#minute 6:19 if anyone is wondering

[keistance]

im CRYING

[jd07201990]

One might think I went a little overboard when I used my talents, to give my old college buddy Charles Wentworth II, the son he'd always wanted. Life threw him a curveball when his little boy just, stayed little. It took only 8 months to change that.

At 19, he was almost fae. 5'4" 110lbs soaking wet, the 3rd Charles in the line was thin, lithe, soft-tempered and good mannered. Clean and neat, always top of his class, the boy was head of the Student Council in High School, when his Father hoped he'd have excelled in Football, the same as his old man.

Charles II knew I'd gone into psychiatry out of college, majoring in Behavioral Studies with a minor in biochemistry. He'd seen what I could do to a person with just 10 minutes of talking. Out like a light, I'd fill their heads with all sorts of triggers, innocent fun to make the guys in the dorms laugh.

But Charles II knew where my interests really were. Behavioral Modification. He'd only seen this one time during our school days, when I tranced Jimmy Palter, the school's most annoying nerd, and by graduation, he'd packed on 50lbs, mostly in his belly, dressed like a hick, and went off to drive Big-Rigs across the country, adding notches to his creaking belt as he screwed his way across country, bedding pretty Diner girls as he hauled goods for my Dad's transport company. Last I'd checked, he was still trucking, with a wife and 5 kids somewhere out west.

Anyway, the strapping young stud you see here, with absolutely no intelligent thought behind those handsome eyes, is Charles Wentworth III. Or, as he preffers now, Chett. Sometimes his football buddies call him Chetworth, but one headlock with their faces pressed to his sweaty pits is enough to stop even the strongest of them, at least for a while. He's an aggressive, hot-blooded powerhouse, and doesn't let anyone forget it.

It had only taken an hour to wriggle my influence into his good natured, innocent mind. His father had asked him to come see me, and an hour later, the boy was thrilled to have sessions with me every day for the foreseeable future. I'd given him a perscription for what he was convinced were vitamins, but were really prototype HGH and Testosterone boosters a friend at a Pharma-Lab in Serbia gives to, well, select clientelle, with the agreement that we send the results asap. Some of this stuff may as well be nuclear Hormone-bombs, its no wonder the FDA refuses to even look at it!

So, A month in, and the boy was a nervous wreck. Trembling with excess energy, his feet tapped anciously during the first sessions, the supplements and my trances sending his body into overdrive. He said he felt like he was on fire, all the time, hot and clammy, and that his body tingled, pent up, wound tight like a spring. I let him suffer with this for a few weeks, I watched as the confusion led to annoyance, and he finally came to my office in the middle of the day, skipping class for the first time in his life, asking me for help. I tried to hid the wicked smirk on my face, and really got down to it. It was easy to drop him down into trance, and from there, My work really began.

4 months in, Chett had gotten a bit of weight on him, his body now tight and toned, working out alone when the gym was empty. The supplements really kicked his body into overdrive, sweat poured from him, soaking his shirts and shorts. He'd complained about it for only a short time, until I convinced him that was the smell of Effort. Of athletic Prowess. Of well-worked Male. As usual, anything I said became the truth, and I soon found him taking sniffs of himself after working out, flexing absentmindedly as he noticed the changes to his body.

By the 6th month, the supplements had shot through his body, setting it into a second puberty of sorts. He grew taller, hitting 6', his legs long with a solid densness that rivaled some of the soccer players. His torso was like a marble statue, each muscle easily traced, as he had very little bodyfat. The Chett was stuffing himself with pritein and calories at my suggestion, really pushing for some size, but his pesky metabolism just wouldn't let him bulk. His father decided that, "Behemoth" as the original plan had intended, wasn't necessary, and we went with "Classic All American Boy" instead. What began as a shrimpy welp, turned into a marble stature, then the beginnings of a diamond-cut stud.

His shoulders widened, giving him that perfect masculine taper, while his face lost its boyish softness, replaced with sharper, more intensly sharp features. His size 7s grew quickly, his feet ruinding sneakers left and right, until he'd leveled off at a wide size 13. His chest began to grow a smattering of hair, his pits were thick, dense wiry bushes. He had that Pretty-Boy look. Fuzzy in all the right places. Sure, he reeked like a Varsity Locker room, but hey, Charles II wanted an athletic son, he knows from our own college days what that entials.

I could see the Sorority Girls and cheerleaders beginning to take notice, but for now, I'd kept Chett firmly away from women. That would come later. I recieved several new prototype supplements, each targeting a different system of the body. By the time he'd finished taking these, he was 6'2" 170, a tall, well built stallion, with nothing but the gym and my trances to quell the neverending storm of energy and hormones flooding his system. He was pent up, on edge, ready to go off anytime. And I knew just what I had to do.

