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starsreminisce · 1 month

Note

“is it bad that I HC that Gwyn and Lucien end up bonding over being two AC exiles for Az and Elain to be like... why are they even friends? Just for them to be like "dude, we're cousins"

what I would give to see this LOL just putting this out in the universe: someone pls write this!!

I had this cooking and finally got it in a place I liked. Putting this out in the universe too if anyone wanted to write this HC! Heavy on Elucien but maybe part two - choose your adventure kind? Maybe?

Hope you enjoy!

Lucien stood in the softly lit room, a tapestry of emotions etched across his features. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips in deep contemplation, a slight furrow between his brows, his thoughts churning like a tempestuous sea. Across from him, Feyre watched him with a trace of annoyance, her eyes narrowing as they darted between him and the four meticulously wrapped presents he had placed on the ornate table in the center of the room.

Her voice was tinged with a mix of frustration and curiosity as she probed, "So you really aren't going to show up to the Solstice party tonight?"

Lucien, leaning against the table, exhaled a deep sigh and offered a nonchalant shrug, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "I've made other plans," he replied, his voice tinged with an air of mystery.

Feyre's exasperation grew, her gaze fixed on him. "With who? We lent you the townhouse so you could be with Vassa and Jurian. So, they'll be here, and you'll be where?"

Lucien hesitated, choosing his words carefully before he reluctantly responded, "Not here."

"Lucien," Feyre's tone turned more insistent, a mix of concern and frustration lacing her words.

Lucien gritted his teeth, the painful truth lingering unspoken. The prospect of enduring another Solstice haunted him, the weight of pretending that Elain's indifference didn't affect him becoming unbearable. The anticipation of witnessing her distant gaze, as if she wished he were anywhere but there, compounded the pain. Gifting her another token of his affections only to receive silence in return seemed like a masochistic cycle.

His mechanical eye clicked softly as he tried to maintain composure, "You're mad at me over something else."

Feyre's frustration softened into a weary sigh. She stepped closer, her voice laced with genuine concern, "You've been here for a week, Lucien, and we haven't even had dinner together. Do I need to make an appointment for you to have dinner with us over the next week?"

"I am sorry," Lucien admitted, his voice laced with sincerity and a hint of regret. "People heard I'm on vacation and wanted to catch up."

Feyre's frown deepened as she studied him, a mix of sympathy and irritation dancing in her eyes. "I didn't realize you were so popular."

Lucien extended his hands in a gesture of surrender, his palms exposed in a placating manner. "If I don't get too caught up where I am, I promise I'll stop by. Is that fair?"

“You're not spending the night here? But it’s tradition,” Feyre protested, her voice a touch wistful.

Lucien shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his choices press upon him. “It seems rude to come back here when everyone is asleep.”

Feyre considered his words for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head, the tension in the room easing slightly. She understood his reasons, even if she didn't entirely agree with them.

Lucien couldn't help but flash a warm, reassuring grin as he closed the gap between them, embracing Feyre gently. "Happy Birthday Solstice."

Feyre returned his hug, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Please stop by. It'll make me happy."

—-

Elain returned from shopping, her heart sinking as she caught a whiff of Lucien's signature spiced scent, reminiscent of mulled wine, lingering in the air. She inhaled sharply, her gaze drawn to the four beautifully wrapped presents on the table. She hadn't bought him a gift during her last excursion, and the feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew that Lucien's generosity only deepened the guilt she felt, a silent reminder of a connection she had been avoiding.

Suppressing her unease, she sucked in a steadying breath and returned to the kitchen to focus on finishing her cooking. She silently prayed that the night would go smoothly, and that Lucien wouldn't try to engage her in conversation.

The day wore on, and Elain became absorbed in the meticulous preparation of the Solstice meal. She took pride in her improved kitchen skills but couldn't help feeling a touch weary, knowing that she had to anticipate four more guests than usual. Her mind wandered briefly to the mysterious presents on the table, wondering what they held and why Lucien had left them.

As she let the last dish cool, she decided it was time to change into something more festive, even though her heart wasn't fully in the celebration. She heard the first guests arriving, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Elain made her way to the staircase, her steps hesitant.

Before she could reach the stairs, she came face to face with Azriel, the same spot where he had uttered those words that had pierced her heart.

“Happy Solstice,” she said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.

“Happy Solstice,” he replied, his voice soft and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

Elain gave a curt nod and began to ascend the stairs when she heard him say, “Elain, wait.”

She turned back to him, her eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them. He only looked at her, his shoulders slumped, but still, no words came forth.

“Excuse me, I have to get ready,” she said, her tone a mixture of politeness and distance. Azriel nodded in understanding, and with a heavy heart, Elain continued her journey up the stairs, hoping that the night wouldn't bring about more painful conversations.

Elain took her time getting ready, feeling the weight of her avoidance weigh on her as she prepared for the evening. She knew that she was deliberately sidestepping the issue, and as she made her way back down the stairs, she couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence in the room.

A gnawing unease settled in her stomach as she looked around the dinner table, the first of many singular questions on her mind. Still, her pride held her back from voicing them aloud.

“Where is Lucien?” Nesta asked, her sharp observation marking his absence.

“Not here,” Feyre replied, her tone carrying a hint of mockery as she took a sip of wine.

Elain furrowed her brows as she took a seat, and Nesta pressed on, glancing towards Vassa and Jurian. “So where is he?”

Vassa and Jurian exchanged a glance and then looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers they sought. “He mentioned where he might be.”

“Summer Court to visit Alis?” Vassa suggested.

Jurian frowned, deep in thought. “That was last week. I think he’s at Dawn Court with Nuan.”

“No,” Vassa shook her head. “Nuan was earlier in the week. Didn’t Eris say he wanted to meet up with him?”

“I thought he met up with Eris right before Hewn City Solstice,” Cassian chimed in.

“Viviane invited him to their Winter Solstice celebration,” Mor finally answered, unraveling the mystery.

Feyre's expression soured. “So he would rather be at some high-class shindig than here with family? No wonder why he didn’t want to tell me.”

Rhys, ever diplomatic, gave a sympathetic smile towards his mate. “Their celebrations are quite fantastic. A little formal but at least he’s not in Day with their drinking, dancing and dallying debauchery.”

Elain's clenched fists revealed the turmoil within her as the reality of Lucien's absence settled in. She had known all along what it meant, though she had refused to admit it to herself.

“Am I too late?” a voice broke the tension, making Nesta and her friend, Emerie, jump up with excitement.

Elain looked up to see a copper-haired female with a stunning pair of teal eyes hesitantly entering the dining room. Gwyn, she recalled the name. Gwyn sheepishly smiled and exchanged a warm hug with Nesta before finding a seat near them. She then cast a glance towards Azriel, who responded with a grateful smile.

However, that smile quickly vanished, replaced by irritation, when Gwyn inquired, “Lucien’s not here?”

“Evidently not,” Nesta snorted. “We aren't high class enough for him these days.”

Gwyn pouted, a hint of disappointment in her expression. “That's too bad. I was hoping to see him.”

Dinner proceeded smoothly, the atmosphere filled with stories and anecdotes about Lucien's year. Elain couldn't help but grow increasingly irritated as she noticed Gwyn's evident fascination with her mate. Vassa and Jurian happily contributed to the conversation, sharing stories about Lucien that painted a picture of him quite different from the one Elain had imagined.

