alone be with you.

Like right now, when you were sitting in front of her at a miniature table, with wine in between of you. This was like the moments she cherished the most, just being with you, just the two of you.

You couldn't notice the heart eyes Jenna wore, being too busy talking about previous events in your life while she was working.

Jenna loved hearing about your life more than anybody, and you loved to hear about hers. You were in fact a great listener, an expert at giving confirmation, such as nods or lead questions. But if Jenna would allow herself to talk more about her experiences, that would mean she wouldn't be able to listen to you as much, and she never wanted anything less.

Your touch was an irresistible craving that consumed her every thought. Whether it was when your soft fingertips danced on her skin or such simple things as warm embraces or a sweet kiss.

It made her feel a sense of warmth, a rush of excitement, or a sweet shiver down her  spine. Your touch makes her feel cherished and adored, as if she's the most precious thing in the world to you. Your touch ignites a fire within her, melting away any worries or doubts, and leaving only a profound sense of connection and passion.

She loves every feature you have. Your bubbly and upbeat personality that would lit up every room you entered.

She loves the small details about you that only she knows and cares for. The subtle creases that would form at the corner of your eyes when you would smile, the strong dimples that would appear when you would smile or laugh ever so slightly.

The way you would tap your fingers when you're lost in thought. The slight tilt of your head when you're really listening to someone.

The way your voice softens when you're talking about something you're very passionate about. The little quirks in your laugh that only Jenna can recognize.

The way your whole face would lit up or soften when you saw her after being apart.

She loves your facial features, your gorgeous eyes that is full of warmth, beauty and love. Your defined eyebrows that frames your face and add to the character you are. Your soft and full lips that she was lucky enough to kiss every morning, night and a thousands of times in between.

Your perfectly slim hands that she would hold every second if she could. Your elegantly formed nails that always has some type of nail polish on them, new colors every week. Every Monday you ask Jenna what color you should paint them, and then you do the exact color she chooses. Every. Single. Time.

It was small things like those that made Jenna feel special. Like she was the only person that you cared about, the only person with a decent opinion on this earth.

She loves every single thing about you, but if she let every single thought about you fly free, the love would consume you. That's how much admiration she had for you.

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[fandoms--fluff]

GIRL GIRL GIRL RIGHT, I THOUGHT I WAS THE FIRST PERSON TO EVER THINK OF POLY!MIKAELSONS WITH LITTLE!READER (in my head i mean not like writing) BUT I AM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING PLEASE I BEG YOU I NEED MORE, GIVE ME MORE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

-🩷

Poly Mikaelsons with a Little Reader Headcannons

A/n: your wish is my command

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Klaus

You'd call him Daddy, and not any other, unlike some of the rest of your mommies and daddies

Like there'd be no reason for needing to call him anything else

Except the couple of times you copied Kol by saying 'Nik'. Which ended in Kol almost getting smacked by Klaus if freya hadn't intervened during those times

He'd definitely spoil you, not caring about Elijah's protests on the matter

He shows you his hybrid eyes to calm you down from a nightmare or a crying fit

^works like magic every time

This beautiful daddy is protective of you like nobody's business

It might as well be his full time job

He'd be the most possessive of you, especially when you regress into basically a baby, not being able to pit together a coherent sentence and just want to snuggle.

^which he would happily comply because even though it may not seem it, he'd be one of the biggest cuddlers, his wolf side playing right into it even moreso.

Elijah

You'd call him Daddy and sometimes when your tired or really regressed, call him Dada

But it's not an every day basis thing

In a very close 2nd place of how protective he is over you, to Klaus

To get you to go down for a nap, he'd walk around the abboiter's endless hallways while gently bouncing you in his arms until your snoozing peace and quietly

Would most likely buy and set up a baby monitor in your nursery to have even more reassurance of your safety even though his vamp hearing is way more reliable than the little machine. But none of the others say anything against it and let it be.

You'd sit with him in his study, coloring a sheet of paper with crayons, sat in his lap, as your Daddy reads through paperwork and boring adult vampire stuff

He'd be very soft with our that no one outside the family has seen or knows of. He'd sit with you in his bed or on the couch or in your nursery on the rocking chair and read you a story - mostly fairytales.

Paces kisses on the crown of your head

Kol

You'd call him Dada and nothing else - he's Dada and will always stay that way to you.

EXCEPT

When kol acts childishy himself (as he often does), he seems more like a best friend than a caregiver to you in those times, so then you'd call him Koly

^the rest of them may or may not be waiting for the moment where it's clear he's also a little cause like c'mon- but that's a discussion for another time

Would definitely be the one to go all out while playing with you, whether that ne setting up massive race tracks all around the abboiter for hot weel cars or creating high pitch voices for your barbie dolls and stuffed animals

He'd blow raspberries on your stomach, sending you into a fit of screeching laughter

Would 100% be labeled as the 'fun daddy'

He'd be the most disappointed when Rebekah banned them from ever dressing you again. He himself thought his outfit choices were incredible.

Would give you smooches all over your face, making you burst out into gleeful laughter

Rebekah

You'd call her Mama and Momma. Mama is used more, but you interchange it depending on your regressed state.

She'd treat you like a princess and almost spoils you as much as Klaus

She'd love buying you cute dresses and jewelry that's safe for you so you won't choke on it or hurt yourself.

She'd ban Elijah, Klaus, and Kol from ever dressing you after witnessing the horrendous outfits they put you in.

^ "this is a fashion nightmare what on earth were you thinking?!" Is a line said to all of them at different moments before she got them all together in a room and declared they're banned from dressing you any longer.

Would do your hair up in the cutest hairstyles, especially the ones with multiple braids

^it's calming for both you and her

She loves just laying with you on her bed. You snuggled into her closet and head nuzzled into her surprising warm vampire chest.

Suckling on her boobs before you're laid down for your bedtime or naps

Freya

You'd call her Mommy and sometimes Momma when you're more regressed. But she's your Mommy through and through.

She loves holding you in her arms and gets a tad disappointed when she has to put you down

^she'd 100% buy one of those adult wraps to hold you against her body

Would cast a protective charm on you so nothing happens to hurt you.

Having Mommy and Mama days with her and Rebekah>>>> they'd be the best!

Freya's the only other one who can still dress you without Rebekah going all 'power mad' (Kol's wording) because she knows her older sister has got the fashion sense that their brothers don't contain.

She'd place Kisses all over your face in the morning after you'd just woken up

Would sway you in her arms and sometimes she doesn't even realize she's doing so

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

During the next few days, you became rather bored with the endless cycle of waking up, brushing your teeth, eating breakfast with your family, and then spending the rest of the day glued to the monitor and watching the world pass by through the window. The days seemed to blend together in a hazy blur, the journey from one day to the next monotonous and suffocating.

You read a few books, from Cillian's collection, during this time and spent some quality hours with Sadie who you adored more than anything in this world.

She was a sweet and innocent little girl, blissfully unaware of the tension that existed between you and your mother who, even in Sadie's life, wasn't present at all.

In fact, when he was in between filming, it was Cillian who did most of the parenting for her while your mother spent time with her friends, working a couple of hours here and there, or helping your twin sister to achieve her goals in life. 

One day, as you sat with her on the floor of her room, with coloring books spread out around you, she looked up at you with her big, trusting eyes and said, "Y/N, will you tell me a story?"

You smiled at her and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Of course, sweetie. What would you like me to tell you?"

"I don't know," she replied, with a shrug of her small shoulders. "Just make it up!"

"Alright then,"  you said, kissing her soft temple reassuringly.

You thought about a story of a brave princess named Sadie who loved to explore far and wide. She'd travel to magical lands where she would meet unique and friendly creatures who would help her in her adventures.

Their mission was to bring joy to people in all the kingdoms they visited. Sadie always made sure to take pictures of everything beautiful she saw so that she could remember it forever.

Along her way, she met a handsome prince who helped her in her adventures, and although they were very different people, they fell in love.

"But even though the princess fell in love with the handsome prince, she stayed true to herself. She still travelled and explored her kingdoms and, you know why?" you asked Sadie who was listening to your story with wide-eyed wonder, her small hands clutching the crayons tightly.

She shook her head slowly, begging for you to continue.

"Because the prince loved her for who she was, and so did she. She was confident and fierce. She was her own person and no one person should ever give up what they love for someone else," 

you continued, noticing the concentration etched across little Sadie's features as she pondered over this.

You saw a small curve forming in her cheeks, "I love that story, Y/N. Do you think there's a real princess like that in this world?"

You smiled at her innocence and laughed lightly.

"I don't know about that, Sadie, but I do believe that everyone is capable of being someone like that - a true self that they can share with the world.  And in this world, sometimes it just takes a bit of courage to let that self shine," you replied with a reassuring smile, patting her soft hair without noticing that Cillian was standing in the doorway, listening in on our tales as well.

"Daddy," Sadie though quickly acknowledged, causing you to turn around, a bit surprised when you saw him.

"Cillian," you greeted and, even though he was technically your stepfather, there was a weirdness installed between you both, that seemed to just grow bigger with every passing day.

"What are you two conspiring?" he smiled gently while Sadie got up and gave him a hug. He had been out all morning  , finishing up some loose ends before his next role in a new film.

"Just storytelling," you replied , trying to sound casual but the way your heart pounded at his nearness was anything but as you wondered how much of your story he had heard. 

"It was a pretty good story," he said slowly, before shooting you an enigmatic smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Do you always listen in?"  you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your gaze locked with his for a moment, and the air between you crackled with an unexpected tension.

"Only when it sounds interesting," he admitted, his eyes not straying from yours. You felt your breathing hitch, the atmosphere in the room suddenly growing dense. "And you sounded interesting," he added, before clearing his throat and looking away.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and fought the urge to fidget under his gaze.

"Isn't she the best story teller ever?" Sadie then asked her father  , her eyes shining up at him.

Cillian chuckled and bent down, picking her up in his arms, as he replied, "Yes, she is." He casted a look your way, a softness in his gaze that made your heart beat faster. "Now how about I run you a bath, Princess Sadie?" Cillian  suggested, giving her a gentle squeeze before putting her down.