I'd had him on edge for the last 8 monnths. his grades slipped until he nearly got ckicked from school. Luckily, I miraculously had a place for him on the Football team. And he eagerly joined, wanting nothing more than to try and burn off all the aggression on the field. He was a beast from his first practice, I'd programmed everything he'd ever need to know about the game into his mind for months. He absolutley plowed through opponents. It was incredible to see.

I finally let the damn break after a hard-fought summer Game. he'd performed just as I expected. Like a perfectly trained, expert player. Nobody would ever guess Chett had ever been a weedy little boy. Expecially not after I'd set him loose, allowing him to notice the girls all over the field, cheering and buoncing about from player to player. when Sandra Rinaldi, heir to an immense national Grocer's fortune slid up to him, pushing the sweaty hair from his eyes, he couldn't help it. One look at her, and he pounced, kissing her hard right there in the field. 8 months of hormones and denial had been released.

From what I learned through locker room talk in the days following, Chett had given Sandra quite the workout that night, and every day since. Although the two weren't exclusive, Chett tending to get his dick wet anytime, anywhere, with anyone just as programmed, Chett seemed to have a natural incling toward her, and ended up asking her to marry him just after graduation, his father thrilled at the possibility of grandkids and Sandra's inheritence bolstering their own family's fortune.

From tiny waif of a boy, to a true blue American Stud, Charles Wentworth III was now both satisfied and thrilled with his family's future. His strapping, handsome Jock of a son made him proud, cleaning up well for his father to parade him around Gala's and business events, other big-wigs taking notice of the Wentworth's "good genes", not knowing what it took to build the boy up as you see here.

[finnsbubblegum]

First Birthday (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel, rom-com

Summary (Series): reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah. 

Summary: Pov: You and Joel prepared to celebrate baby Sarah’s first birthday together.

Words count: 1.5k

A/N: I’m trying to make this as a rom-com, hope you like my new series! This is part 6 of Where It All Starts. But it can also be read as a standalone. I'm beyond happy that many of you liked it so I hope you enjoy the next parts. Stay tuned and love you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Thank God Joel still treated you the same way before he confessed his love to you that night. You acted like nothing happened and he did the same. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Joel.” Joel always walked you home even though your house was exactly next to his.

“Anytime, darlin’.” This was the second time he called you darling. Your heart jumped.

“I-uh-I forgot to tell you. Sarah’s birthday is coming. I was wondering if we could celebrate together.” He put his hand behind his neck.

“Oh really? It’s her first birthday! We should hold a party!” You jumped excitedly.

“A party? I don’t know (y/n). I mean-I don’t have anyone to invite beside my brother.” Joel put his hands in his pocket.

“I can invite my friends from the cafe. Let’s give Sarah the best first birthday ever. She deserves it.” You bumped Joel on the upper arm.

“Yeah, she deserves the best.” Joel nodded.

“So, what should we do?” He crossed his arms.

“I’ll think about it and we can talk about it again tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Thanks. Good night, darlin’.” Joel kissed your cheek.

“Good night, Joel.” You kissed him back.

You shrieked as you closed the door. Joel Miller just called you darling. After what you said to him and he still called you darling? His words made you sway. And the kiss on the cheek felt different. Joel kissed your cheek every night but today definitely felt different. It felt more loving if you had to describe it. Was it because he called you darling? Was it because he was still nice to you even though you broke his heart? Then you remembered you told him that you weren’t ready for a relationship. You were the one who asked him not to fall in love with you but why were you swayed now? You hit your head to get a grip of yourself. You spent your night thinking about how you could make Sarah’s birthday special. You took out your notebook and wrote your ideas about the cake design, colors, decorations and everything. Trying to neglect your thoughts about how perfect Joel was.

It was another day and you prepared dinner at Joel’s house just like usual. You and Joel had dinner together almost every night since you babysat Sarah. Either you cooked for the two of you, ordered deliveries, Joel brought takeouts, or ate out. But tonight you decided to cook. 

“You’re home early.” You turned to look at Joel who just got home from work.

“Today was peaceful.” He chuckled.

“Dinner will be ready in 10. So you can take a shower first, sir.” You bowed, acting like a maid.

“I’ll be back.” Joel chuckled as he shook his head at your joke.

*10 minutes later*

Joel went down the stairs looking fresh after a shower.

“Smells good.” Joel sniffed.

“You always said that.” You scoffed.

“I’m being honest.” Joel glared at you.

“Well, thank you.” You smiled.

You and Joel dug in and ate the meal you cooked.

“So, I’ve got some ideas for Sarah’s first birthday party.” You took out your notebook.

“Uh-huh. What do you got?” 

“I was thinking of a pink themed kind of birthday party. What do you think?” You squinted your eyes.

“Hmm, how about purple? I’m seeing Sarah as a purple girl.” Joel voted purple.