There were tales of Lucien chasing Tamlin in his beast form to coax him into eat, moments when Lucien had to babysit a drunken Graysen, instances where Lucien's sharp wit had managed to persuade the council to agree in record time, and even times when Lucien and Eris had raised their voices, causing the very house to rumble with their power.

Elain attempted to engage in the various conversations swirling around her, but it seemed that everyone else was preoccupied. Azriel, in particular, was focused on catching Gwyn's attention, while Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Nesta appeared eager to escape for some private moments. Mor and Emerie were engaged in playful flirtation, and Jurian and Vassa seemed entranced by their own private world as they discussed their observations of the fae realm with Varian and Amren.

Elain needed something to divert her thoughts from the realization that she missed Lucien. The longing in her heart was something she couldn't quite comprehend, and it left her feeling adrift in a sea of emotions.

The party eventually transitioned to the spacious living room, where the conversations continued to fill the air. Elain's gaze kept drifting toward Azriel, who was engrossed in a deep conversation with Gwyn. Feyre clapped her hands together and excitedly declared that it was time to open presents. Rhysand snapped his fingers, conjuring even more presents to join the ones Lucien had already placed on the table. Elain's excitement grew, wondering how well the presents she had chosen for her family would be received and suddenly eager to see what Lucien had prepared for her.

As the presents were distributed and unwrapped, Elain found herself delighted with a new cookbook, some shiny baking ware, and a set of gardening tools. Her heart warmed as she felt the gentle tickle of her bond with Lucien, the familiar spiced scent of her mate washing over her.

“Lucien!” Gwyn exclaimed, leaving Azriel behind to give Elain’s mate a warm hug. Elain had to summon all her self-control to keep herself from pulling Gwyn away from Lucien.

He looked impeccable, wearing cream-colored pants, high black boots, and a periwinkle jacket adorned with small snowflakes, and a cravat to complete the outfit. Of course, his attire perfectly complemented Elain’s lavender dress.

“You came!” Feyre greeted him with a bright smile, her arms enveloping Lucien warmly as he returned the gesture with a grin that reached his eyes, reflecting the warmth of the hearth.

“Had to,” Lucien replied with a playful wink, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. “A certain someone might melt my mind tomorrow if I didn’t show.”

Rhysand, ever composed, responded coolly, his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement, “I said nothing of the sort.”

Feyre quickly steered the conversation toward the exchange of presents, her voice eager as she anticipated the joy of the moment. Lucien's smile faltered slightly as he settled into his seat, his features becoming more guarded.

He kept his expression neutral as the last few presents were revealed, his gaze shifting between his friends with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Feyre shifted around, her brow furrowing in confusion before her gaze landed on Lucien, who simply blinked and then looked at Elain, a silent plea for understanding in her eyes.

The first present was a small box for Cassian, wrapped with care and adorned with a simple bow. As Cassian cautiously opened it, his fingers grazing the delicate paper, he discovered it contained only a calling card. "What's this?" he asked, perplexed, his voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Lucien grinned mischievously, the corners of his lips quirking up in amusement. "The name of my tailor. About time you start dressing the part of a courtier in colors that compliment black," he teased, his tone light but tinged with affection.

Cassian's eyes lit up as he whooped in delight, his laughter filling the room like a warm breeze. He threw Lucien a playful grin and said, “I got you something, pretty boy.”

She felt her heart sink when he uttered, “I think that’s my first present,” the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air like a stormcloud on the horizon.

It sank even further when his face broke into a huge smile upon opening his present. Cassian gifted him a set of Illyrian blades, the metal glinting in the soft glow of the fire. He looked at the set of daggers, marveling at the gems embedded in the steel, his admiration shining in his eyes like the sun in the blue sky.

“I was laughed at, by the way,” Cassian said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But Feyre made sure to point out that you like jewels with your blades,” he added, his grin widening as he recalled the memory.

Elain frowned, her mind racing with thoughts she struggled to articulate. She didn’t know that about him, a realization that left her feeling strangely disconnected from the moment unfolding before her.

The second present was a book for Nesta, wrapped in elegant paper and tied with a delicate ribbon. Nesta's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting in astonishment. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the spine.

Lucien nodded with a smile, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

Nesta examined the book with a mixture of awe and disbelief, her fingers tracing the embossed letters on the cover. Then, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, she exclaimed, "But this is rare, and you hate this book. This is my favorite book."

She went on to describe the rarity of the edition, her words tumbling out in a rush of excitement and gratitude. Elain listened intently, her heart aching with a strange mixture of longing and regret.

Nesta turned to him and smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I got you something too,” she teased, her tone playful yet with affection.

The color drained from Lucien’s face as he accepted the gift, his fingers trembling slightly as he unwrapped it with care. Elain watched as Lucien winced while Nesta thoroughly enjoyed his reaction, a sense of unease settling over her like a shadow.

Lucien groaned and held up the book to Nesta, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Elain's heart twisted with sympathy as she witnessed the exchange, her emotions swirling like leaves in the autumn wind.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes betraying a mixture of surprise and amusement.

Nesta lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze unwavering as she met his gaze head-on. “You can not not read a gift. It’s my favorite book,” she countered.

“Favorite book? You just said that the one I got you was your favorite,” Lucien pointed out, a hint of confusion coloring his words.

“I can have multiple favorites,” Nesta replied matter-of-factly.

Lucien frowned and started to flip towards the end of the book, his curiosity getting the better of him. Nesta lunged at him, her laughter echoing in the room as she tried to pry the book away from him. Elain tried to remain calm as she watched Nesta straddle him, a sense of unease settling over her like a shroud.

“No one dies,” said Nesta, her voice filled with laughter as she tried to reassure him. “I promise!”

Too close, Elain thought, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat. They were too close, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. She glanced towards an agitated Cassian, his expression mirroring her own concerns.

“Can you please get off my mate?” Cassian interjected, his voice laced with amusement yet tinged with concern.

“She’s on top of me!” Lucien protested, his words muffled by Nesta's laughter.

“No one dies in this one, Lucien,” Emerie confirmed, her tone reassuring. Nesta pulled herself away from him, her laughter echoing in the room like a melody.

The third present was a play bow and arrow for Nyx, the wooden toy gleaming in the soft light of the fire. The little boy's face lit up with excitement, his eyes sparkling with delight as he reached out to touch the gift with wonder.

Gwyn’s eyes widened in surprise as Feyre peered into the present, her expression a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Elain chewed on her cheek nervously as Gwyn and Lucien exchanged a knowing look, their unspoken understanding hanging in the air like a veil.

“Autumn Court tradition,” Lucien explained. “When we reach his age, we choose the weapon that becomes our weapon to master. Not surprising that your son picked that.”

The last present was a package of the molten chocolate Alis used to make for Feyre, the sweet aroma filling the room like a comforting embrace. It brought tears to her eyes, her emotions overwhelming her in a tidal wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

Four presents from Lucien. None of them were hers.

“I guess that’s it for presents,” Feyre said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, the weight of disappointment hanging heavy in the air like a lingering fog.

The unspoken weight of Lucien's deliberate omission of a gift for Elain lingered heavily, casting an uncomfortable tension that no one seemed willing to address. Elain felt an isolating sense as she sat there, her emotions swirling, sensing the collective gaze upon her. Lucien resumed chatting with Gwyn.

Desperate for reprieve from the scrutiny of her family's concerned gazes, Elain fought to maintain a composed facade, pretending that she was unfazed by the absence of a gift from her mate. With a small, forced smile, she excused herself under the pretense of needing a moment alone.

"I just remembered I left something in the kitchen. I'll be right back," she said softly, her voice barely trembling.