Sadie giggled with delight, "Okay, Daddy."

As Cillian walked away with Sadie, you couldn't help but observe his movements with a mixture of admiration and longing. There was something about him - the way he carried himself, his gentle presence - that drew your attention like a moth to a flame.

Once Sadie was out of earshot, you found yourself getting lost in thoughts of him, imagining what it must feel like to be in his arms. But then,  you quickly shook off the tempting images, reminding yourself that he was your stepfather and boundaries needed to be maintained.

Later that evening, after Cillian had put Sadie to bed, he joined you in the living room. Your mother and twin sister were still out and about, seeing a musical that night, and you were both grateful for the break in tension.  You had been arguing with your mother every day and this was tiresome not only for you but also for Cillian who, to you, seemed a little tired in general these days.

"Hey," he said softly, approaching you as you sat on the couch in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, engrossed in a book.

"Hey," you replied, barely looking up from your book. Cillian sat next to you, leaning back into the cushions, keeping a respectable distance between you two. He shot you a smile, his eyes studying you intently while you put the book aside.

"Thank you for looking after Sadie today," he said conversationally, his voice low and easy. 

"I enjoy spending time with her," you replied, watching as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "She's a wonderful little girl," you added with sincerity.

Cillian nodded his agreement, "She sure is, and you have a way with her too, more so than Cliona does," he observed, though not unkindly.

"Ah, well, I like kids," you said, shrugging casually, moving a little to get more comfortable and, just as you did, Cillian noticed the faint scent of your long hair tickling his nose. It was almost intoxicating. His gaze then fell to your lips, subconsciously studying the full curve of them as they parted in a soft sigh as you used the hairband on your wrist to tuck your hair up into a messy bun.

"Uhm," Cillian cleared his throat quietly, tearing his eyes away from your mouth. "Would you like to watch a movie or something?" he  asked, shifting his gaze to the blank TV screen across the room. It was a clumsy attempt at changing the subject and making the atmosphere less tense, but it seemed to work well enough as you smiled at him and shrugged your shoulders.

"Sure, why not. I don't mind," you replied, your voice calm as you tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach as his arm brushed against yours when he reached for the control. 

Cillian turned towards the TV and started scrolling through the options until, eventually, you said 'stop'. 

"How about this one?" you suggested, pointing to a classic black and white film. "It's one of my favorites." 

Cillian glanced over at the screen, recognition lighting up his features as he smiled wryly. "Really?" he then asked, impressed by the fact that you would choose an old classic.  You nodded, "I've always loved the elegance of old films," you replied.

He chuckled, "You surprise me more and more every day," he admitted, his voice light and teasing before he pressed play but, even as the movie started playing, Cillian could not focus on the screen.  He was too aware of how comfortable you seemed to be sitting beside him and, each time you shifted slightly, or moved your hand, a warm tingle spread through his body causing it to heat up. In fact, every time you laughed; the sound was so pure and spontaneous, and it made him want to smile.

Cillian's mind kept wandering away from the TV screen and towards you, your smell which was a cross between vanilla and fresh linen, leaving a heady scent that he noted every time you moved closer to him and he did not even know what to make of the things he was feeling right now.

He had never really thought about you in any inappropriate way, not until you rocked up here again a week ago, which is when something had changed. You had changed, a lot and it was almost like you were a person he had never met before. 

Your laughter seemed to ring sweeter in his ears these days, and that look you would sometimes give him was enough to make his heart race, and he could not explain why, but everything about you was affecting him in a way he didn't understand.

What was even weirder for him was that you and your sister looked almost identical, and he most certainly felt nothing for her when she was around. There was not even an ounce of attraction towards her, but with you, he had to constantly pep talk himself, telling himself to stop looking at you.

Cillian knew these thoughts were neither right nor sane, you were his stepdaughter after all. He had a responsibility towards you and your sister. You both were young adults now, trying to make your way in the world, and it was just a coincidence that you had moved in with him and your mother for this particular time in your life. And so, with all these thoughts swirling around in his mind, he tried his best to distract himself.

At the same time though, he knew the attraction he felt towards you was real and with this attraction there came instant guilt.  Cillian frowned, taking a deep breath as he tried to push away thoughts of you from his mind and tried to focus on the movie instead. You were his goddamn stepdaughter. He was married to your mother and even though their relationship was no longer intimate, this was wrong on so many levels.

Eventually though, he clamped down on the wild thoughts that danced in his mind and encouraged them to veer away towards the silent movie playing in front of them. The words floated up and hummed along on the wave of the melancholic music that set the scene for this classic film, and Cillian's eyes narrowed as he focused his gaze back up to the screen.

Cliona chose that exact moment - moments before the actors started performing a passionate love scene on the screen - to walk through the door. It happened so fast that neither of you noticed her entrance until she spoke.

"What are you two even watching?" Cliona asked, her voice dripping with disdain as she eyed the screen warily while your mother came in too, greeting you both with a strained smile that never quite reached her dark eyes.

"A classic," Cillian answered with a smile, his attention torn between the new arrivals and the screen before him. 

"Or more like an old crappy movie," your twin sister

commented, rolling her eyes dramatically while she plopped down on the couch, right between you and Cillian.

She shot him a smile that seemed to reach her eyes before stating, "Anyways, the musical was fabulous." 

Your mother followed your sister into the living room, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. She placed them both on the coffee table with a clink.

"Can we change it please? This looks a little boring," your mother proposed, her eyes dark and stubborn as they settled upon the scene on the screen.

Cillian sighed, absent-mindedly twisting the cover of the soda bottle, his gaze cycling between you, your sister, and your mother. For a brief moment, he wished you were somewhere else, doing something else – with you alone. But of course, he knew that he shouldn't feel that way as these thoughts were wrong.

"I think I am going to my room to finish this book," you eventually declared as your mother snatched the remote and  started flipping through channels.

You got up, trying your best to avoid Cillian's gaze but feeling the weight of it on you as you left the room, taking slow and measured steps so that they wouldn't notice how your hands trembled.

You couldn't help but feel the pressure of inappropriate expectations emanating from your mother and sister, and the tension in the air made your skin itch.

Once in your room, you closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it, taking several slow breaths.

Meanwhile, Cillian too decided to call it a night, claiming tiredness.  He said his goodnights and disappeared upstairs to his own bedroom where images of you in his head  kept him awake.

He tossed and turned under the sheets, wrestling with his own thoughts until he finally decided to give in. He started rubbing his tightening crotch gently with one hand, imagining how it would feel if you were there in bed with him and that, too, was something that he felt guilty about.  But the throbbing heat between his legs overpowered all his conscious attempts to not give in to the temptation.

He pulled down his pajama bottoms and wrapped his hand around his thick, aching length, letting out a quiet moan as he began to stroke slowly. He imagined how you would look, naked and lying on your back on the bed in front of him. The thought of you touching yourself, your fingers tracing gently over your swollen clit, made him groan louder, his grip tightening.

"Fuck," he groaned, imagining how it would feel to have you under him, your thighs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you.

His hips jerked up in response to his thoughts and the sudden movement made his orgasm rush towards him so fast that his breath caught in his throat. His muscles tensed as he tried to hold back until the very last moment before giving into it, feeling guilty about it all the same.

It wasn't long before his orgasm hit him, hard and fast, with him spilling himself all over his stomach. He lay there for a few moments with his chest heaving, feeling shame.

He had just brought himself to orgasm thinking of his stepdaughter. Cillian knew that what he did was wrong. It was something he despised himself for, giving into these twisted inappropriate thoughts and it was then that, after cleaning himself up with a tissue, he reached for his phone, opened the email app, and scheduled an appointment with his counsellor for the next day.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[into-the-grey]

~It's Raining, It's Pouring~

Noah x F!Reader fic

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Mild Smut and some Angst

Sometimes, people are just meant to be in each others lives. And sometimes, magic happens.

Warnings: mentions of SH, allusions towards Suicide, allusions towards abusive family, mentions of death, brief smut (theyre both 18 by this point), high school, mental illness, panic attack, divorce, mild jealousy

WC: 13.2k

Taglist: @wh0th3h3llisbucky @blend-in-with-the-madness

RIP my YouTube history, I think I played It’s Raining, It’s Pouring by Anson Seabra for 7 hours straight working on this. Also, the tense probably changes a few times because I never write in second person, I apologise for that, still learning a bit. It might go from past to present tense and back again a few times. This is a new format, and a new way of writing for me, so let's see how it goes.

Fic Masterlist

Alright; ON WITH THE SHOW

Once upon a time, there were two people. Those two people were star-crossed, fated, meant to be. All of the romantic stories could have been about them. It wasn't a grand adventure for him to find her, and he didn't have to save her from a dragon. And she had never been locked in a tower, or forced into slavery by an evil step-mother.

No.

No, it was much simpler than that.

You. You were the one who lived in the house down the street. The house that he rode past every day on his bike when he was young. You were the one he used to see in the neighbourhood, playing with your friends and climbing the tree at the end of the block that all the kids were convinced was a magic wishing tree.

You were the one who came to school with notes in your lunchbox from your mom and knew that you were loved.

And him? He was the kid with the witch for a mom. She wasn't really a witch, but she scared a lot of the kids on the block. She would stand in the street, yelling for him to come home, and if he didn't show up, she'd give up and lock him out for the night. He was the one who came to school with bags under his eyes wearing the same hoodie he'd been wearing for a week.

He was the one who would look at all the kids around him, wishing he could be like you.

You found him in the wishing tree once. That day, you ran down the block, adamant that the tree would help you pass a test in your fourth grade science class. As an adult, you know how stupid you were, but back then it was the most obvious answer.

He was in the tree, high up in it's branches. He huddled in on himself as the cold wind whipped against his skin. He was alone, but his lips moved as tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. His bloodshot eyes fixed on you as you climbed higher, his lips pressing into a thin line as he watched you nervously.

You didn't hesitate for a second.

'Hi,' you said brightly, seeing his pain. You didn't know how to help him, and your eight year old brain couldn't imagine the gravity of his troubles. All you were sure of was that he was there, and he was upset. 'What are you wishing for?'