“Yes sir. Purple it is.” You wrote purple on your notebook.

“About the cake, I have talked to my baker and he has this amazing design in mind. You’ll love it.” 

“I’ll leave it to you, miss.” 

Sarah’s Birthday D-1

You and Joel decorated the house with purple flowers and purple balloons. You used helium for the balloon so it could fly to the ceilings. 

"Never meant to cause you any sorrow~"

Joel sang as he held the balloon pumper as a microphone near his mouth. 

You turned your head right away as you heard a high-pitched voice singing. 

"Seriously?" You put your hands to your waist staring at him. 

"Never meant to cause you any pain" Joel closed his eyes and continued singing.

You inhaled some of the helium and jumped to the couch. 

"I only wanted to one time to see you laughing.."  

You sang and Joel stopped because he was impressed by you.

"I only wanted to see you in the purple rain" 

You started to sing like a real singer on the stage but you were just on Joel's couch. 

"Purple rain

Purple rain" 

Joel inhaled another helium and sang with you together. The two of you burst into laughter. You couldn't stop laughing, your stomach hurts.

"Okay, okay. Stop it. My stomach hurts from laughing." You pressed your stomach. 

"I didn't know you like Prince." You bumped Joel's arm.

"Purple rain is like my jam." Joel squinted his eyes.

"Wait, did you choose purple because of the song? Purple as in purple rain?" You furrowed your brows confused as you joined the dots. He shrugged.

"I..may have chosen purple because of purple rain." He admitted. 

"You're sooo predictable." You shook your head and poked his chest with your index finger.

D-day

The birthday cake was big and purple. It was a two tier cake with pearls and sparkly butterflies around it. You thanked your baker for making Sarah a beautiful birthday cake. 

Sarah wore a purple dress with a purple bow tie bandana headband around her head. You and Joel had bought them a few days ago at the mall. 

"Happy birthday, you cute little girl!" One of your employees from the cafe shook her little hand gently. 

"Whoaa, who is this pretty little girl here?" Another friend from your cafe came to her while baby Sarah was in Joel's arms. 

"Happy birthday, purple girl." Flo came and stroked her head. 

"Say thank you, babygirl." Joel bounced Sarah and she babbled. 

"You're welcome." Flo gave you a gift box for Sarah and you put it on the table piled with presents. 

Everyone was happy to celebrate Sarah's birthday. They were like a second family to her. She spent every day with them and you at the cafe. And they loved her too. 

“Hey, you old fucker. And hey there you, babygirl. Happy birthday, my sweet little niece.” An unfamiliar man approached the two of you and kissed baby Sarah’s head.

“Tommy!” Joel hugged his younger brother.

“(y/n), this is Tommy, my younger brother. Tommy this is (y/n). She’s uh-she’s my neighbor. She’s the one who came up with all of these.” Joel introduced you to Tommy and pointed around the house.

“Hi, Tommy. I’m (y/n). Nice to meet you. Joel helped a lot too.” You shook Tommy’s hand.

“So you guys-uh-together?” Tommy asked.

“We’re neighbors.” You answered and Joel nodded.

“Okay. If you want to say it that way. I’m sure you guys are more than that anyways.” Tommy raised both of his opened palms in the air. 

“Okay, now I’m gonna mingle and see if I can talk to that pretty girl.” Tommy walked away and talked to a girl, who was apparently to be Flo. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You chuckled.

“Well, you know about it now.” Joel kissed Sarah’s cheek.

“He seems..” You pouted as you were looking for the right word.

“Friendly. Very much friendly.” You smirked.

“Yep, he is.” 

“Why don’t we gather everyone and sing happy birthday?” You rested your hand at Joel’s shoulder then to Sarah’s head.

"Everyone! Joel here has something to say." You gathered everyone's attention.

"What? I thought you were the one who-" Joel whispered to you and bumped your arm.

"Shh.. come on do the speech." You whispered back to him. 

"I didn't prepare anythin'." He panicked.

"You can do it. Come on." You patted his back. 

"Hi-uh-I'm Joel. I'm sure you all know Sarah. She's turning one today. Thank you for takin' care of her every day at the cafe. I really appreciate it. You are all a second family to her. Why don't we-uh-sing happy birthday to my little girl?" Joel was sweating. You could see it dripping to the back of his neck but you just chuckled. You found him cute this way.

*Everyone started to sing*

Joel sang half way and he stopped singing so you turned to him. His eyes were locked to a woman who just came into the house. She was his ex-wife and her current boyfriend. 

"Joel.." You stroked his upper arm. 

"Hold Sarah for me?" He passed Sarah to your arms. 

"Okay." You took her from his arms and held her, bouncing her a bit. 

Joel sighed as he walked towards his ex-wife. He didn't let her see Sarah. He dragged her outside the house avoiding everyone to see the drama that would happen. 