As she left the room and retreated to the kitchen, her heart ached with the weight of the unanswered questions and the awkwardness that had settled between her and Lucien. The sense of rejection and disappointment gnawed at her, but she was determined to keep up the appearance of being fine.

In the kitchen, Elain took a moment to gather herself, her breaths deep and measured as she fought to suppress the tumult of emotions swirling within her. She reminded herself sternly that she hadn't purchased any gifts for Lucien either, though the hope that the presents were meant for her persisted, stubbornly clinging to her thoughts. As her heartbeat slowed and her breathing steadied, she cast a glance at the untouched cake, resolving that it was time to present it to the guests.

Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she froze upon catching snippets of conversation between Feyre and Lucien in the adjacent room.

"You humiliated her," Feyre's accusation rang out, sharp and cutting.

Lucien's response was swift, his tone tinged with defensiveness, "I would never intend to humiliate her. I merely thought—"

Feyre interrupted, her voice edged with disbelief, "Thought what, Lucien?"

His reply was clipped, filled with frustration, "That perhaps Azriel could offer her the comfort she deserves."

Feyre's confusion was palpable as she questioned, "Why Azriel?"

The tension in Lucien's voice was unmistakable, "Do I really need to spell it out for you, Feyre?"

As the conversation unfolded, Elain's heart raced once more, a surge of anger coursing through her veins. She retreated from the door, her steps quick and purposeful, only to find herself face to face with Feyre upon her entrance.

"What's going on between you and Lucien? And now Azriel?" Feyre's concern was evident in her gaze.

Elain's response was terse, her tone firm, "Nothing. It's nothing."

Feyre's expression softened, but her concern lingered, "Elain, please—"

Elain's patience snapped, her voice laced with frustration, "I said it's nothing."

She turned her back on Feyre, her resolve firm as she focused on finishing the cake. Each movement was deliberate, her hands working with precision as she willed Feyre to understand, hoping her sister would take the hint and leave her be. The tension between them hung thick in the air, an unspoken barrier dividing their shared space. She heard Feyre sigh, a sound heavy with unresolved emotions.

Once Feyre departed, Elain finished the cake with meticulous care, her hands moving with practiced ease despite the turmoil brewing within her. Placing it on a table, she plastered a smile on her face, though the weight of unresolved tensions lingered heavily still. Her gaze wandered across the room, seeking solace in the familiar faces of her companions.

She spotted Lucien, Gwyn, Vassa, and Jurian engrossed in a serious conversation, their expressions grave and their voices hushed. A pang of anxiety gripped her heart as she watched them, sensing the weight of their discussion. And then, her eyes landed on Azriel, standing alone in the corner, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on Lucien with an intensity that made Elain uneasy.

Feeling a surge of recklessness fueled by anger and frustration, Elain made her way towards Azriel, each step a silent declaration of her determination to confront the palpable tension between them.

Elain's voice carried a hint of defiance as she initiated the conversation, her eyes fixed on Azriel's distant gaze, refusing to be ignored.

"Can we talk?" she pressed, her tone tinged with urgency, a silent plea for understanding.

Azriel's silence was deafening, his demeanor unyielding, but Elain persisted, repeating her question with growing impatience, her gaze sharpening with determination.

"What do you want to talk about?" Azriel's response was measured, his voice betraying a subtle tension beneath the calm facade.

Before Elain could formulate a response, Gwyn's laughter filled the room, momentarily distracting them from their exchange. With Vassa and Jurian engrossed in the allure of cake, Elain and Azriel observed in silence as Gwyn playfully interacted with Lucien, their laughter forming a barrier between them.

Elain's heart twisted with a pang of jealousy as she watched Lucien's easy camaraderie with Gwyn, the contrast to their own strained dynamic stark in her mind. Beside her, she sensed Azriel's clenched fists, his emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Struggling to break through the tension, Elain blurted out the words that had been weighing on her mind, her voice barely a whisper but heavy with significance.

"You like Gwyn," she murmured, the admission hanging in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that lay between them, fraught with unspoken desires and unaddressed feelings.

Elain observed the subtle softening of Azriel's features at the mention of Gwyn's name, his gaze drifting back toward the pair engaged in lighthearted banter. Gwyn's laughter rang out like a bell, a melody that seemed to tug at Azriel's heartstrings, while Lucien's grin radiated warmth and charm, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

"I do," Azriel admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and longing. His eyes remained fixed on Gwyn, a silent testament to the depths of his unspoken affection.

Her heart clenched at his confession, the realization dawning upon her with painful clarity. She shifted uncomfortably, fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her skirt, the soft rustle of the fabric a stark contrast to the heavy silence that enveloped them.

"But I thought... I thought that you liked me," she ventured quietly, unable to mask the hurt in her voice.

Azriel's gaze fell to his scarred hands, his expression guarded, revealing a vulnerability that cut through the shadows shrouding his usual demeanor. Elain felt a pang of sorrow as she witnessed his internal struggle, the unspoken acknowledgment that she had never been enough for him.

She sucked in a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. Despite her diminishing affections, the sting of rejection still lingered, a bitter reminder of what could never be.

Forcing a strained smile, she offered a feeble reassurance, "Lucien is mated to me, so I doubt you have to worry about that." The words felt hollow on her tongue, a feeble attempt to mask the ache in her heart.

A soft chuckle escaped Azriel's lips before his attention returned to the scene before them, where Lucien's grin contrasted sharply with Gwyn's horrified expression as she playfully chastised him. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows across their faces, lending an air of intimacy to the moment.

"Perhaps it's my punishment," Azriel mused quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lucien puts her at ease." The flames danced in his eyes, reflecting the turmoil of his inner thoughts.

Elain's heart ached at his admission, the realization sinking in that she had been blind to the depth of Lucien's impact on Gwyn. She watched the pair with a mixture of envy and resignation, her own feelings tangled in a web of unspoken desires and unfulfilled longing.

Azriel's voice held a note of self-recrimination as he continued, his words heavy with regret, "I was arrogant enough to think that because you weren't interested in him, he wasn't deserving to be your mate. But look how he makes her laugh and smile." Each word felt like a dagger to Elain's heart, a painful reminder of what she had lost.

"I don’t... I don’t give her that," Azriel confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "A year ago, she didn't like being touched by any male. She could barely handle being alone with another male, and I was surprised she allowed me to stay with her. But next thing I knew, she was talking about Lucien, and how she was helping him, and then they spent so much time alone together." The confession hung heavy in the air, a silent testament to the depth of his longing.

Elain's breath caught in her throat as Azriel's anguish became palpable, his clenched fists betraying the depth of his torment. The soft glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across their faces, lending an air of intimacy to the moment.

"I thought it hurt being the only one among my brothers not mated, but nothing compares to watching someone fall in love and knowing I can't stop it," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets and unfulfilled desires.

"But he's mated to me," Elain reiterated, her words a feeble attempt to anchor herself amidst the storm of conflicting emotions. The flames danced in Azriel's eyes, reflecting the turmoil of his inner thoughts.

"I know," Azriel sighed, his gaze never leaving the pair across the room. "That's what makes it hurts much more." The words lingered between them, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that bound them together.

As they continued to watch, a sense of longing and regret enveloped them both, their unspoken words echoing in the empty spaces between them, a silent testament to the pain of unrequited love and shattered dreams.

---

Lucien felt the weight of Azriel's presence, intertwined with Elain's, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Though the bond between them pulsed with a muted ache of longing and melancholy, Lucien found it difficult to fully comprehend, given the circumstances. After all, Elain was with Azriel now, having chosen him.