'Nothing.' His lie was blunt, and his eyes flitted away from you as he sniffed hard against his tears. He drew his heels in under himself as he perched on the thickest branch, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees while he shivered.

'Oh,' you said softly. 'I was going to wish for help on my test tomorrow. It's a science test and I suck at science. But, if you want, I can wish for whatever you were wishing for? It might help to have more than one person wishing for it?'

He scoffed, his deep brown eyes looking you over quickly before returning his hard stare back to his purpling fingers.

'A science test? Why didn't you just study?' he asked, his voice low. His hard shell seemed to crack as he glanced back at you a few times.

'I got distracted,' you admitted. 'A lot. Focussing is kind of hard for me, my mom says I have attention problems, but my dad thinks I'm just making it up to get people to feel sorry for me.' You leaned against a branch, tugging awkwardly at the sleeves of your pale blue hoodie. 'Sometimes my brain goes too fast though, and I can't read or I say stupid things that I don't mean. It's embarrassing.'

'Like offering a wish to a stranger?' he said, a snip in his voice. The words cut through you, stinging as you digested them. Your lip jutted out in a pout as you felt your gut twisting from his insult.

'Yeah,' you nodded sadly 'I guess...'

Your turned dejectedly, wishing silently for the boy to learn some manners, and grabbing the branch to lower yourself down.

'Wait,' he called. Your head snapped back to him, seeing him staring at you. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.'

You smiled weakly up at him, and after a brief pause, you made your choice. You scaled the branches and hauled yourself up to his level. As you reached him, you sat on the only other branch that stays steady under your weight, just above him in the dying leaves. The cool breeze rustled through the leaves, a few coming loose and drifting around you while the sky above darkened.

'I'm Y/N,' you said, pulling your hood up to protect you from the chill. Your introduction sounded eager, like you were asking for something. Mentally you kicked yourself, but he seemed receptive.

'I know, I've seen you at school,' he told you, shifting slightly to face you. He chewed the inside of his lip while he wiped his sleeves over his face, trying to erase the traces of his tears. No matter how hard he wiped, there was no way for him to erase the hollow sadness in his eyes. The moment you saw it, you knew there was more to this boy than he let on.

'I've seen you too. You're in Miss Forson's class, right?' you asked. You watched him nod slowly.

'Yeah. My name is Noah. You've probably heard it being yelled down the street enough times...'

'That's your mom, isn't it? The one who stands on the lawn yelling?'

Noah nodded, his cheeks flushing red and hanging his head. He clenched his fists and sniffed again, tears welling in his eyes.

'Yeah, that's her.'

'You're hiding from her, right?' you prodded.

'Yeah,' he said, his voice thick as he swallowed down the pain welling in his chest.

'Do you do that a lot?'

He nodded again, unable to look at you now. Your face fell, watching him picking at his nails and seeing his lip quiver.

'If you want, my mom would probably let you stay at my house? We could play my playstation for a while?' you offered. 'But, you gotta help me with my science test, just for a little while so my mom thinks you're not just there to distract me.' You giggled when you saw the corner of his lips lift into a smile. A sad one, but a smile nonetheless.

'Are you sure?' he asked timidly, looking at you with a glint of hope. 'I'm not really good at science...'

'That's okay, I'm not really good at playstation,' you told him.

A fat raindrop fell through the branches and the leaves, landing smack dab on your head with a pronounced 'plop'. You reached for your hair, feeling the wet spot and giggling more.

More raindrops fell, slowly turning the sidewalk below into a picture of grey polka dots. Noah followed your gaze, seeing the drops colouring in the concrete.

'I guess it's better than being out here in the rain,' he agreed, finally releasing his knees from his vice grip and stretching out to reach the branch below him to begin his descent. You smiled at him, following his lead and dropping off your branch.

Once you were on solid ground and you had a moment, you looked at him. Shaggy brown hair hung in his warm hazel eyes. A light dusting of freckles covered his nose, and a gentle smile lifted his pink lips. He stood only just taller than you, maybe an inch? An inch and a half at most.

You offered him your hand, leading him down the street towards your house. He walked slowly, letting the raindrops fall on the both of you. Normally, you'd run for home to get out of the rain, but something about him made the rain less intimidating. You felt safe with him the moment you saw him in that tree.

What you didn't know was that he felt safe with you too. A stark contrast to how things were at home. Noah had a strained relationship with his mom, and he never told you just how bad things were, but you knew it was worse than he let on.

He found solace in you and your home. Your mom welcomed him in, knowing exactly who he was and who his mom was. Noah's mom was known around the street, and a few of the parents in the neighbourhood were familiar with Noah's hiding spots. They would all keep a quiet eye on him whenever they saw him near their houses, knowing that someone had to.

When you brought him home to your mom, she didn't question anything. The two of you stood on the front doorstep, dripping and cold, and all your mom did was laugh and find you two the biggest fluffiest towels in the house. She brought you inside and found you a change of clothes, letting Noah have one of your oversized pokemon t-shirts and a pair of your dad's old gym shorts.

Your dad wasn't happy about it, but your mom shut him up. Never in front of you or Noah though. She wouldn't dare fight with your dad in front of the two of you, but you didn't miss the pointed glares she would shoot at him over the dinner table when your dad would make a remark.

Noah became a staple in your house, feeling safer there than at home. You liked having him there too, he was a lot smarter than he let on, and he was funny. Plus, he was really good at the playstation, he could help you beat the tougher levels. He even completed Crash Bandicoot for you when you got stuck on the hog riding level. And yes, he helped you with your science test, and you passed.

Some nights, Noah would sneak in through the dog door in the laundry and creep into your room. The first time he did it, it scared the hell out of you, but you got used to it quickly. Those nights were hard. He would wake you up in tears, but he would never tell you why. And when he did, you would simply scooch over and let him into the bed, rubbing his back while he cried himself to sleep.

Your dad would always ask who left the dog door open. Your mom never admitted it, but there were a few nights that you caught her unlocking it before she went to bed.

You two grew up together. Joined at the hip, you went everywhere together, did everything together...

And then high school happened. The first year was supposed to be exciting, you were meant to be enjoying life and all the perks that came with being high schoolers. Instead, your parents got a divorce.

Noah held you while you cried, fearing that your dad would try and make you move to Topeka with him. He mourned the breaking apart of your family with you, and he kept you distracted by playing video games with you or by hiding in the wishing tree with you.

Your mom gave him a key to the house the day your dad moved out, telling him he didn't need to sneak through the dog door anymore. He hugged your mom, unable to find the words to thank her. She even cleared out your dad's study and turned it into a bedroom for him.

Then came the awkward "talk". Your mom sat you down on the couch one day when Noah wasn't there, telling you that while she understood you two were close, that sex is a big deal and if you're not ready, then you can always tell him no.

She didn't judge, but she taught you all about protection, and asked that you wait until you were sure.

You laughed at her, telling her that there was no way you'd ever have sex with Noah. He was your best friend, and you told her you didn't feel that way about him. She just smirked at you, nodding and saying 'okay.'

But when you went to bed that night, you couldn't help thinking about it. You felt weird as you laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling with the images of Noah on top of you flashing through your mind.

Maybe you did feel that way, but you would never dare tell him.

That night, when Noah crept into your room, you comforted him and you felt butterflies as you held him. Silently, you cursed your mother for making you think about him that way, but you didn't let on that anything had changed.

At school, you joined music class with Noah, and he found something in himself. You watched him beam whenever he touched a keyboard or picked up a guitar. Lyrics seemed to flow from him like a fountain. He was magical.

You wished you were as good as him. But through music, he found his friend Nick. Nick was nice, and he hung out with you guys at lunch, but at the end of the day, Noah would come home to you. You tried to like Nick, but you couldn't help that teenage bubble of jealousy as he and Noah bonded over something that you just couldn't do.

And then Noah left. He just stopped coming to school.

The first day, you texted him and asked him where he was. He was blunt, telling you he wasn't coming. You assumed that he was just sick, or skipping for the day. But one day turned into two. Two became three. Three became a week. A week became a month.

After that, you knew to just let him sleep when you got up in the mornings. At least he was still in your room, still with you.

He got a job to fill his days, working at Nick's family's tattoo studio. Noah wasn't the art type, he couldn't really draw, so he never picked up a tattoo gun, but the money wasn't bad. He would bring you little trinkets and gifts sometimes. He even saved up to buy himself a car. It was an absolute piece of shit, but it ran, it got good gas mileage, and it had a stereo.

Then came the nights where you would drive around aimlessly, discovering more and more of Richmond as you belted out the words to any song you knew. Sometimes Nick would come with you, but you liked it better when it was just you and Noah.

He was growing up, and you loved seeing who he was becoming. He was still the awkward introverted boy you knew, but he was blossoming into a musician. Your mom even bought him a guitar one christmas, making him cry. Because he could finally practice again, he found his way into a cover band. You were their number one fan, and your mom was a close second. She cheered him on in any way she could.

You kept going to school though. You didn't have a choice, you weren't good enough at anything to take the creative path. Every day you wished Noah was there, but you did your best without him. Class was harder without him. It had been years of the two of you side by side, Noah helping you to understand the questions that didn't make sense to you. He would even read the questions aloud to you if you needed it. Now, your grades were slipping. You didn't have your support system, and no one else seemed to believe that it was that hard.

He would help with your homework, but it was getting harder. He'd never learned the subject matter, so he could only do so much. You'd let him read your textbooks, but sometimes neither of you understood what the hell the textbooks were talking about.

One night, a particular project had overstressed you. He held you while you cried, running his fingers through your hair while you tried to compose yourself.

'I can't fucking do this,' you choked, your arms around him while he rested his chin on your head. When did he get so tall?

'You can, it's just your brain,' he shushed you, his voice soft and his arms strong as he held you together. 'There's too much going on in there, isn't there?'

'There always is, you know that,' you told him, letting him sit you down on the side of your bed.

'And what do we normally do about it?' he asked gently, holding your hands and squeezing lightly. As he sat in front of you, you found yourself staring at him, your mouth hanging open while you panted through the tears.