"Everything's gonna be okay, baby. Your dad got this. Let's just be happy and celebrate your birthday. Today's your special day." You talked to baby Sarah and kissed her forehead.

To be continued…

Taglist:

@lovelyygirl8 @skysmiller @moonlightdivine @crocodiile @angie2274 @pulchritudinousrogers @peqchsoup @msecho19 @happinessinthebeing @nyotamalfoy @nakedmoondiaries @dzaga890 @pa1g3-t0mm0 @prettysbliss @wanniiieeee @one-sweet-gubler @x-ap0llo-x @feministfanboi @ordinarylokix @afterglowsb-tch13 @padgraysonssram8re @tomorrowseverything @hummusxx @iranispunk @mrsyixingunicorn10 @likeanimagepassingby2 @mediocrewallflow3r @pedr0swh0r3 @mxtokko @dorck26 @cascactus28 @cheyxfu @stupidthoughtsinwriting @undermoonlightwalk @bigmoodyjoody @humanbug @sarahhxx03 @krisviciousx @quixscentsposts @dgct2 @dgraysonss @heybabyshae @fluffyspaceprincess @toottmblr @avengersfan25 @xixxala @dianaffddz @onzayhe @violetwitchmcu @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @kelh27

[esotericswiftie]

1. for her, fiona apple / 2. vulture: ‘the story behind every track on fetch the bolt cutters,’ as told to rachel handler by fiona apple / 3. lolita (1997), dir. adrian lyne / 4, 15. metamorphoses, ovid / 5, 9, 13, 17, 20. nightingale: a gloss, paisley rekdal / 6, 18. caged bird, maya angelou / 7. okayplayer: ‘from maya angelou to shameika: the importance of two black women in fiona apple’s work,’ sydney gore / 8, 19. ‘maya angelou, legendary poet and civil rights activist who had disability, inspires generations,’ tameir yeheyes for respectability / 10. time magazine: person of the year 2017 cover — the silence breakers / 11. time magazine: ‘“i was angry.” taylor swift on what powered her sexual assault testimony,’ as told to eliana dockterman by taylor swift / 12. all too well (ten minute version) (mv), taylor swift / 14. it happened quiet, aurora / 16. the threatened swan (1650), jan asseljin

i ponder over the power of the written word so often that i think i tend to forget about the power of the spoken word. there is a certain weight and gravity to the spoken word that the written word lacks. the spoken word is concrete, intimidating in its simplicity, and final. sometimes i wonder how many times i could have awoken myself from a spell of depression by simply looking at myself in the mirror and saying out loud: “you are killing yourself.” to say something out loud is to make it real, and when it is real, everyone must face it.

but what about when one can’t speak? what about when one has had their voice taken from them? i’d argue that one can speak through other mediums besides just human voice. philomela weaving the tapestry after tereus cuts out her tongue. lavinia writing with a stick in her mouth after losing her tongue and arms. the caged bird singing. the refusal to mince words, to do anything besides calling it what it was. writing about it. putting it in the lyrics of a song. whistling back. communication of any type is in itself an act of defiance in a world that wants nothing more than to silence you.

side note: this is a web weave i’ve been wanting to make for a while. the subject matter is very heavy and the thread itself is outrageously long, so apologies for that, but this is just something i felt like i had to make. i saw the interwoven threads so clearly in my mind, and i had to lay them all out together. so if anyone sees this, i hope you get as much impact from reading it as i did from making it. <3

[schlattsdarling]

Prompt List !!!

Send in any amount of requests that you have and state if you want it with either Schlatt or Ted.

If you have an idea of what you want the story to be about then feel free to add more detail!

Fluff

1. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

2. "Is that my shirt?"

3. "We'd make such a cute couple."

4. "Are you flirting with me?"

5. "Well, since you aren't feeling too good, maybe this could help?"

6. "I could kiss you right now."

7. "You gave it your best shot. That's all anyone could ever ask of you."

8. "Can we just stay in bed?"

9. "Let me kiss it better."

10. "Stop moving I'm almost done!"

11. "You look like shit."

12. "Just pretend to be my date."

13. "You came." "You called."

14. "I'm right here."

15. "I like you just the way you are."

16. "Please, stay."

17. "You owe me a favour."

"Can I ask you a favour?"

19. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?"

20. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

21. "Can I come over?"

22. "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."

23. "That is by far the stupidest thing you've ever done."

24. "How much did you drink?"

25. "How drunk was I?"

26. "You make me want to be better."

27. "Come back to bed."

28. "You're lucky I love you."

29. "You kissed me last night."

30. "They're coming. Kiss me!"

31. "I really need you right now."

32. "Wanna bet?"

33. "Let me take care of you."

34. "Say that again? But slower."

35. "Going somewhere?"