“He’s with her,” Gwyn observed, her tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.

“He doesn't seem that happy,” Lucien remarked, his voice betraying a touch of sympathy.

It was a familiar sight for Lucien, accustomed to witnessing the complexities of their relationship. But for Gwyn, it was a stark realization, one that had taken time for her to come to terms with. She had confided in Lucien about her growing feelings for the shadowsinger, unable to ignore the tension whenever Azriel and Elain were together. Gwyn had attempted to broach the topic with Nesta, only to be met with dismissal, as if Elain's bond with Lucien precluded any possibility of her being with Azriel.

Their conversation drifted back to the library, where Lucien had sought Gwyn's assistance with Vassa's curse. It was there that they had forged an unexpected connection, their shared lineage serving as a bond that transcended their individual struggles. Learning that they were cousins had provided a sense of solace, uniting them as kindred spirits navigating their intertwined destinies.

Lucien had become Gwyn's confidant, offering sage advice and a sympathetic ear as she grappled with her feelings for Azriel. While Nesta and Emerie remained oblivious to the underlying tensions, Lucien understood the turmoil brewing beneath the surface, a silent witness to Gwyn's unspoken desires.

As their friendship blossomed, Lucien found comfort in Gwyn's companionship, grateful for the understanding she offered. Yet, he couldn't shake the sense of irony in their situation - while Gwyn found safehaven in confiding her feelings for Azriel, Lucien found himself drawn deeper into his own unspoken longing for Elain.

“Are you leaving soon?” Gwyn inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

Lucien nodded solemnly. “I am.”

“Can you take me back?” Gwyn's request was accompanied by a note of uncertainty, as if she feared intruding on his time.

“Are you sure? You spent the entire time talking to me,” Lucien remarked, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

“That's because you're family and mated and…” Gwyn's voice trailed off, her words laden with unspoken implications.

Elain's beauty was undeniable, a fact that hung heavy in the air between them. Lucien offered her a gentle smile, his heart heavy with unspoken longing. “Okay. I'll say goodbye to the others, but I think it'll be worth saying goodbye to him too, even with her there.”

----

Elain's heart skipped a beat as Lucien rose from his seat and strode confidently toward Feyre and Rhysand. Gwyn, her presence hesitant, approached Elain and Azriel, her smile radiant yet tinged with uncertainty. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of her cloak as she glanced between Lucien and Azriel, sensing the tension in the air like a palpable force.

Azriel, usually composed, straightened in his chair, his gaze fixed on Gwyn with an intensity that Elain couldn't ignore. His hazel eyes bore into Gwyn's, silently questioning her decision to leave with Lucien.

“I’m leaving,” Gwyn announced, her voice like a delicate melody in the tense air. The words hung in the space between them, laden with unspoken implications.

“With Lucien?” Azriel's tone dripped with bitterness, his eyes darting between Gwyn and Lucien. Elain observed the subtle tension in his jaw, a testament to his internal struggle.

Gwyn affirmed with a subtle nod, her eyes flickering towards Lucien, who had now joined her. The hesitant smile on her lips betrayed her uncertainty, contrasting with the determination in Lucien's expression.

“Ready?” Lucien's voice cut through the awkward tension, his eyes deliberately avoiding Elain's. She noted the slight furrow of his brow, a sign of the turmoil beneath his confident facade.

Elain tried to focus on the conversation, but her attention drifted to the simple piece of string adorning Lucien’s wrist. Its significance eluded her, a stark contrast to the complexities swirling within her own mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Lucien suddenly seemed engrossed in the space between Azriel and Gwyn. Elain observed his subtle gestures, sensing a flicker of recognition in his expression. The tension between them was palpable, adding an undercurrent of unease to the situation.

Then, as if a realization had dawned upon him, Lucien spoke with conviction, “I think Azriel should take you home.” His words resonated in the air, breaking the uneasy silence and igniting a spark of hope within Elain.

His gaze shifted to Azriel, who nodded in agreement. “Yes, he should take you home,” Lucien added, his tone final. Elain watched the exchange with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest.

But Gwyn's response was unexpected. “Nooooo,” she protested sheepishly, “I asked you.”

Elain felt a surge of determination rise within her, spurred by the sudden turn of events. “I can’t... because…” Lucien faltered, searching for words, but Elain found herself finishing his sentence, her voice unwavering.

“Because he forgot that... I am... joining him,” she declared firmly, her gaze locked with Lucien's. The weight of her words hung in the air, a silent plea for understanding.

Lucien's surprise was evident, his brows knitting together in a moment of realization, yet Elain pressed on, her determination unyielding.

“You've been running around the past few days with your vacation, but don’t you remember?” she challenged him, her voice edged with urgency, each word a pointed arrow aimed at his comprehension.

His response was hesitant, his eyes widening in gradual recognition, like two pools slowly catching the first light of dawn. “You knew I was on vacation?” he questioned, his tone heavy with disbelief, the weight of his realization palpable in the air.

Elain met his gaze with an unyielding glare, her eyes flickering with an intensity akin to smoldering embers, silently urging him to grasp the truth that lay before him.

“Yes… that's right…that's what you wanted as your present,” Lucien continued, his voice faltering slightly as he wove through the web of their shared deception, the weight of his words hanging in the charged atmosphere between them.

Gwyn's frown deepened, her brows knitting together in suspicion, as though she could see through the facade with uncanny clarity. But Lucien pressed on, his resolve unyielding, his determination etched into the lines of his face.

“We are going to be late,” Elain pushed, her voice firm and commanding, a note of urgency coloring her words as she tried to steer the conversation back on track, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh.

“Az… Azriel… Az … riel … can I trust you to take my cousin home?” Lucien implored, his tone tinged with desperation, his gaze shifting to Azriel with a silent plea for assistance.

Azriel's brow furrowed in confusion, his expression a portrait of perplexity as he processed the sudden revelation. “Cousin?” he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty, his mind racing to make sense of the revelation.

His eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as Lucien turned to Gwyn with a scowl, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “You never told him we were cousins?” he accused, his tone tinged with exasperation, a note of betrayal seeping into his words.

Gwyn remained impassive, her lips pursed in a tight line as she met Lucien's glare with a steely resolve, her silence speaking volumes in the charged atmosphere. But Lucien pressed on, his frustration mounting with each passing moment.

“Never… Never…” Lucien muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off the rising tide of irritation, his patience wearing thin as the tension continued to mount. "You valkyries are going to kill me," he added with a wry twist of irony, a weary sigh escaping his lips.

Azriel's lips twitched in amusement, a ghost of a smile dancing across his features as he observed the unfolding drama with quiet interest. "You should try training them," he remarked dryly, his voice laced with subtle humor, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

Gwyn's smile was tight-lipped, her gaze flickering uncertainly between Lucien and Azriel, silently weighing her options. Sensing her hesitation, Lucien intervened, his tone softened by a note of gratitude.

Lucien, noticing her hesitation, amended, "I owe you one session if you go with him." Elain could see the tension melting away from Gwyn's shoulders, a sense of satisfaction blooming within her like a flower in bloom.

Gwyn's expression shifted to smugness. "Two now." Elain couldn't help but smile at Gwyn's playful banter, the tension dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

"I knew your bracelet came with a price. Fine. Two. It’s settled. I’ll see you not tomorrow.” Lucien's resignation hung heavy in the air, a sense of defeat settling over him like a heavy cloak.