He had the beginnings of a sleeve colouring his arm, the ink peeking out under his three-quarter sleeves. A shiny dermal piercing sat in his cheek, glinting under the low light of your bedside lamp. His warm brown hair hung down almost to his chest, always a layered mess.

But his eyes, those warm brown eyes. They were still the eyes of that boy from so many years ago, searching for comfort in yours. Offering you comfort with him. In them, you could see how much your pain hurt him, and how hard he tried to hide it.

'I don't know if can talk about it,' you whimpered, your gaze shifting to his hands. His long, slender fingers, wrapped up in your shorter, pinker ones. His thumb grazed over your knuckle supportively.

'There's nothing you can't tell me,' he said, both gently and firmly. 'What's different now?'

'Everything.'

'Y/N...' he whispered, shuffling closer. His hands ran gingerly up your arms, and you couldn't help flinching. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as heavy tears blurred your vision. You were thankful, you didn't want to see the pain in his eyes as realisation dawned on him.

'Why?' he asked. You knew he knew. It had been a while since you'd done that. You'd been clean since your dad gave up on trying to move you to Topeka. You hadn't needed it...

But school, the projects, the frustration of your brain not working right...

You hadn't felt good enough in a long time. Like something in you was broken. And even though you could normally talk to Noah about these things, Noah had found his people. He found his thing, the thing he was good at. You didn't have that. You were convinced he wouldn't understand anymore.

'I'm not right. I can't do the things everyone else can do,' you whispered. 'My grades are going to shit, and everyone thinks I'm just being lazy, but I just can't fucking do it. No one believes me-' you tell him, crumpling in on yourself as your voice breaks. 'I'm fucking def-fective,' you coughed.

Noah grabbed you, pulling you into his chest and holding you tightly, whispering into your ear.

'You are not defective. You are not lazy, or broken, or any of that bullshit. It's not your fault,' he told you, swaying you back and forth in his grip while he buried his nose in your hair.

'I-' you tried to start, but he shushes you, knowing whatever you were going to say would be negative.

'No, you are the kindest, smartest, most hard-working person I know,' he told you. 'You care so fucking much about other people. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here, that's for sure. It's not your fault that you can't always figure out what the fuck those textbooks say. They're stupid fucking books anyway, written by snooty old guys with nothing better to do than write rules about how numbers should work or brag about how war is great when you win one.'

'Noah-'

'Nope, I'm not done,' he stopped you. 'You don't need to think like them. You think like you, and the way you think is magical. You are so special, and that's what matters. You might not be great at science or math, but you make the most amazing paintings I've ever seen. You write the best stories, and you sing better than half the guys who auditioned for my band. Don't you ever doubt yourself, okay?'

His arms lock tighter around you as his voice hitches in his throat. You nod against him, your arms around his narrow chest. His width had yet to catch up to his height, he was still skinny as anything, but he still gave fantastic hugs.

'I'm sorry-' you try to say, but again, he stops you.

'You. Are. Incredible,' he tells you, punctuating each word as he finds your face and looks at your bloodshot and puffy eyes. 'And you are everything to me, got it? Please, don't ever take yourself away from me like that. I care about you way too much to lose you to that.'

You nod, releasing an arm and wiping your face with your sleeve.

'Y/N,' he breathes, 'I mean it. Please, don't go anywhere.'

Your heart breaks as his firm voice slips, instead pleading with you now.

'I promise,' you tell him, swallowing hard past the lump in your throat. 'I care about you too much to leave you behind.'

'Good.'

Pulling you back into a tight hug, he doesn't tell you that he meant more with those words than you understood. He had for a while. And so had you. Both of you caught in the limbo of what you each thought were unrequited feelings, and neither one of you brave enough to tell the other about the butterflies in your bellies. Neither of you dared to speak the three words that your hearts yearned to say.

I care about you?

No.

I love you.

More than life itself.

Noah made a point to be around a lot more after that night. Sure, he was always around, but he slept in your bed a lot more after that. He watched as your long sleeves became tank tops, always checking to make sure the scars stayed scars.

He even offered to get Nick to tattoo you to cover them up, going as far as asking your mom if she would let you. To your dismay, your mom was against that idea. She let you get away with a lot, but an underage tattoo was toeing the line.

It didn't stop you from getting a tattoo though. It just meant you put it somewhere your mom wouldn't see it. You got Nick to tattoo it on the front of your hip, somewhere even a bikini would cover it.

A little tree, just like the one at the end of the block. Noah held your hand while the needle dragged across your skin, the bony parts hurting the worst. Nick chuckled while you squeezed your eyes shut tight and grimaced at the worst of it.

Finally, senior year rolled around. The best and worst year of your life.

Finally, someone believed you. At school, there was a new counsellor. She recognised something in you that no one else had. You called Noah the second she told you about the letters that changed your life.

ADHD.

That's why you had been struggling so much. That's why things never made sense the first time. Noah celebrated with you when you got home that afternoon, and he went with you to talk to your mom about it.

Your mom was just as excited for you to have an answer, agreeing to help you seek treatment. She couldn't get on the phone to your doctor fast enough. Finally, something made sense. A chance at normalcy...

Noah took you for a drive that night, the two of you sitting in the front seat of the car and screaming along to all the songs on your shared playlist. He drove you out to a lookout and the two of you watched the stars, talking about how different things could be.

He told you about his side project from his cover band, Man Vs Self. He was excited about it, and Nick was getting involved too, and Vincent. You weren't completely familiar with Vincent, but from the few encounters you'd had with him, he seemed nice enough.

He showed you some of the things he was working on for the band, and you had to admit, it was good. Not that you expected any less from him. Noah couldn't make something bad if he tried, it's like it was against his nature.

While you two sat there, you googled everything you could about ADHD, learning more about how your brain worked. A part of you mourned how your life could have been if you had been diagnosed earlier. Things could have been so different, so much easier..

But without the struggle, you never would have found Noah. And you wouldn't change that for the world, and neither would he.

If only things could be so simple forever.

But time marches ever onward, and life goes on.

Noah's band picked up. And after a while, you noticed him withdraw. There was something there, something he didn't want to tell you. Whenever you asked him what was bothering him, he would shy away from the topic, trying to change it quickly.

After a few weeks of pushing, you finally got the answer. He was leaving.

He cried as he told you, telling you he had been seriously considering backing out so he could stay with you. Knowing how much you needed him, it was killing him to choose between making this demo in Jersey or staying with you.

So you chose for him. You told him to go. You told him how much he would hate himself if he didn't try; that if he didn't go for it, he'd never know how far he could go.

You asked him how much time you had left. He told you that you had a month, and that he had no idea what would happen after. For that month, he worked his ass off on that demo, doing everything he could to have it ready to record, but he spent every night with you, promising you that this wasn't goodbye.

The night before he left, the two of you sat in the wishing tree and talked all night. He carved your names into the branches that you'd been sitting on when you met. He held your hand tightly, promising you that he'd come back.

And then he left. You and your mom stood on the driveway, sending him off with a bag of snacks and the tightest hug the two of you had ever shared before your mom came in with a group hug. She told Noah that she was proud of him, a phrase that brought tears to his eyes.

As he drove away in that cramped car, your mom kept her arm around you. The pair of you waved goodbye, watching him disappear down the road. You were thankful he didn't see the tears in your eyes as he disappeared around the corner.

Your mom held you together while you cried for most of the day. And that night, you snuck down to the wishing tree. You scaled its branches, climbing to the high branch that you sat on the day you met Noah and pulling your knees into your chest.

Silently, you whispered to the universe, making yet another wish.

You wished for his success, for him to be brave, and to push through anything this industry could throw at him. But most of all, you wished for him to come back.

Weeks passed, and the end of the school year drew closer. Promposals were exchanged at school, but no one asked you. Your friends all had dates, while you debated if you even wanted to go.

You told Noah as much on one of your nightly calls. You had fallen into a rhythm with him, waiting for him to call you when he was going to bed. Sometimes you had to call him, now that you had a job to fill your time.

It wasn't much, just stacking shelves at the local record store, but it paid better than fast food or waiting tables did.

As prom drew closer, you found Noah egging you to go. He even dared you once. You knew you couldn't say no to a dare, and your mom was more than willing to take you dress shopping.

She found you a beautiful dress, and it cost a small fortune, but she was adamant that you needed to go. Something about a 'rite of passage for a young woman' and 'regretting if you don't go.'

So you did. You went to prom, alone, in your beautiful forest green dress. The colour of the leaves on the wishing tree. And you hated every second of it. You stood in the back of the room, watching all the couples slow dancing while you sipped at a plastic cup of spiked punch.

Until a hand graced your arm.

'Care to dance?' he asked you. You turned, hope blooming in your chest.

But it wasn't him. It was someone else, Jacob? Joshua? You never learned this guy's name. He was a theatre kid with cropped black hair and too-tight skinny jeans. Sure, he was nice, but it wasn't Noah.

So you shook your head.

'Thanks, but I'm good. I was thinking I might head off.'

He just nodded at you, wandering off in search of a different dance partner.

And you did. You left, wandering out of the school gym and through the halls. You didn't cry, even though you really wanted to. You kicked your heels off and scooped them up as you walked through the quiet halls, the music echoing behind you as it seemed to taunt you.

Outside, the cool night air sunk into your skin, a welcome change from the stuffy air of the gym.

You were about to shortcut across the grass to get to the parking lot where you had parked the car. Your mom had loaned you hers for the evening, and you figured if she thought you were out for the night, she wouldn't mind if you went for a drive, as long as you put gas in it before returning it.

A car came careening into the lot as you stepped onto the wet lawn, grass sticking to your bare feet as you moved. The car came to a stop, and the engine silenced. His voice rang out across the parking lot, your head snapping over to him the moment you heard it.

Noah.

He slammed the car door, running over to you as fast as he could. Your heart stopped as you looked at him. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, a black vest, and a skinny tie hanging from his neck.

You grinned, tears pricking at your eyes as you ran at him, throwing your shoes on the ground. You threw your arms around him and sank into his grip, feeling him hold you like his life depended on it.