36. "I heard that!"

37. "Why are you awake?"

38. "This isn't what it looks like!"

39. "Go to sleep."

40. "Why are you looking at me like that?

Something on my face?"

Smut

41. "I've never done this before."

42. "This stays between you and me."

43. "Will you stop talking for ten minutes?" "Why don't you come over here and make me."

44. "We're not just friends and you fucking know it."

45. "Look what you did to me, l've had to deal with this all day."

46. "Give me a little show."

47. "Stop teasing!"

48. "We're in public, you know."

49. "We can't do that here."

50. "All you had to do was ask."

51. "Do you think they heard us?" "Yes, we did."

52. "Could they make you feel this good?"

53. "Do I make you nervous?"

54. "We have to be quiet."

55. "Bite me!" "If you insist."

56. "Oh my god, do that again."

57. "We're going to be late."

58. "You taste so good."

59. "Don't hide from me, you're beautiful."

60. "I know you can be louder than that."

61. "Mine." "Say it again."

62. "Let them know I'm yours/you're mine."

63. "This is wrong." "So wrong."

64. "Oh, you like that."

65. "It's so hot when you talk to me like that."

66. "Make me shut up then."

67. "Who knew you were hiding such a dirty mind."

68. "I'll put that pretty mouth of yours to work."

69. "You've never been fucked before? How?"

70. "This is exactly how I imagined it."

71. "I like it when you tell me what to do."

72. "Look at me."

73. "You want to cum? Beg."

74. "Show me how much you missed me."

75. "I keep thinking about your body against mine."

76. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't remember his name."

77. "I've been wondering what it feels like to..."

78. "Makes me want to wreck you."

79. "I thought this was a one-time thing?"

80. "You look so fucking hot right now."

Angst

81. "Is this the end? After everything we've been through?."

82. "We shouldn't be doing this."

83. "I needed you, and you weren't there!"

84. "You're always leaving me."

85. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I do?"

86. "It wasn't your fault."

87. "The fuck was that?"

88. "It's not you that I don't trust, it's them."

89. "You're kidding, right?"

90. "Open your eyes!"

91. "Can you please come get me?"

92. "I'll stay as long as you need."

93. "Ssshh, it's okay, l've got you."

94. "I don't deserve you."

95. "I should've expected this."

96. "We used to spend every day together. Are you telling me that staying the night in the same place is too close a proximity for us to share?"

97. "Maybe the fact that we have such a hard time staying away from each other is saying something."

98. "I thought we were more than whatever... this is. But clearly, I was wrong."

99. "Interesting, isn't it? Two days ago you were a fumbling, blushing mess and looking at me like I hung the stars out for you, and now you can't even look at me. Real fucking interesting."

100. "Why can't you admit to anything? This is your fault!"

101. "What are we?"

102. "Things would be fine if you didn't go and run your mouth!"

103. "I didn't know you felt this way."

104. "Do you know how stupid you made me feel?"

105. "Why don't you love me back?" "You're drunk, let's get you home."

106. "I don't think I can do this anymore. Not with you."

107. "I can't do this anymore. Sometimes... sometimes I really need you and you're just not there."

108. "I'm not allowed to be upset because they were hanging all over you?”

109. "You're supposed to be mine!"

110. "I'm not jealous, fuck off."

111. "Are we going to be okay? I don't want this to change anything between us."

112. "You deserve the best. And that's...that's not me."

113. "Don't cause a scene, please."

114. "I didn't mean to fall in love with you, I really didn't and I'm sorry."

115. "I don't want to be the second option anymore."

116. "It's starting to feel like you don't want to be seen with me."

117. "What about me? What about my life, my feelings? Where do I come in all this?"

118. "I will always find you."

119. "I love you. I will always love you, but l'm not sure you love me."

120. "You always do this!"

(I got this list from @/star2fishmeg)

[fallinginvictus]

WIP Wednesday Andrew & Aaron Time Loop AU [part 1/4]

8ish years post-canon (aaron at the end of his first year of residency)

time loop fic where aaron dies of an overdose and andrew keeps waking up on the morning of his death and tries his best to save him

tw for this specific chapter: character death, mention of drug addiction, mention of relapse, mention of drug overdose, dead body

Part 2

CHAPTER ONE

It's Tuesday, 8 May at 15:19 in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Stop lying, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling in his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“Aaron is not dead,” he says to the empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature. If something happened, what's the point in lying to yourself and denying the cold hard truth? What's the point in delaying the inevitable?

And yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

He walks to his room in a trance, throwing clothes and underwear into a black duffle bag without even checking if the clothes are clean, if they are his, he just takes anything that he can get his hands on and throws it in the bag until it's full and then he closes it.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car.