As Lucien turned to leave, Gwyn interjected, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Should you be taking Elain?” she asked, her words hanging in the air like a challenge, a subtle undercurrent of doubt coloring her tone.

Elain and Lucien locked eyes, a silent exchange passing between them. In that moment, a myriad of unspoken emotions danced between them, their gazes lingering a fraction longer than necessary, conveying a depth of understanding that words could not capture.

“Yes, because I said I would,” Lucien stammered, his voice strained with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He held Elain's gaze, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

Heat flushed at Elain’s cheeks, a rush of warmth spreading across her face as she realized the significance of the moment. This would be the first time she would be alone with him, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air, uncertainty mingling with excitement in her chest.

“Yes,” Elain said, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “And I said we should leave now.” With a firm nod, she affirmed her decision, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.

Lucien hesitantly offered his arm, a silent invitation hanging between them. Elain reached out, her fingers brushing against his in a fleeting touch, a spark igniting between them as they made contact. She felt all eyes on them, the weight of expectation heavy in the air as they walked out the door together, stepping into the unknown.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Lucien said, his voice strained with a mixture of apprehension and longing, his gaze searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

“They are going to be asking me where you took me, so might as well come along,” Elain replied, her grip tightening on his arm, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles beneath the fabric of his sleeve.

Lucien sighed, a mixture of resignation and gratitude in his breath, the weight of their impending journey hanging heavy in the air. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, a small, genuine smile played at the corners of his lips, a testament to the trust he placed in Elain's judgment. "You're right," he conceded, his voice soft yet tinged with a hint of amusement. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Elain furrowed her brow, her expression a mix of accusation and curiosity. "You were in Day, were you?" she questioned, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism.

Lucien stilled, his demeanor shifting slightly at the mention of Day. "What do you know about their celebration?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Drinking, dancing, and dallying debauchery," Elain replied matter-of-factly, her words laced with a touch of dry humor.

A faint blush crept onto Lucien's cheeks at her blunt assessment. "I wasn't there," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I was in Winter."

"So we are going back to Winter?" Elain inquired, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the information.

"Ah, no. We are going to Day," Lucien clarified, his tone hesitant yet resolute.

Elain's lips formed a thin line, her features masking her inner turmoil as she absorbed Lucien's words. "For that... dallying debauchery?" she questioned, her tone betraying a hint of skepticism, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit.

Lucien's brow furrowed, a fleeting shadow of defensiveness crossing his countenance. "I am mated to you. I would never dream of being with someone else," he assured her earnestly, his words laden with sincerity. "But yes, that's where we are going."

Elain remained silent, her thoughts swirling tumultuously as she wrestled with the implications of his admission. Lucien couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in her demeanor, a blend of uncertainty and something more enigmatic, a mystery he longed to unravel.

"Interesting that's where your mind went to," he commented, a note of curiosity coloring his voice as he observed her reaction, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Elain's glare intensified, her gaze piercing as they winnowed away to Day Court's celebration, the tension between them simmering beneath the surface, unresolved and fraught with unspoken emotions.

#elucien #elain x lucien #gwynriel #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fanfic

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littlemessyjessi · 9 months

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Buying You Candles: BTS Reactions x Witchy Partner

BTS Reactions

BTS x Witchy Partner

For any of you wishing to read the other's in this series, please defer to my profile where you can find the link to the navi in my bio. All my Kpop content is located in Masterlist 2.0.

Summary: They buy you candles for your practice.

Seokjin:

Jin's hyung energy is strong with this one. And it doesn't matter if you're older than him… the hyung/oppa side of him is coming out and he is going to play that card. He's this way with the members. Imagine how he is going to be with a partner. So yeah… He spies the little list you have sitting on your desk of things you need to pick up from the metaphysical store next time you're there.

"Here, let me do it. What shop is it?"

"Jin, I can do it. It's no big deal."

*withering glare*

"Ok, damn. Chill. You can do it."

*bombastic side eye*

"It's the little building beside the cupcake shop. It's called Third Eye."

You just need to accept the fact that Seokjin is going to spoil you and you're going to have to let him.

Because if you don't - A, he's going to pout and B, he's going to do it anyway so you might as well just accept it, write the list and let the man feel needed.

And if for some god forsaken reason you decide to say, "Jin, I love you and I appreciate it but really, I can do it. You don't have to pick these up for me."

Just know, that you are going to be on the recieving end of major sass, possibly his mad angry rapping skill featuring that little vein in his neck trying to pop out and then a pompous little dismissal something along the lines of:

"It's healing for me, jagi. Now, would you really deny me the opportunity of healing?"

So just suck it up and accept the fact that you have a very loving partner who is going to spoil you with candles and whatever else you might possibly need or want.

Yoongi:

This man knows how to find a good deal. Three dollar chain? Psh. Bitch, you can't tell. Which is why he won't hesistate to stroll up in the dollar tree and load up an entire cart with the different color glass vase candles. He follows the 'dollartreefinds' and 'dollartreecandles' hashtags on instagram purely for this reason. They come out with new colors? On it. They've released pastel versions for spring? Add to cart. Black candles for spooky season? Bitch, please. You will never run out. And because he saved so much on candles… his baby wants a huge opal figure? His baby GETS a huge opal figure. Damn straight.

Hoseok:

Hobi on the other hand. Quality over everything. Truthfully the dollar tree candles work just fine but you ain't gonna tell him that. Well, you might. But he ain't listening. He is going IN. He is RESEARCHING. He's reading ALL the reviews. He will find the best rated, top quality shop for all the candles. He will be going in person to inspect them with those sharp eyes of his to make sure that they will in fact be up to his standards. And this mother fucker will stock you on all the basics he feel like you could ever need. And then he's gonna want a list of wants. And you better just comply or else you'll get attitude. "Hobi, babe, this is more than enough. I'm fine. Like this is more than I've ever had anyway. I don't need-"

"Jagi, I did not ask you what you needed. I asked you what you wanted. Now you can either tell me or I'm getting one of everything."

"But I-"

*Cue that sharp ass glare he has when someone messes up choreo.

"Ok, ok. This one. I would like this one."

"Great, add at least nine more."

"Hobi, I don't"

*Glare intensifies and that jaw becomes so flexed you actually fear for your life with how sharp it is*

"Ok, ok. Well, these are the holidays that are coming up that I'd like to celebrate. So maybe these. And the haters have been particularly nasty lately so maybe this one."

"Good, baby. See? Now was that so difficult?"

You accept the kiss and thank him for his generosity but damn, homie gets pressed when you don't let him spoil you, lol.

Namjoon:

Now, does Namjoon believe in this stuff? No. He doesn't. He's an aetheist. However, you do and it's important to you. So he takes this VERY seriously. This is important to you and you're important to him so he would never DARE to roll his eyes at it. Like Hoseok, Namjoon his does his research. He's not likely to go all in like Hobi but Namjoon does know the holidays you choose to celebrate or what you're typically going to do in a week or whatever. His research however consists mostly of what the corresponding candle, color and scent or whatever would be. He prefers wandering into the small witchy shops, definitely having a look at the book section. He'll often pick up something occultish. Even if he doesn't believe he does find it interesting and entertaining. And he knows that you'll definitely want the book once he's finished with it. Then he'll make his way to the candle section, pull up the notes on his phone and choose from there. He sometimes cross references with whoever is working there but often times he gets more joy out of it knowing that he learned enough about something that you do to pick correctly. You're unsure whether it's his research or his intuition… but often times he is actually spot on. Also, if you EVER dont let him watch...he will so sad. and dramatic.