'Were you leaving?' he asked as he squeezed you tightly, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

'I didn't have anyone to dance with,' you told him with a shrug. 'Plus, it's kinda crap in there, the music isn't even that good. You came a long way for nothing,' you joked.

'Definitely not nothing,' he told you, pulling back and looking down at you. You missed his eyes, and the way he smiled at you. Your heart fluttered as he grinned down at you.

'Oh?' you asked him, 'so what really made you come back? If the renowned draw of prom night sex wasn't the reason, it must be really good.'

He smirked as you teased him.

'Well, there's this girl I really like, and while I was gone the guys told me I should really talk to her and tell her how I feel about her. They had a point, so I was kind of hoping you could help me out with that?' He asked nervously.

You could feel his hands trembling as he laced his fingers with yours. You didn't dare let your smile falter. He couldn't know how much your heart was breaking at the idea of there being someone else.

'I mean, I can... but you've gotta tell me who she is before I can help,' you said, trying to keep that teasing tone in your voice.

Noah shook his head, chewing the inside of his lip nervously.

'She's probably the kindest, sweetest, funniest girl I've ever met. Y/N, I think I'm in love with her, I've just been too scared to tell her because I didn't want to lose her.'

'Noah-' you breathed, stepping back. You wanted so desperately to be right, but you needed to hear it from him. You watched as he took a deep breath, locking his eyes on yours.

'I love you, Y/N. So much.' he finally said, pulling you back to him and lifting his hand to your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat at his touch.

All those nights of picturing what it could be like, the tingles at his touch, the thoughts you had tried to squash, it all came flooding forward. There was no denying it now. You were desperately in love with him too, and you didn't need to hide it anymore. The butterflies were free, no longer being squashed down and digested. You felt like you could float as he drew nearer.

Your breath quickened, your hand running up his chest and resting over his heart. You could feel it hammering beneath your fingers as you smiled up at him. In his eyes, you could see his fear while he hung on every breath, waiting for your answer.

'I love you, Noah. You have no idea how much I love you.'

A relieved laugh left his lips, and he leaned in. His lips brushed yours. At first it was tender, learning how you felt, how you kissed. After a moment, the kiss became confident, your arm wrapped around his neck while his hand rested on your lower back, holding you to him.

His taste intoxicated you, and in seconds he became the addiction you knew you would never be able to break. He felt the same. He knew he would never be the same, in that moment you became his air.

A hissing sound broke you apart, and the pair of you looked around. You were still alone, and there were no obvious signs of where the noise was coming from.

Until the sprinklers started, the cold mist spraying over both of you. You squealed, jumping in his grip and feeling him pull you in tight against his chest as the two of you cried out.

He was the first to laugh, and you followed close behind. You had met in the rain, it was only right that you confessed your love for each other the same way, even if the rain wasn't real.

'My shoes!' you cried out, looking behind you to where your heels glinted under the haze of mist.

'I got it!' he told you, releasing you and running through the brunt of the spray. You couldn't help but laugh as his hair deflated while he scrambled across the slick grass, grabbing for the shoes.

He scooped them up and turned to run back to you, but you had other plans. Instead, as he turned, he crashed into your drenched form and his arms wrapped around you again.

Your lips crashed to his, putting all the feeling you had been holding back for years into the kiss. He kissed you just as passionately, and both of you giggled as the water soaked you both to the bone.

'When I said you're everything to me, I meant it,' he told you, his forehead resting on yours as he smiled at you.

'I wish I had said something before you left,' you said, letting him sway you gently.

'So do I. But, we're here now, and that's all that matters.'

'We should probably go and clean ourselves up though. My mom will kill me if I catch a cold from running around in the sprinklers.'

Noah chuckled, kissing you again before finally releasing you. He took your hand, leading you through the water and over to the car.

'I'll meet you at home? I have to take mom's car back.'

'Okay, but after that, I have somewhere I wanna take you, if you're up for it?'

You agreed, parting with a kiss and practically floating back to your mom's car.

The drive home was agonising, and the lights were all off when you got there. Your mom had gone to bed, expecting you to be out late. You entered the house quietly, tiptoeing across the tiles.

You left the keys on the kitchen counter, grabbing a change of clothes from a basket in the laundry and the two towels from all those years ago. They didn't seem as big or as fluffy anymore, but your mom had embroidered your names into them for you. She knew an origin story when she saw one, and she was sentimental, so naturally, she took it upon herself to hold onto memories for you.

You met Noah outside, clambering into his car and handing him the towel. He grinned like a little kid when he saw it, remembering everything with you.

He wrapped the towel around his shoulders before setting off. The whole drive, all you did was talk. He told you about the demo, you told him about work and school, everything felt so normal. Normal, except for the buzz of adrenaline in the pit of your stomach, the cool rush that you felt every time he took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles.

After a while, he pulled into the parking lot of a hotel, grinning as he turned the car off.

'I figured that most people have some kind of after-party, why shouldn't we have our own?' He said, a sheepish grin on his face.

You laughed, shaking your head at him. He lead you from the car and through the hotel, the two of you looking dreadfully out of place in the gilded lobby in your drenched clothes and fuzzy towels. The concierge even giggled quietly as she watched you get in the elevator.

The room itself was fancier than any hotel you'd ever stayed in, and you wondered how he paid for it. You didn't ask, deciding to just enjoy it. As soon as the door closed, Noah tugged you close to him again, gazing down into his eyes with the sweetest smile on his face. If he kept looking at you like that, you knew you could die happy.

'Say it again?' You asked him quietly, your lips hovering just in front of his.

With a soft chuckle, he happily obliged. 'I love you, Y/N.'

'I love you,' you whispered, letting the space between you disappear again.

He was gentle when he stripped the dress off of you, draping it over a chair to let it dry. You were just as gentle about unbuttoning his vest and his shirt. Together you found your way to the shower, letting the warm water erase the chill from your bones.

Being naked in front of him felt strange, but his tender kisses made it easier. For a while, you stood under the water, wrapped in his embrace. Your head tucked perfectly under his chin, and every now and again he would nose into your hair, leaving feather-light kisses on the skin of your neck. If the water hadn't gone cold, you might have stayed there forever.

He wrapped you in your towel before finding his own. Your heart pounded as you watched him, looking over his growing collection of tattoos and the scars on his back. He caught you watching, and stepped closer to you with a look in his eye.

He reached for you, his fingers running over the scars on your bicep. Together, you were beautifully broken, and together you could build a whole new type of perfect. As you stepped into his embrace, you felt safe. You felt loved. You felt whole.

You were the one who lead him to the bedroom.

He was just as nervous, and both of you giggled as the towels came off. Neither of you had done this before, but it felt right to be doing it with each other.

You paid heed to your mother's warning, thankful to be on the pill, and you were sure you were ready.

He laid you down on the bed, and Noah positioned himself between your legs, slowly pushing himself into you, groaning as he felt your body accept him.

You breathed through the feeling, a sting burning through you as he froze in place and waited for your signal.

'You okay?' He asked as he saw your face screw up in discomfort.

'Mhmm,' you hummed, 'just getting used to it.'

'For what it's worth, you feel so much better than I ever imagined,' he breathed, kissing your collarbone and up your neck. His words reverberated through you, making you clench around him.

He smirked, taking your face in his hand. 'You like dirty talk?' He asked, surprised and fascinated to learn about what turned you on.

'A little,' you admitted as you held his bicep.

'So if I said something like...' he smirked, dipping low and hovering his lips just next to your ear, his voice barely a whisper, 'you're mine. Only mine. This pussy? It's mine, and I won't stop until you're out of breath and the neighbours know my name.'

He grinned, sucking in a sharp breath and feeling your muscles contract around him, lusciously squeezing him.

'You're so tight, baby, and so wet. Is this all because of me?'

You couldn't help the soft moan as he spoke, beginning to roll his hips against you. The feeling was heavenly despite the stretching feeling. You'd been warned that the first time could hurt, and it was easily bearable.

'Noah,' you whimpered, running your fingers across his skin.

'Does it feel good, baby? God, you feel so good,' he continued, rutting into you slowly. His thrusts were firm, exploring deeper than you'd ever been able to with your fingers.

You dragged his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. Noah happily followed your lead, letting you swipe your tongue over his as you moaned into his mouth.

'Fuck,' you hissed, your back arching. You wanted more, but you were too scared to show him what you needed. You didn't want him to feel inadequate, or think he was doing something wrong, but your clitoris screamed for attention. Your hand kept inching lower, but you couldn't help the anxiety in your stomach.

'Tell me, baby,' he purred, always able to read you. 'Show me.' He took your hand, guiding it between your bodies and resting his fingers atop yours.

You began to draw timid circles over the little nub, feeling Noah trace your movements to learn how you liked it.

You whined his name, and you felt his dick twitch inside you.

'Noah, please,' you begged, 'I think I'm close.'

'Me too, Y/N,' he panted, his cheeks red and his forehead slick with sweat. 'I want to watch you come. I wanna see how good I can be to you.'

The tingles started small, but the more you circled your clitoris, the stronger it became. Whines and groans left your lips, Noah mirroring the sounds.

His gasps were almost enough to have you, but what broke you was the way he said your name. His breathy cries for you as he sped up and reached his peak, sighing and closing his eyes while your body tensed around his.

He emptied himself into you, and you eked it out of him. You'd heard that it was rare to experience an orgasm during your first time, let alone a mutual one, but it happened, and it was so much better than using your fingers.

Noah laid on top of you, breathless. His eyes fluttered closed while he gasped for air, his panting tickling your nipple as he laid his head on your chest.

'I love you,' he told you between deep lungfuls of air.

'I love you,' you repeated, grinning and exhausted, running your fingers through his still wet hair.

If only that night could have lasted forever.

Fate was cruel like that. Fate, and Sumerian Records.

Man vs Self, then called CHLDRN got signed, becoming Bad Omens... You were ecstatic, celebrating with him and Nick and Vincent. Part of you was less thrilled, knowing this meant he would be gone again.

He promised you it wouldn't be for long, only a few weeks at a time. You believed him. But weeks didn't stay weeks.