Andrew had never much cared for the guy but Neil liked him and that was enough for Andrew.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had driven much longer just to meet Neil when they were in different teams, in different states, and yet none of those drives had ever felt as long as the one that is going to bring him to his brother's cold and lifeless corpse.

Every other car on the interstate seems to be moving in slow motion and Andrew wants to scream at every single one of them. He tightens his hands on the wheel, wondering why he needs to go faster, why he needs to speed. Aaron is already gone, his body already cold. It won't matter at all how long he takes to get there. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome will be the exact same.

As he passes through towns and fields, Andrew wonders when Aaron had relapsed. How long had Aaron been lost to drugs before his death? How many times had he relapsed throughout the years without ever telling Andrew? How many times had he picked himself up on his own, alone in Boston?

“You are the one who wanted freedom,” he mutters, stuck in the 6 pm traffic as he lays his head on the steering wheel. “You are the one who wanted this.”

They hadn't talked much in the past nine years. Aaron hadn't talked with anyone much. He had left Palmetto State and the rest of them with it without ever looking back.

Nicky would always cry about it, about Aaron's lack of contact, about his distance, about his unwillingness to get mixed up with the Foxes after graduation.

“Oh, Mr. Harvard is too good for us now? Can't even show his face for one dinner?” Allison had said once while they were having dinner at Wymack and Abby's housewarming party.

“He's probably just busy,” Nicky had defended him, his eyes tired from the 10-hour flight from Germany that he had taken just to be there for their little reunion, knowing how hard it was for all the Foxes to be free on the same day.

“Yeah well, we are all busy.”

Once, Nicky had called Andrew while he was still crying after he had gotten in a huge fightwith Aaron about his indifference, about his distance.

“He never even texts,” Nicky had said. “Did you know that he and Kate broke up two years ago? Two fucking years Drew. Of course you didn't know either because he never tells us anything at all. It's like we don't exist anymore to him.”

That bastard had done his best to distance himself from them just so that he could have his perfect and normal life just to then go and overdose on some stolen morphine.

What a humiliating way to go.

So much for a perfectly normal life.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks will be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. He could've at least overdosed in a farm out of town and spared Andrew the headache. What an asshole.

He stands outside the hospital for a few or a hundred minutes, listening to the ambulances’ sirens as they race behind him, looking at the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he finally walks inside, a nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground while she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” one of her colleagues says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just like Dr. Minyard.”

“As twins often do,” he replies without blinking, the nurse's reaction shaking him more than he thought it could.

“Of course. You must be Andrew. I'm Nurse Mary.”

He just stares at her in silence as she stares back at him as if she were looking at a ghost.

Andrew wondered how he will ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again.

“Are you going to bring me to my brother or are you going to stare at me all day?”

“Yes. Of course. I'm so sorry. Here, follow me,” she says as if coming out of a trance before turning towards the other nurse. “Tell Dr. Allen that Dr. Minyard's brother arrived.”

Andrew had been expecting white hallways, white tile floors and white walls illuminated by bright white lights, instead he's met by green and yellow hallway walls, little animals like rabbits and deer and butterflies painted all around, flowers made of paint blooming in every corner.

“This is a children's hospital,” Nurse Mary says as if Andrew had asked.

“I know,” he replies because he might've lost contact with his brother but at least he knows that much.

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, Andrew unwilling to entertain any form of conversation, unable to let words come out of his mouth, incapable of interacting with the world outside of his mind.

He wonders if Aaron had even thought about the consequence of his relapse. If he had thought of his career, of the future that he had worked so restlessly to achieve.

If Aaron was going to throw it all away anyway, he could've at least avoided making Nicky cry.

“He's here,” Mary says while stopping in front of a white door. “We haven't brought him down to the morgue yet. We were waiting for you.”

Andrew just nods.

“We all knew he was-”

“I didn't ask,” he replies. “You can leave”

“Of course. I'm sorry,” Andrew can tell that there is still something stuck on the tip of her tongue that she so badly wants to say, but he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to hear how everyone knew about it, how Aaron hadn't managed to escape from his past, how he hadn't been able to achieve that normal life that he had always yearned for.

He waits until the nurse is gone and then another few more minutes before he finally pushes the door open and walks inside the dim room.

There is a bed on the right, it's empty and white and perfectly made.

There is a bed on the left, white lines pulled over a body, gloomy and silent and perfectly still.

Andrew walks quietly towards the occupied bed and then stops for a second, his cement-stuffed shoes anchoring him to the ground, his metal-filled bones weighing him down. He feels like he's trying to run in a dream, trying to walk on quicksand, Aaron's silhouette so close to him and yet so impossibly distant.

The quiet of the room is deafening, the grains of dust falling and dancing in the air in slow motion suddenly starting to look beautiful and interesting and making his eyes stray from his brother's dead body.

He doesn't want to look at it. To look at him.

He wants to run.