Jimin:

Now, Jimin's approach to buying you candles is based heavily in observation. He prides himself on how open, safe and vulnerable you are with each other in your relationship. He's often present when you are doing workings or journaling or even shopping just as an excuse for the two of you to spend time with one another. And Park Jimin is a very observant man. So he notices shit. He takes stock of the fact that there are only two green candles left on the shelf and one gold one. So he makes a note to order some more for you because he knows you use those often in prosperity workings. While he's at it, he might add in a figural dollar sign candle as a surprise for you to try. The little pink birthday candles that you use for peace in friendships are down to about two in that little box. He's picking you up some on the way home from work one night because he knows you like the ones from that supermarket the best. You've been talking about ancestor work? He texts you to let you know that a package is about to be delivered today so you need to be there to recieve it. You open it and it's got not only white candles but also figural family candles as well. It's in the details for Jimin. This mother fucker pays attention and provides based on what he sees. He doesn't just pick blindly. Even if he doesn't believe. He knows you do and he wants to show you that because it's important to you… it's important to him. 10/10 if you ever try to tell him that he doesnt have to do this... will sit you down for a talk and shame for even thinking he wouldnt take care of you.

Taehyung:

Taehyung wants to know everything. He's probably going to ask a lot of questions. He's INVOLVED. And he's quite sweet and endearing. He may not have been raised in it and he might not connect with it on the level that you. But he's still present and participates. He likes to learn and he loves learning from you. So while he might do his own research… he much prefers you to be his teacher. He's likely going to come home one day with a basics kit. A little of everything. What will surprise you is that it's doubled. He's gotten one for himself as well. What's amusing is that this little shit pulls out a damn Gucci candle and wants to know if that can be his working candle. You just have to smile and kiss his cheek.

"I mean, it's an expensive choice to make for your working candle, babe but yes, that's fine. If you connect with it, that's all that matters. For the record though, you can just as easily use a white pillar candle from the dollar tree. It can work just the same."

"I really like this one though." "That's fine. If you vibe with that, then go with that. What you connect with the most is gonna make it the strongest."

"Ok, Gucci it is."

You smile at his expensive yet endearing choice.

A week later… you too have a Gucci 'working candle'.

Because obviously you're a liar and a Gucci candle is far superior.

Jungkook:

Ever the frugal king, Jungkook is likely to come back with no telling what that he's swiped from hotel rooms for you. He's always bring you those little teabags because 'You can use these for herbs, right jagiya?" and if he's lucky enough to come across a room with tea light candles or incense or anything like that… ha. Man RUNS for his suitcase! I mean, BURSTS through the door. "Jagi, you're going to love me so much right now." Proceeds to empty the entire front pocket of his suitcase out. Dozens of little scented tea lights that he has wrapped in cling wrap or put in little baggies. "This one got a little melted but you can still use it right?" You just pepper him with kisses because oh, that man of yours is so sweet and considerate. 10/10 you PROUDLY use them in your workings because yes. That energy. *chef's kiss* Bonus if you use them in lust magic. when you tell him this... he makes it a personal mission to acquire something useful everywhere he goes,

Hey loves! I'm back! Welcome to Kenny's Comeback! It's the Goddess Era yall!

Love, K

@thickemadame

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#bts #bts x reader #bts reactions #bts x witchy reader #kpop #park jimin #jung hoseok #kim seokjin #jhope #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #min yoongi

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dailyanarchistposts · 2 months

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Chapter 1. Human Nature

Anarchism challenges the typical Western conception of human nature by envisioning societies built on cooperation, mutual aid, and solidarity between people, rather than competition and survival of the fittest.

Aren’t people naturally selfish?

Everybody has a sense of self-interest, and the capability to act in a selfish way at other people’s expense. But everyone also has a sense of the needs of those around them, and we are all capable of generous and selfless actions. Human survival depends on generosity. The next time someone tells you a communal, anarchistic society could not work because people are naturally selfish, tell him he should withhold food from his children pending payment, do nothing to help his parents have a dignified retirement, never donate to charities, and never help his neighbors or be kind to strangers unless he receives compensation. Would he be able to lead a fulfilling existence, taking the capitalist philosophy to its logical conclusions? Of course not. Even after hundreds of years of being suppressed, sharing and generosity remain vital to human existence. You don’t have to look to radical social movements to find examples of this. The United States may be, on a structural level, the most selfish nation in the world — it is the richest of “developed” countries, but has among the lowest life expectancies because the political culture would sooner let poor people die than give them healthcare and welfare. But even in the US it’s easy to find institutional examples of sharing that form an important part of the society. Libraries offer an interconnected network of millions of free books. PTA potlucks and neighborhood barbecues bring people together to share food and enjoy each other’s company. What examples of sharing might develop outside the restrictive bounds of state and capital?

Currency-based economies have only existed a few thousand years, and capitalism has only been around a few hundred years. The latter has proven to work quite miserably, leading to the greatest inequalities of wealth, the largest mass starvations, and the worst distribution systems in world history — though hats off, it’s produced a lot of wonderful gadgets. It might surprise people to learn how common other types of economies have been in earlier times, and how much they differed from capitalism.

One economy developed over and over by humans on every continent has been the gift economy. In this system, if people have more than they need of anything, they give it away. They don’t assign value, they don’t count debts. Everything you don’t use personally can be given as a gift to someone else, and by giving more gifts you inspire more generosity and strengthen the friendships that keep you swimming in gifts too. Many gift economies lasted for thousands of years, and proved much more effective at enabling all of the participants to meet their needs. Capitalism may have drastically increased productivity, but to what end? On one side of your typical capitalist city someone is starving to death while on the other side someone is eating caviar.

Western economists and political scientists initially assumed that many of these gift economies were actually barter economies: proto-capitalist exchange systems lacking an efficient currency: “I’ll give you one sheep for twenty loaves of bread.” In general, this is not how these societies described themselves. Later, anthropologists who went to live in such societies and were able to shed their cultural biases showed people in Europe that many of these were indeed gift economies, in which people intentionally kept no tally of who owed what to whom so as to foster a society of generosity and sharing.

What these anthropologists may not have known is that gift economies have never been totally suppressed in the West; in fact they surfaced frequently within rebellious movements. Anarchists in the US today also exemplify the desire for relationships based on generosity and the guarantee that everyone’s needs will be met. In a number of towns and cities, anarchists hold Really Really Free Markets — essentially, flea markets without prices. People bring goods they have made or things they don’t need anymore and give them away for free to passersby or other participants. Or, they share useful skills with one another. In one free market in North Carolina, every month:

two hundred or more people from all walks of life gather at the commons in the center of our town. They bring everything from jewelry to firewood to give away, and take whatever they want. There are booths offering bicycle repair, hairstyling, even tarot readings. People leave with full-size bed frames and old computers; if they don’t have a vehicle to transport them, volunteer drivers are available. No money changes hands, no one haggles over the comparative worth of items or services, nobody is ashamed about being in need. Contrary to government ordinances, no fee is paid for the use of this public space, nor is anyone “in charge.” Sometimes a marching band appears; sometimes a puppetry troupe performs, or people line up to take a swing at a piñata. Games and conversations take place around the periphery, and everyone has a plate of warm food and a bag of free groceries. Banners hang from branches and rafters proclaiming “FOR THE COMMONS, NOT LANDLORDS OR BUREAUCRACY” and “NI JEFES, NI FRONTERAS” and a king-size blanket is spread with radical reading material, but these aren’t essential to the event — this is a social institution, not a demonstration. Thanks to our monthly ‘Free Markets, everyone in our town has a working reference point for anarchist economics. Life is a little easier for those of us with low or no income, and relationships develop in a space in which social class and financial means are at least temporarily irrelevant.[2]

The traditional society of the Semai, in Malaya, is based on gift-giving rather than bartering. We could not find any accounts of their society recorded by the Semai themselves, but they explained how it worked to Robert Dentan, a Western anthropologist who lived with them for a time. Dentan writes that the “system by which the Semai distribute food and services is one of the most significant ways in which members of a community are knit together... Semai economic exchanges are more like Christmas exchanges than like commercial exchanges.”[3] It was considered “punan,” or taboo, for members of Semai society to calculate the value of gifts given or received. Other commonly held rules of etiquette included the duty to share whatever they had that they did not immediately need, and the duty to share with guests and anyone who asked. It was punan not to share or to refuse a request, but also to ask for more than someone could give.