Weeks became months, and months became moving to LA.

He promised you that he would come home and visit. He swore to you that he would pay to fly you out and you could stay with him. He would text you every day and call you every night, telling you how much he missed you and how much he loved you.

No matter how much you wanted it to be, nightly phone calls and texting weren't enough. Every time it rained, your heart ached for him. You missed his touch, his embrace.

And then the contact started to wane. You would lie awake, waiting for him to call or text you after a show, and some nights he would, but those nights grew further apart.

You would text him first, and you'd be left with no answer.

Your mom watched your heart break in real time. She understood the pain, and she missed Noah too. She felt like she had lost her son. She did all she could to help you cope, but you just felt hollow, like barely a shell of yourself.

Every now and again you would hear from him, and it would tear open that wound again. Finally, you had to call it what it was.

Dead.

You called him, knowing that this phone call would be the hardest call you'd ever had to make. You told him that no matter how much you loved him, you couldn't handle the heartache. His home wasn't with you anymore, and you couldn't have a home with him. Not right now.

He begged you to reconsider. He told you he'd throw it all away for you. You told him he was being stupid, and that he would never throw it all away, and if he did, he'd miss it too much. He'd regret it. Sure, the words sounded pretty, but he would never be able to walk away. Not fully. Nor would you ever want him to.

You told him that he was too talented and too good to walk away. He needed to stick with the band. So he did. And he hated it for a while. He wrote songs about how much he hated it, but none of those ever made the albums.

Well, one did.

It was embellished, sure, but you knew which lines were about you. And you hoped against hope that no matter how much he wanted to, that he wasn't watching you from afar. You knew his heart couldn't take that strain. He'd already been through so much. He needed to move on and live for himself now.

You found yourself in the tree one night, wishing he would be okay. You never wished for yourself anymore, but any wish you could make for him, he had it. Success, stability, love, you wanted it all for him. You could make do on your own.

So you did. It killed you when his name came up on your socials, seeing the articles about the band, and about him. You missed him more than anything. But you forced yourself to continue on with your life. The ADHD medication made it easier to function, so when you decided to go to university, you managed it a lot easier than you thought you would.

There were still nights that you wished he was there to read the questions to you. Or nights that you broke down in tears because the pressure was too much. Every time you reached the end of that rope, you remembered your promise to him, and you stepped away from the medicine cabinet.

Noah came to town once. His long hair had been cropped short, and his once spindly build had filled out. You thought about going to the show, but you couldn't bring yourself to go. Your mom even asked if you should go together, but you told her that if you did you'd only have to start the healing process over again. She was understanding, but you knew she wanted to go. She missed him too, after all.

More time passed, whizzing by in a blur of study, work, and long nights. Your mom watched your heart heal and break again every time his name was mentioned on the radio or in a news article.

One night, she sat you down on the couch like she had that night she gave you the "talk". Her skin had begun to sag, and her hair was greying, but you still saw the same look in her eye. That knowing look, the one that knew all your secrets.

'Y/N, honey, you've got to do something. You're not getting over him,' she told you. 'It's been almost two years.'

'I know,' you told her pathetically, curling into her side like a child. She rubbed your arm, comforting you.

'I have an idea that I wanted to run by you,' she said, her tone soft and warm. 'I'm almost ready to retire, and I think I want to retire somewhere sunny. I like the rain, but I'm ready for something new...'

You looked at her, an eyebrow cocked as you caught that mischeivous smirk on her lips.

'Mom...' you said slowly.

'I found a nice house, and with what this place is worth, we could easily afford it if we sell. You're almost finished with school, and there's plenty of job options for you-'

'And you want to move to LA?' you asked her incredulously, sitting up and searching her face for a hint of a joke. You found none. She was completely serious. 'Mom, this isn't some small move down the street, you're talking about moving across the country.'

She nodded, laughing at you. 'I know, sweetheart. But I mean it. I want something new, I've lived in this house for too long. I know it's your home, but once upon a time, it was mine and your father's. We bought it shortly after we got married, and there are days that I still expect to see him sitting on the couch when I get home from work. I still feel like he's here, even though he's been gone for so long. I need to move on from him, and I don't think I can do that here.'

You chewed your lip, looking at your hands. Sometimes it was easy to forget that your mom was a person too. She had her own life, her own story, her own feelings. It had been a long time since your dad left, and it was easy enough to forget that your mom had spent nearly twenty years with him. He was her Noah. Sure, in the end, he turned out to be an uncaring ass, but there had to be something there that she'd loved in the start, and now she couldn't let go of it. Just like you couldn't let go of Noah.

'Okay,' you told her. 'Show me this house?'

She did. She showed you the house, and it was perfect. A quaint little three bedroom townhouse in a quiet community, a thirty minute drive from the city. You fell in love with it the minute you saw it.

Things moved quickly after that night. Your mom put the house on the market, and when you weren't working or studying, you were packing. You found so many memories as you boxed up everything you owned. It didn't take long for the house to sell. It wasn't until the sold sign adorned your front yard that it finally sank in.

You were saying goodbye to your childhood.

The place looked strange without all your things in it. You remembered all of the nights you spent with Noah in your room, whispering about stupid things to make each other laugh. You remembered the sound of his guitar drifting from the room that was once his, even though he almost never slept in there. You had to patch the hole in the wall from when you had tried to slide down the hall in your socks and you slipped, coming crashing down through the plaster.

You remembered sitting around the dinner table, telling your dad about the picture you had drawn at school that day. Or showing off how much better your grades had gotten since Noah started to help you with your homework.

Most painful of all, you had to say goodbye to the tree.

For old times sake, you hauled yourself up into its branches, searching for the carving of your names on the trunk. You had labelled your branches, but after the night in the hotel, Noah joined your names in a heart on the trunk where the two branches met.

For the last time, you made a wish. You weren't sure you believed in it anymore, but that childish wonder in your heart refused to let go of the possibility. You whispered your wish, letting it go with the wind that rustled the leaves.

And then the frenzy began. The movers took all the boxes, packing them into a huge truck with all your furniture, and you got in the car. You told your mom to fly ahead, not wanting her to drive across the country. She was too easily worn out for such an adventure, and there was too much to do, you needed her to save her energy for unpacking and setting up.

So you drove across the country alone, just you and your mom's car. You sold the beater you had bought with your money from the record store. It wasn't going to make the trip, and you could find something better when you had a new job.

You stopped at motels, sleeping more fitfully the closer you got to LA. Your mind spun with possibilities. What would you do? Would you call him? Text him? Would you even reach out?

What if he had a new girlfriend? What if he hated you for ending things? What if he wasn't your Noah anymore?

Each night you tossed and turned, and each day you tried desperately to drown out the noise in your mind with music and podcasts. Finally, after nearly a week of non-stop driving and gas station sandwiches, you reached the exit for Los Angeles. Your new home.

You followed the GPS to your new house, seeing your mom outside with the moving truck. She was helping to take boxes into the house, even though the movers brought the couch in first for her to sit down. She insisted on helping, but that was what your mom was like.

You parked on the street, getting out of the car and stretching your weary legs. Who would have thought sitting still for so long would be so exhausting. The sun had started to dip in the sky, bathing the street in a warm golden glow. You took in your new surroundings for a moment, noting the difference in the smell of the air, the warm breeze, and the lack of trees. There were only a few trees in the street, most of them small. One house had a large tree in the front yard, and it reminded you of the wishing tree. Smiling to yourself, you were glad something felt like home.

Your mom had told the movers to put your bed in first, which you were thankful for. You made your way to your new room, stretching out on the unmade mattress and letting your spine decompress for a little while.

It took a couple of weeks to set up the house how you wanted it, and it took a few more weeks to find a job, but soon enough, you were an official LA working girl. You had a desk job, you paid stupid amounts of money to park fifteen minutes away from your office, and you thrived on coffee, but you were doing it. You were living.

You still hadn't called him. You wanted to, but fear got the better of you every time you typed in his number. Your thumb would hover over the green button for stupid amounts of time, and then you would lock your phone and put it down.

You never thought it would go the way it did.

You came home from work one cloudy afternoon, climbing out of your mom's car and heading to the mailbox. A cool breeze nipped at your arms while you sifted through the mail. While you sorted the bills from the junk, a large black pickup pulled into the street. It was the first time you had seen it move since you moved in. For the last month it had been stationary on a driveway a few doors down.

It crawled past your house, slowing down as it passed by. For a moment, you tensed, ready to run or fight, whatever you needed to do, but then it moved on. It rolled into the driveway you had become accustomed to seeing it at, the house with the large tree in the front yard.

The loud rumble of the engine ceased, and as you were about to turn and head inside, a voice called out to you.

'Y/N!?' the deep voice bellowed, echoing down the street.

You froze.

His footsteps approached, his sneakers pouding against the asphalt as he crossed the street and stepped closer.

'Y/N...' he breathed, stopping a few feet away from you.

You looked up at him with your heart in your throat. His hair was still short, but it had grown out since you last saw him. A hint of stubble graced his chin and his lip, making him look so much more grown up than the weedy little teenager you remembered from prom. And his muscles...

He truly was a man now.

'Noah,' you whispered, your voice gone as you stared at him in disbelief.

He seemed to be having the same problem, stammering as he inched closer to you. 'You're... you're here?' he asked, his tone bewildered, asking the how and why without the need to say them.

'Mom retired, she wanted to get away from the memories of dad,' you told him with a shrug. You could barely bring yourself to meet his eye. Your throat tightened as you got a glimpse of the warm brown that you had missed so much. 'She missed you too, I think that's why she came here.'

'I miss her too,' he said sadly, 'she was the only parent I really had.'

Bit by bit, he stepped closer, closing the distance between you.

'I'm sure she'd love to see you,' you offered quietly, 'if you're not busy?'

'I don't think I'm busy,' he told you, smirking. Your stomach backflipped, and your fingers itched to know his skin again.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. You knew you needed to rip the band-aid off and just say it.

As you finally blurted out the words, his voice melded with yours.

'I missed you,' you both said.