He wants to open that door and never have to look at his traitor of a brother again. He wants to spit in his face and curse his name, curse his short existence and meaningless departure.

He removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“You are so stupid,” he says. “I hate you so much.”

He stares at Aaron's motionless face, trying to remember the last time he had seen it flushed red, the last time life had still been cursing through his body, beating in his chest, shining in his eyes.

It had been so long. Too long.

He can't remember the last words he had said to Aaron, can't remember the last conversation they had. He can't remember what Aaron had said or if he had smiled. (Aaron never really smiled.)

It had been spring back then too, Andrew and Neil were in Boston for a match. They had met at a coffee shop. Andrew can't remember what Aaron had ordered. They hadn't talked much, feeling like strangers who had once lived in each other's pockets, two people who knew so much and yet so little about each other.

Aaron had left in a hurry with an I'm sorry, I'll text you.

Andrew had said nothing in reply.

“We didn't even say goodbye,” he whispers as that knowledge slams into him like a fast-moving train. “I hate you.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he doesn't even notice, his left hand resting on Aaron's blond hair as his right moves on top of his chest, searching for a beat that he knows he won't find.

“After all we did for you, how can you throw it all away just because you wanted to get high? How could you do this to us? What am I supposed to tell Nicky now? You know how much he loves you,” a moment passes, words that he had never said to Aaron trying to crawl their way up his throat, their sharp claws scratching it raw and leaving a trail of blood behind. “I love you.”

His breath hitches and his hands shake as he tries to take a hold of himself, as he tries to swallow those words back down, the taste of metal invading his mouth.

“I said I love you. So come back now,” he begs the silence and only the silence replies.

Aaron doesn’t move, his eyes remain closed, his chest unmoving.

“What do I tell Nicky?” he whispers to himself as he sits on the wooden chair next to the bed, his left hand softly holding Aaron's ice-covered hand while taking his phone out of his pocket with his right.

From: neighbour

not a problem at all!!!

I hope everything is alright :)

u don't have to worry i am GREAT with kitties

From: 0Neil

where are you? why did you ask jake to look after king and sir?

He wants to call Neil, to ask him to drop everything and meet him in Boston, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to tell anyone before telling Nicky.

If there was someone in the world who had gently and unconditionally loved Aaron, it was him.

If there was someone in the world who would fall apart at the news of Aaron's death, it would be him.

Andrew wishes there was another way to do it. Wishes Nicky didn't have to hear of Aaron's death the same way that Andrew had: from a voice through the phone.

“Andrew, is everything alright?” Nicky answers after letting the phone ring five times.

“Are you home?”

“It's 1 am of course I'm home and also sleeping,” he says on the phone before adding quietly. “It's Andrew.”

“Erik is next to you?” Andrew asks because he needs someone to be there with Nicky. He wouldn't survive the news if he were alone.

“Yeah. What's going on?”

“Turn on the lights and sit on the bed with Erik next to you.”

“Andrew, it's so late and Erik has to get up from work in like, five hours. Can't this wait?”

“Just do as I say, Nicky,” he gritts out as he holds Aaron's hand. “And tell me when you are done.”

He can hear a little commotion on the other side, the rustling of covers as they are being moved, german words he can't understand, someone sighing in annoyance.

“Okay, we are now sitting on our bed with the lights on like two idiots.”

“Hold his hand.”

“Andrew-”

“Just do as I say.”

“You are scaring me.”

“Are you holding his hand?”

“Yessir.”

“Nicky,” is all that comes out of his mouth, the rest of the sentence drowning in his chest before he can get it out.

“Is something wrong with Neil?” Nicky asks and Andrew can hear the worry in his voice, the gentleness in his tone.

“It's Aaron,” he spits, the acid-filled words burning his flesh on their way out.

��Aaron? Is he sick? What's wrong?”

“He's dead,” he says as if those words aren't about to make Nicky's whole world crumble to the ground.

“He's not dead,” Nicky says with a chuckle. “I texted him two months ago and he was fine.”

“Nicky,” Andrew breathes out. “He's dead.”

“He was fine so how can he be dead now? That doesn't make any sense Andrew. Don't be silly.”

“He relapsed. He overdosed early this afternoon.”

“He went to Harvard. He's a doctor in one of the best children's hospitals in the country. He's a doctor, Andrew. He's happy. Why would he relapse?”

“Because he's a drug addict, Nicky. That's what they do.”

“Shut up. Not Aaron. He's clean. He can't be dead. Please. We didn't- I didn't even-” and then all he can hear through the phone are a series of sobs being pulled out of Nicky's chest as he falls apart on the other side of the phone, on the other side of the world.

“I'll take care of him and book the first flight for Boston,” Erik says as Andrew listens to Nicky falling to pieces before the call ends.