Many other societies have also distributed and exchanged surpluses as gifts. Aside from the social cohesion and joy that is gained from sharing with your community without greedily keeping accounts, a gift economy can also be justified in terms of personal interests. Often, a person cannot consume what they produce all by themselves. The meat from a day’s hunt will go bad before you can eat it all. A tool, like a saw, will lay unused most of the time if it is the property of a single person. It makes more sense to give away most of the meat or share your saw with your neighbors, because you are ensuring that in the future they will give extra food to you and share their tools with you — thus ensuring that you have access to more food and a wider range of tools, and you and your neighbors become richer without having to exploit anybody.

From what we know, however, members of gift economies would probably not justify their actions with arguments of calculated self-interest, but with moral reasoning, explaining sharing as the right thing to do. After all, an economic surplus is the result of a certain way of looking at the world: it is a social choice and not a material certainty. Societies must choose, over time, to work more than they need to, to quantify value, or to only consume the minimum required for their survival and to surrender all the rest of their produce to a common storehouse controlled by a class of leaders. Even if a hunting party or a group of gatherers gets lucky and brings home a huge amount of food, there is no surplus if they consider it normal to share it with everyone else, glut themselves with a big feast, or invite a neighboring community to party until all the food is eaten. It’s certainly more fun that way than measuring out pounds of food and calculating what percentage we earned.

As for loafers, even if people do not calculate the value of gifts and keep a balance sheet, they will notice if someone consistently refuses to share or contribute to the group, violating the customs of the society and the sense of mutual aid. Gradually, such people will damage their relationships, and miss out on some of the nicer benefits of living in a society. It seems that in all known gift economies, even the laziest of people were never refused food — in stark contrast to capitalism — but feeding a few loafers is an insignificant drain on a society’s resources, especially when compared to pampering the voracious elite of our society. And losing this tiny amount of resources is far preferable to losing our compassion and letting people starve to death. In more extreme cases, if members of such a society were more aggressively parasitic, attempting to monopolize resources or force other people to work for them — in other words, acting like capitalists — they could be ostracized and even expelled from the society.

Some stateless societies have chiefs who play ritual roles, often related to giving gifts and spreading resources. In fact, the term “chief” can be deceptive because there have been so many different human societies that have had what the West classifies as “chiefs,” and in each society the role entailed something a little different. In many societies chiefs held no coercive power: their responsibility was to mediate disputes or conduct rituals, and they were expected to be more generous than anyone else. Ultimately they worked harder and had less personal wealth than others. One study found that a common reason for the people to depose or expel a chief was if the chief was not considered generous enough.[4]

#anarchism #daily posts #communism #anti capitalist #anti capitalism #late stage capitalism #anarchy #anarchists #libraries #leftism #anarchy works

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meowww-ffxiv · 2 years

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Meowdred took G’raha on a cross country trip immediately after 5.3 tbh. The story:

—

From Mor Dhona they went to Coerthas, sneaking into Ishgard through the servants’ shipping docks to avoid notice by highborns and knights. Mordred brought G’raha to visit Rielle and Sidurgu, and some skybuilder friends he made while helping out the Firmament.

Ishgard had to be the first destination. And the Firmament too. “I want you to see for yourself the world you helped save,” Mordred told G’raha. They took a bird to the highest safe scaffolding in the Firmament so G’raha could look on the endless stretch of new houses, hear laughter and music that rang out even above the winds.

Then they went south, to the Shroud. Mordred pointed out the shard of Dalamud still there and told him his and Theodore and Alisaie’s adventure into its bowel. “It was soon after the Crystal Tower closed,” he said. “Too soon. I never could explain to them why it hurt me to be in there. But I thought you would’ve liked to see all of it. The notes I left on it for you… Did they survive into the future?”

No, they didn’t. So the two of them went ruins diving illegally for a bit. If the Serpent guards saw the Warrior of Light scampering around the off-limits Allagan monstrosity they kept their mouths shut about it.

Then they went to Gridania. Once again avoiding the meat of the city where Mordred might be recognized. There was a quiet tea house in the conjurers’ district that Mordred took them to, and the proprietress who knew him from when her son who survived the Battle of Castrum Meridianum thanks to the Warrior of Light promised to keep their discretion.

“She has three children,” Mordred told G’raha. “Meridianum took the eldest’s leg. Her second child, her daughter, signed on with the Serpents to fight in Ala Mhigo. As a medic, so hopefully she won’t see combat.”

His voice dropped lower, too quiet for the elezen proprietress to hear. “She wouldn’t have been spared by Black Rose. If that’d come to pass, which it won’t, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to you,” G’raha protested, but there was a lump in his throat. It only grew when Mordred gave him a look of fond exasperation.

The tea was gorgeous. The sweets, too. Mordred ducked behind the shop to talk to the one-legged ex-soldier. G’raha listened to their cheerful, indistinct words for a moment before turning to smile at the proprietress, who was also staring at him.

“Mordred usually comes here alone,” she said. “It’s his getaway from the hectics of life as a hero, so he said. The last time he was here with anyone, it was Lord Aymeric de Borel himself.”

“Goodness,” G’raha laughed, a little startled. Mordred hadn’t told him that, but he supposed it made sense. If anyone had the sheer audacity to sneak the ruler of Ishgard away from his ambassador duties for afternoon tea in a hidden shop, it would be the Warrior of Light himself.

The proprietress — her name was Efria, G’raha had overheard — nodded slowly. Her brown eyes were still drilling into him. Considering. He tried not to squirm and tilted his head in polite confusion. “Is something the matter?”

“I have heard of the name G’raha,” Efria said. Before G’raha’s stomach could finish flipping, she added quietly, “He came in here once, a long time ago, his face so dark. He said he’d lost a friend. I have a long memory, ser. Could you have been—”

Mordred stepped out from the kitchen, a peg-leg tall elezen on his heels. “Sorry about that. I’m ready to go,” he announced.

“It’s no trouble,” G’raha said quickly. The lump in his throat had come back. Mordred was fortunately too occupied saying his goodbyes to notice.

Efria smiled crookedly. She slid G’raha a bundle wrapped in wax paper. “For the road,” she said. Shook her head vigorously when he started looking for his money pouch. “No, no. None of that. It’s on the house.”

Mordred’s lips thinned. “Madame, please—”

“Get that Ul’dahn money-minded sensibility out of my shop, ser. I will not have your coins in exchange for my generosity!”

“Ye best listen to Ma, lieutenant,” her son said cheerfully. “She’s right stubborn when she insists, she is.”

Mordred looked ready to protest some more, but Efria put her hands on her hips and G’raha quickly took the cue. He grabbed the package and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Madame.”