Pausing, you looked at each other. You finally met his eyes. In that warm gaze, you saw all the love you had seen when you were young. All the longing that you felt was mirrored in him. His cheeks flushed, and you became aware of the heat in your own face as the pair of you laughed.

'I'm sorry,' you told him, taking a step closer to him. He was within reach now, you could have easily brushed his hair from his eyes, or taken his hand.

'For what?' he asked, closing the distance further.

'For ending things. I thought it hurt to miss you when I had you, and then I didn't anymore... I've never felt so alone... I should have just waited-'

'No, Y/N, you did what you needed to. And it would have only gotten worse from there anyway. We didn't get a break for years. With or without you, I never would have seen you.'

He lifted his hand to rest on the bare skin of your arm, admiring the tattoo that covered the scars on your bicep. Your body tingled under his touch, your resolve weakening.

'I'm glad to see that chapter is closed,' he said softly. 'It is, right?'

'Yeah,' you assured him. 'I got close a few times, but I remembered what I promised you and I just couldn't.'

'Good,' he breathed.

You were so close now, his head tilted down to look at you, and you could almost feel his breath on your skin. A cool breeze blew over you, making you shiver. The sound of thunder rolled across the sky, and you couldn't help but laugh as a heavy raindrop smacked on his head, making him flinch.

'Why is it that every time we find each other, it rains?' you mused, grinning up at him.

'Or there's sprinklers?' He added with a smirk.

As the rain fell in slow, fat drops dotting the sidewalk, you felt your heart twist. His hand moved, raising to your cheek. Your eyes welled up, too many emotions filling you.

'I never stopped loving you,' he told you. 'I missed you, and I thought about you every single day.'

'So did I,' you admitted. 'I couldn't stop.'

'And now, here you are...' he said.

'Here we are.'

His lips finally touched yours, and thunder cracked overhead. The sky opened, the rain falling faster, masking the tears on your cheeks as you melted into him. In a matter of moments you were drenched, but you didn't care.

'Never let me go again,' he begged you between heated kisses.

'Never.'

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him to you. Your hearts pounded against each other's as your chests pressed together. There wasn't enough of him, you needed everything he could give you. You wanted to wrap yourself in him and never let go.

When the thunder seemed to be overhead, he released you, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the front doorstep of your house. His beautiful smile set something in you alight, a fire you thought you had lost a long time ago.

He rang the doorbell, holding you close to his side, his fingers laced tight in yours. After a moment, your mom appeared at the door with a broad grin and the two towels in her hands.

'It's about time,' she said, handing the large fluffy towels over to you, ensuring you each had the towel with your own name embroidered on it.

'You were watching out the window, weren't you?' you asked her with a laugh.

'You were taking forever to get the mail, I was curious,' she told you innocently, 'but Noah? It is so good to see you, honey.'

She opened her arms to him, asking him for a hug. Noah hesitated for a moment, looking down at his sopping clothes.

'Honey, it's water, get over here,' your mom demanded, pulling him into a tight hug. Noah grinned, revelling in her hug. He was home. You could see it on his face, tears pricking at his eyes as he squeezed her tight. He was finally home.

Noah stayed the night with you, having missed your mom's home-cooked meals and sharing a bed with you. He texted his housemates, telling them that he would be with you. Nick was excited to hear that you had moved out to LA, and you had to promise that the three of you would hang out together soon, but for the moment, all you wanted was Noah.

You spent the night tangled up in him, your legs entwined while he cradled you close to his chest. Every now and then he would kiss you wherever he could reach, often on the forehead or on your lips.

You giggled together in the dark, listening to the storm outside and reminiscing on all the nights you'd spent huddled under the covers back in Richmond.

'I love you,' he whispered to you as you both drifted closer to sleep.

'I love you too,' you told him, brushing your fingers across his cheek and smiling tiredly.

In the morning, your mom handed him a key as you sat down at the table with your coffee. She told him that he always had a home with the two of you. He tried to hide it, but you saw him getting misty eyed as he hugged your mom.

You had to leave for work, but Noah was free to sit and catch up with your mom. You left them together, smiling at the scene as you said your goodbyes.

Noah rushed after you, chasing you to the car with a smitten grin.

'Hey,' he called out, holding the car door open, 'you forgot something.'

'Oh?' you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned into the car and kissed you, not caring that some of your lipstick was on his face now.

'I love you,' he said with a smile, 'okay, now you can go.'

This became a routine. As long as he was in town, the two of you shared a bed. Sometimes you slept in his, but most of the time you slept in yours. He would kiss you goodbye every morning as you left for work, and if he wasn't in town he would send you some kind of message.

The distance became bearable now that he would always come home. You missed him while he was on tour, but at least he would end up back with you at the end of it all instead of on the other side of the country.

It took some getting used to, but you adjusted.

Months passed, and there came a day when you were both free. He was excited, wanting to take you out somewhere, just the two of you. You agreed, seeing him so happy there was no way you could tell him no.

In his black pickup, you drove to the outskirts of town. He wouldn't tell you where you were going. You let him lead the way, trusting him.

He pulled up and parked the car, finally letting you see where you were. He'd taken you to a forest trail. For a minute, you didn't understand, but you let him guide you. He lead you down the trail and to a little clearing where you saw it.

A tree, just like the wishing tree back home.

You couldn't hide the smile on your face. He raced with you to the tree, both of you dragging yourself up through the unfamiliar limbs and branches. Noah had to help you a few times, pulling you up to a higher branch that you could sit on together.

And as you sat, you found yourselves grinning like little kids.

'I figured a little bit of home was a good thing,' he told you, taking your hand. 'But my home is wherever you are.'

'Noah,' you giggled, leaning into him and shoving him gently with your shoulder.

'I'm serious!' he told you, his eyes crinkling with his laughter. You loved the sound, never tiring of his voice. He could read a dictionary out loud and you would listen to him happily.

'How did you even find this?' you asked him, letting him hold you steady on the branch.

'I used to go hiking during quarantine. It was all I was allowed to do, and it got me out of the house for a while.'

You nodded in understanding. Those years had been insane.

'But, there's a reason I wanted to bring you here,' he said nervously. You shifted, turning to face him and swinging your leg over the branch to straddle it. Noah mimicked your movements, your knees touching each other's as he took your hands in the space between you.

You searched his face, seeing a hint of fear in his eyes. Your throat wanted to close at the sight, but you forced yourself to breath through it, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

'I know it hasn't been long since we found each other again, but I don't ever want to lose you again,' he said, sucking in a deep, shaky breath. 'I wish I had told you earlier than I did, I wish we could have spent more time like this. I loved you before I knew what it meant to love someone. You helped me when no one would, and you never wanted anything from me but a friend. I don't know where I'd be without you, but I wouldn't be here.'

As he spoke, your eyes began to water. Your fingers tangled tighter into his, your heart twisting in your chest.

'I don't want us to ever go through what we went through ever again. I want to always be with you, to look after you. I want to kiss you good morning every day, and I want to be the last thing you see when you go to sleep. I want to bring you coffee, and read your books to you, and run through sprinklers with you. My world starts and ends with you, and I want to be there while you build your world into whatever you want it to be. And I hope that whatever that is, it includes me...'

He released your hand, sliding his fingers into his pocket and retrieving something. A deep red velvet box. He opened it and turned it to you, holding it carefully in the palm of his hand.

'Y/N, I love you, more than anything. I wanted to do this in our tree, but this is the closest I could get us,' he chuckled, smiling nervously and looking at the box in his hand. The ring glittered under the light spilling through the canopy of leaves above you. 'Marry me? Please?'

You couldn't find words. Your body was a cacophony of emotion, tears spilling down your cheeks while your heart pounded in your chest.

'Noah,' you whispered, testing your voice. You could see how nervous he was, and you wanted to put him out of his misery. You nodded, smiling back at him. 'Absolutely. I will absolutely marry you.'

He couldn't get the ring on your finger fast enough. He couldn't kiss you hard enough, or hold you close enough. The pair of you were an emotional wreck, smiling and laughing while tears spilled down both of your cheeks.

Before you left the tree, Noah carved your names into the branch, scrawling a date under it. He helped you get down, and he caught you as you lowered yourself from the last branch, spinning you in a circle and kissing you fiercely.

'I love you,' he said, 'and I'm gonna say it until you hate it.'

'I could never hate it,' you told him, your arms tight around his neck.

When you got home, your mom was thrilled. She couldn't be more excited, demanding to see the ring and telling Noah it was about time. She immediately launched into wedding planning, promising to finance whatever you needed. She was overjoyed to have Noah be a part of the family on paper.

She helped you over the next few months while you picked dates and guests and everything there is to do with a wedding. You debated on inviting your father, but decided against it. He had never been warm to Noah, he didn't need to be a part of this celebration.

Noah had to travel a little bit while all this was happening, but it gave you plenty of chances to find a dress. And he would call every night wanting to know what you and your mom had found or planned.

You weren't sure who was more excited, you or Noah.

And as the days passed, the day finally came.

You walked down the aisle with your mom, surrounded by friends and family, but the only person who mattered to you waited at the end of the aisle with the biggest smile on his face and a glimmer in his warm brown eyes.

He took your hand and held it tight, silently swearing to never let it go. You swore the same. It had always been the two of you (and your mom) against the world, but now you got to declare it in front of everyone.

What you weren't prepared for were Noah's vows.

'Y/N,' he began, 'our history has been a long road of ups and downs. We've known each other longer than I've known anyone else. And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather take on the world with. You have always been my rock, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. You came into my life when I needed someone like you, and I know I was mean to you, but I was embarrassed.

'I was embarrassed because I had seen you in that tree making wishes. I wondered if maybe it was magic, because it always seemed to work for you. I never told you what I wished for that day, but I think by now you've earned the right to know.' He paused, squeezing your fingers and lifting them to his lips, his eyes glistening with tears as he cleared his throat. 'I wished for someone to love me. And not a minute later, there you were, wanting to wish for a pass on your science test. But you offered to wish for something for me, caring about me from the minute we met. I got my wish.'

'But, as I got older, I learned something. The tree wasn't where the magic came from,' he said, smiling at you, losing himself in your gaze. 'The magic was you. You granted every single wish, one way or another. You pushed me to be better, to succeed. You gave me everything you could. You protected me when I couldn't protect myself, you gave me a home when I had nothing, and you loved me when I couldn't love myself. So here I am, vowing to you, that I will always, always, protect you. I will love you when you can't, and I will give you everything I can, and I will always be your home. I vow to keep your magic alive, and to grant every wish for you that I possibly can, because you gave me all of mine.'

You knew he was good with words, but he had you there. By the end of his speech, you were a mess of tears, your own vows forgotten. You wanted nothing more than to throw yourself at him and never let him go.

When you were finally pronounced man and wife, you met Noah with the deepest kiss you could, pressing your body into his and wanting to hold your breath forever so you could stay locked in his lips.

Your guests cheered and wolf-whistled, and Noah dipped you, giving them a show. When the need for air overcame you, you grinned up at him, hanging on to him tightly.

'I've got you,' he assured you.

'And I've got you,' you smiled back up at him.

He spun you back onto your feet, holding you to him as you left the ceremony together. You had to go and take pictures, but you really just wanted a moment alone together.

You lead Noah to the room where you had been getting ready before the ceremony started, closing the door.

'Are you okay?' he asked you, taking your hand. You nodded, thumbing over the band that adorned his left hand now.

'Yeah,' you told him, swallowing hard. 'You just blindsided me a little.'

'I'm sorry-'

'Don't be. Noah, I am so sorry for what you went through, but also I am so thankful that out of all the places it could have lead you, it lead you to me. And I am so thankful that I get to be the one to love you.'

'So am I,' he told you, stepping closer until your chests pressed together. 'I meant it, you're everything to me.'

'And you're everything to me.'

The reception was filled with celebration, jokes, cheering, speeches, and some very unfortunate dancing. And naturally, at the end of the night, LA was subjected to a massive thunderstorm. Your guests hid inside, but you and Noah ran out into the rain, knowing you couldn't break tradition now. The pictures ended up immortalised in your photo album, displayed on the mantle in the house the two of you bought shortly after your honeymoon.

You got lucky, you managed to find a house just a few blocks from your mom. The house had a big yard, but it was missing something...

Noah came home from a tour with the answer a few months after you had settled in.

'I don't know if this is legal, and I have no idea how to do it, but we're gonna try,' he told you, opening a secure compartment in his suitcase and presenting you with a box.

It was an old amazon prime box, about as big as a shoebox, but as thick as a matchbox. You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow.

'Just open it,' he told you, rolling his eyes.

So you did.

A bundle of branches sat in the box, wrapped in wet paper towel.

'You went to Richmond?' you asked. He nodded.

'I did, and I brought some of the wishing tree home. If we do it right, we can have our own wishing tree, right here in our yard. It will take years to grow, but I can't see a reason not to.'

You smiled, shaking your head and placing the branches on the table.

'I love you,' you told him, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him.

'I love you more.'

Together, you propagated the branches, and you successfully planted a tree. And over the years, as that tree grew, the two of you grew. Your love grew, your family grew, your happiness grew. And one day, you and Noah will get to tell your daughter all about the wishing tree, and take her back to your wishing tree.

But for now, you and Noah get to watch her, seeing the magic you made together grow.

THE END.

[sporesgalaxy]

The way Dungeon Meshi does gender makes me insane. It’s stated over and over that Falin and Laios really are more similar than anyone is looking for- Laios directly states as much at one point, Marcille mentions it when Falin wakes up the first time and starts bemoaning not eating any monsters, the magic mirror story even has fem!Toshiro crushing on Laios- but Laios is so protective of his little sister. Laios leaves home to start making a life he can one day share with her. And she leaves magic school because he has failed, and failed so hard that she’s worried that she might never see him again if she lets him leave without her. He wants to protect her from the way the world treats him, but he does not or does not want to understand the terrible truth- the world will never treat her as harshly as it does him, because she is a pretty ‘quirky’ girl and he is a big autistic man. Falin is happy, doing well in her own sphere, making a single friend (because she is still autistic, and has struggles of her own, even if they’re a different kind), but Laios still feels a need to protect her because his experience of this world has been nothing but cold shoulders and distrust all the way down. This story makes me want to sprint into the river. Laios and Falin are the best characters of all time.

Ouhhhhh I dont have time to reread dungeon meshi to give you good sources but based on my doodoo memory and vibes therein: I have to disagree that Falin was necessarily doing "well," and I especially disagree that the tragedy here is that Laios was doing something unnecessary by trying to make a place in the world for him and Falin.

Falin gets along seemingly ok in the world but it's because she's agreeable to a fault .

What's so interesting to me about the Touden siblings is the different ways they've learned to deal with being The Odd Man Out. Laios set out to try and forcefully carve out a PLACE for him and Falin in the world, where they could both openly and unabashedly be themselves.....Falin stayed behind, and learned how to hide the things that made her stick out too much, and how to appease people on the verge of rejecting her and Laios.

That can be functional, but it isn't good. It isn't happiness. It hurts in a million tiny ways every single day, to hide yourself out of fear of rejection like that.

At school, Falin must have spent a lot of time alone before she befriended Marcille, since Falin was familiar enough with the surrounding wilderness that she knew where that small Dungeon opening was. She sought out what happiness she could by following her unusual passions in more private ways, where no one would judge her for it. Falin didn't expect anyone NOT to judge her for her "weirdness" before she met Marcille, so Falin didn't even try to connect with anyone before Marcille at a level more personal than "classmate." That's not doing well. That's not living.

This kind of self-isolation is a coping mechanism for neurodivergence that functions for a while, but it eats away at you. Falin considered marrying Toshiro despite not loving him, essentially because it seemed like the normal thing to do and she didn't think she'd get another chance to be married at all. What if she had gone through with that, or something similar by the same reasoning? Laios lived in a state of being rejected over and over, which obviously hurts like hell. In contrast, Falin was willing to live a life she never wanted just to avoid total rejection. That can be incredibly painful too, in its own way.

Falin and Laios were BOTH tragically fighting doomed battles to find a place for themselves in the world during the time they were separated. Working together, supporting each other, they're able to do a lot more. Cries.

[jq37]

neme(sis)

Summary: The Rat Grinders actually fight the Bad Kids on the Hangman instead of just sending dragons and Adaine has to do some quick thinking.

"Adaine Abernant."

Adaine winced, clutching her head as Raulothim's Psychic Lance pierced her mind. It figured Oisin knew the spell. Raulothim was a dragon after all. She wondered if he learned it in class like her or if he'd come to school already familiar with the spell because of his dragon ancestor who was currently trying to swallow Gorgug, axe and all. She didn't wonder for too long though. There wasn't time.

"See what you can do with access to proper spell components?" Oisin called from the other side of the room, his tone mocking.

"That spell doesn't even have material components!" Adaine called back in spite of herself. Insulting her was one thing but getting basic spellcraft wrong while doing it? Unacceptable. She ignored his expression, smug from getting a rise out of her no doubt, and surveyed the battlefield. The Rat Grinders had caught them on their back foot. Things were going OK but they were playing defense. And no one was where they needed to be. Spellcasters too close to melee, fighters out of range. Only Gorgug was arguably in the right place but he was far too close to being dragon food for her liking. Fabian needed to be closer to the action, Riz needed cover, and she…

Adaine suppressed a smile, idea forming in her mind. She needed to be in punching distance.

"Scatter," she said, raising a hand. Five creatures: Gorgug, Riz, Fabian, Kristen…and Oisin.

Her party members didn't fight the spell, well used to the feeling of her magic working on them mid-battle and knowing that it never meant harm. As she moved them to more advantageous positions, she was hit with a flash of the future: Oisin resisting the spell. She reached out and nudged fate just a bit. Nearby, Ivy walked dangerously close to a breath weapon attack. Oisin startled, moved to grab her, and--pop. Suddenly, he was standing right next to Adaine who was already rearing her fist.

"Counterspell!" Oisin called, runes on his forearms glowing. The expression on his face was even more smug as the blue energy charging on her fist fizzled.

"Predictable," he said.

"Gullible," Adaine thought, halting her fist without following through on the punch and stomping her foot on the ground to activate the teleportation circle they were both now standing on. Because of course the boy with the empty house and unlimited funds would have a teleportation circle installed so he could have his friends over as often as possible. Teleportation via spell needed a willing creature but a Circle? That just needed proximity.

As the spell went off, she concentrated. The benefit of a teleportation circle was that it couldn't go wrong like a normal Teleport spell could. It wasn't supposed to anyway. But any magic could be tweaked if you pushed hard enough. She remembered winding up in the wrong room in the twisted version of Mordred inside Riz's briefcase and concentrated on that feeling. She was sure she was going to have a headache in the morning but that was more than a fair price. She wrenched control of the spell, just enough to force the circle to spit them out a little bit outside of the paired circle in Mordred. There was a flash of light and--forget having a headache tomorrow. Her head felt like it had been bashed in with a pickaxe the moment they landed on the floor of her bedroom. She didn't think she'd be able to get back up for a minute or two--she didn't even try. Oisin didn't seem to have that problem though. He got up and stood over her.

He smirked. "I thought the elven oracle was supposed to be more of a challenge. I knew we'd come out on top but I didn't think it'd be so easy." He raised his hands, readying a spell, but the sparks at his clawtips died as quickly as they were produced. He tried the spell again to the same result, too focused to notice the sudden subtle sheen to the patterns painted on her bedroom walls.

A Sending spell pinged in her mind. "Ten seconds, dear sister."

A smile played on Adaine's lips.

"What?" Oisin demanded.

"Just that you all have been so obsessed with being our nemeses this whole time. But that was never gonna happen with you and me. That position is already filled."

There was another flash of light and before it even cleared, Adaine felt the tingle of magic settling over her like a second skin. Her sister's abjurer's ward extending to cover her reflexively. Just beyond the ward, she could feel the temperature in the room start to drop--a side effect of the Cone of Cold that was about to erupt from Aelwyn's outstretched hands.

"You're familiar with my bitch of a sister, right?"