Efria’s eyes sparkled. Her smile split her wizened face. “Your man has sense, Warrior of Light.”

G’raha could feel heat rushing to his face so fast he might faint. “I— I assure you—” he stuttered, nearly fumbling with the gift.

Mordred caught it, caught him too, and steered him towards the door. “I will be back on Starlight with gifts,” he promised, a jolly threat. The proprietress and her son laughed, waving, as Mordred closed the door behind them.

Out in the street a gentle breeze rustled the trees. The shelter of the boughs shielded them from summer sunlight, but G’raha still felt no cooler than he had before.

“She’s just messing with you,” Mordred said, thumping him on the back. “She called Aymeric my man too, and he had the same goddamn reaction.”

“O-oh.” G’raha cleared his throat, desperately trying to get himself under control. He wasn’t some fresh-faced, fumbling teenage boy, damn it. Yet Efria’s words still rang strangely in his ears, in his head. His tail swished this way and that, uncontrollable. “And…how did the Ishgardian grapevine respond to that?”

“It’ll grasp at anything,” Mordred answered, unperturbed. He took G’raha’s hand, firm and gentle both, and led him down the street. “I don’t care what’s being said, really. Every new turn of the sun they invent a new lover for me.”

That, G’raha could understand. Scarce were there luxuries such as idle time for the Crystarium, even after their walls had been built and their lives shielded from imminent death. Yet when there had been time for gossips, it had mostly been baseless speculations about the Crystal Exarch. They tended to fall silent whenever Lyna was around out of fear of her, and every participant entered a tacit agreement that none of what they were passing about were real — the Crystal Exarch had both been their leader and a sort of living saint, hence the indescribable burden on G’raha’s shoulders even as he broke his own back trying to bear it gracefully — but the rumors still existed.

“Was there anyone?” G’raha heard himself asking. He immediately regretted it.

Mordred stopped. He turned. Looked at him. Looked at him for a long time. G’raha hoped he wasn’t crushing Efria’s gift of whatever it was, he was clutching it so tight.

“No,” Mordred said eventually. He still did not let go of G’raha’s hand. “It’s…hard to explain and not many wanted to listen, but I don’t feel that kind of pull towards others. I don’t want for romance or— or physical intimacy. This is as close to that as I get.”

His grip on G’raha’s hand tightened, just a fraction. Gentle enough G’raha could pull away. Strong enough to have held together a hope that fragmented two worlds and both their lives and three lifetimes spent missing each other.

“There hadn’t been anyone else,” Mordred said, finality in his voice.

G’raha stared at their joined hands because he couldn’t bear to look at his face, at the raw unspoken feeling in Mordred’s eyes even though they both knew what it was. Unconditional affection and a frail longing that it would be returned.

Why me? G’raha wanted to ask. Why me and not all the other, brighter souls you knew in your life, past and present? Even at the very end I botched my plans and you ended up having to save all of us. Again. I lied to you. I walked out on you.

Yet he could not. How could he? When he too had borne that love for two hundred years, and another hundred more in a world on the brink of extinction? Had held on to memories and jealously guarded a hope too surreal to be vanquished, and waited. And waited.

And found his faith rewarded, in a blaze of strength and defiance so bright it had pushed back primordial darkness, the very core of despair.

G’raha let his fingers slip from Mordred’s.

He swapped Efria’s gift to his other hand and offered it again.

There was a tremulous moment where Mordred looked like he was going to…to wobble. But they both blinked and the moment had passed. With a grin, Mordred took G’raha’s hand, and pulled him down the winding street so interspersed with trees you would think Gridanians simply incorporated their homes into the woods.

In a future severed from this root, there was nothing here but sand-like dirt. Black Rose decimated the Shroud, turning it into a desert drier and more lifeless than the worst Thanalan had to offer. But in the here and now it was lush and green, the sound of arguments and laughter drifting gently on the summer breeze.

A miracle. Nothing less. And one they had granted themselves, after all. G’raha’s heart clenched, in both relief and sorrow. He gave no voice to it.

Mordred filled his silence for him. He told him about the market, about Mother Miounne’s famous eel pie, about the fish that could be caught at the pier. He was very knowledgeable about the fabrics and dyes sold at the Rosewood Stalls. He mused about Gridania’s demand for steel weapons. The plants that could be exported from here. The accessories made out of flowers, whether Ryne would like any. He pointed out the place where he met Theodore, who was apparently moping about getting fired from the Wood Wailers at the time.

“And here you said you don’t like Gridania,” G’raha chuckled near lunchtime. His stomach growled, and wordlessly Mordred guided them to a bench and plucked Efria’s package from him.

Inside were small pastries the size of their thumbs, smelling sweetly of clove, cinnamon, olive oil and honey. Fried, it seemed. G’raha’s mouth watered just looking at them, and the flavor exploded beautifully in his mouth when he took a bite.

Mordred pulled a canteen from his belt. Two cups, from another pouch. He poured chilled tea into both, and set it to one side before grabbing a bite himself. “I don’t not like Gridania,” he said after a moment, scrunching his nose. The way Mordred’s eyes went left and right — despite G’raha knowing he couldn’t make out much except for blurry outlines of people around them — suggested he was aware others might be listening. “It’s just really different from Vylbrand and Thanalan. La Noscean weather’s kinda like this? But more open fields and more pirates so people there are more…”

He made a general gesture with his hand. “Open?” G’raha offered. Chuckled when Mordred nodded. “Are you certain? Or is it simply that Lominsans will not bother with cold politeness if they don’t like you and just used their fists to get the point across?”

“Same difference,” Mordred said, miffed. “I tell ya, the Lominsans are easier to deal with sometimes.” He sighed. “Teddy loves it down here though. He even has an apartment in the Lavender Beds. I got the keys if you want to go see.”

Why Mordred had the key to his fellow Warrior of Light and other best friend’s apartments, G’raha did not ask. But he surmised Mordred didn’t really, so he said no. And so, beaming, he was led to the gate.

Lunch tucked in, Mordred bought their dinner — forest miqo’abob and two takeout portions of Miounne’s knockoff eel pies from a vendor, wrapped them up, and sought a draft chocobo. G’raha could sense the caretaker’s smile even under her yellow mask.

Off they went then, to Bentbranch Meadow. After G’raha had attuned to the aetheryte in Gridania.

“We can get cheaper rations there than in the city,” Mordred explained. He unrolled a scroll of parchment someone nondescript had handed off to him in the market, and G’raha leaned forward to grab the reins from him while also peeking at it over his shoulder in curiosity.

“What’s that?”

“I asked the Adventurer’s Guild to keep an eye on new blood who left for assignments and failed to report back,” Mordred explained. “There’s one near Gabrinoux’s Bower or whatever the hell the old batty’s name is. We’ll investigate it if you don’t mind? The anoles there need to be culled often and they usually send rookies to do it, since it’s not the most dangerous combat. Still, they could be in trouble.”

G’raha nodded. “Of course.” He smiled, unable to help the spark of excitement in his chest. “An adventure, isn’t it?”

Mordred was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Aye. An adventure. Together.”

He took the reins back from G’raha. A spark of mana from his fingers made the scroll roll itself back up and slip into Mordred’s saddlebag. Mordred turned, catching G’raha’s gaze with his dark eye. The gentler eye. “That’s what you asked of me, right?”

G’raha could not speak. Happiness clogged his throat, his chest.

He nodded. And Mordred grinned, and urged their chocobo onwards.

#meowdred surana #mon writing

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