He stares at Aaron for a few seconds, his hand still softly holding Aaron's, “You see what you did? You made Nicky cry again. How is he supposed to move on from this now?”

His phone vibrates again as it rests on his legs.

From: 0Neil

reply?

I just need to know that everything is okay

To: 0Neil

I'm in boston

come as soon as you can

aaron's dead

From: 0Neil

I'm coming right now

Andrew looks at Aaron's face one last time, his fingers hovering over his icy cheek for a few seconds before placing a kiss on his forehead, something that he had never dreamt of doing when Aaron's forehead was still warm, and then he covers him with the white hospital sheet.

“Where are his things?” he asks Nurse Mary once he reaches the nurses’ station.

“My God,” another nurse whispers in the background. “They look so similar. He looks like a better and healthier version of Dr Minyard.”

A better version of Aaron.

Andrew snarls at those words.

That's not how their lives were supposed to turn out. Aaron was supposed to be the better twin, the one with his life together, the happy and normal one. How had things turned out like this? Why was Andrew the one with a normal life and Aaron's lifeless body was lying in a hospital bed under a white sheet?

“Here, I'll take you to his locker.”

The staff changing room is closer to the nurses’ station than Aaron's body is and to Andrew's relief, is also empty.

“You can put his things in this bag,” the nurse says as she hands him a plastic bag. “Number 13. It's already opened for you,” she stands there awkwardly for a second. “Goodbye then.”

“Who do I have to invite to the funeral?” he asks her before she can walk out.

“I'm sorry?”

“His close friends. Who was he the closest to? Who must I invite to the funeral?”

“Oh,” Nurse Mary says awkwardly as she fiddles with her hands. “Dr Minyard wasn't really- he didn't really have any friends here. Or anywhere. I'm sorry I don't- He just didn't really talk with anyone and always kept to himself. Dr Allen always says that he's his favourite prodigee, that he will become a great doctor but that he's not really a fun person to be around. He's great with patients just not-” She stops talking, realising how rude her words may sound to a grieving family member. “I'm sorry.”

“So nobody?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Something breaks in Andrew at those words, a pain that he can't place, that he can't understand.

He had always imagined Aaron living a happy and normal life, laughing with his colleagues while eating lunch at the hospital cafeteria, having a drink after work at a bar near the hospital, spending the holidays around a table full of people while laughing about something that had happened at work the night before.

He always thought Aaron had left them behind because he had built a new life for himself, that he'd left them behind so that he could build himself a perfect life surrounded by normal people.

He doesn't know what to do with the image of an Aaron who had no one in his life, who spent all of his time either at work or at home alone, who never laughed and never smiled. Andrew wonders if he had ever even known his brother at all.

Was it the absence of people in his life that made him relapse, he wonders, or was the fear of relapsing that kept him away from people?

There isn’t much in Aaron's locker, just a yellow stethoscope, a white coat with a yellow sunflower-shaped pin, his house keys, a box of assorted teas, a pair of spare scrubs and a set of cutlery. He picks everything up and throws it in the red plastic bag, a piece of paper falling to the ground as he does so.

He kneels on the ground to pick it up but his hand stops in mid-air as soon as he realised what it is: a picture of the Foxes during Aaron's third year of college, their orange uniforms bright under the sun, smiles painted on almost all of their faces, Wymack and Abby standing by their side.

“What the fuck Aaron,” he asks closing his eyes for a second before picking up the worn-out picture and staring at it for a few seconds, a confused expression on his face, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

He can't stop thinking about that picture the whole drive towards Aaron's apartment, questions swirling inside his brain as he almost blows through a red light.

Aaron's new life, now that Andrew got a glimpse of it, looks a lot different than what he had imagined and he just can't understand it. Nothing makes any sense and there is no one left who can shed light on it because the only person who could make sense of it is now dead.

Aaron is dead.

Aaron is dead.

Andrew wonders how he's supposed to move on with his life with those words always swirling in his brain.

Aaron's house is fifteen minutes away from the hospital, the building modest but well maintained, Aaron's apartment on the sixth floor.

He stands in front of the door for a few minutes delaying the inevitable as if it would change the outcome. He has been doing a lot of that the past few hours.

He used to always dive face-first into any situation, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.

Aaron's death is something he's unable to face. Doesn't want to face.

Aaron's bed is still unmade when Andrew opens the door to his bedroom, dirty clothes scattered around the room, empty boxes of ramen piled near the full trash can, sheets of paper covering the floor, open books piled on top of more open books on his desk.

Andrew wonders when was the last time Aaron had cleaned up the room as he opens the window.

When they lived together, Aaron was clean and neat, he used to hate when Andrew left clothes lying around and when he didn't wash his dishes. He would clean his room once every other day without ever leaving even a pen out of place. Even when he was so high he could barely remember his own name or understand where he was, he would always take the time to fold his clothes and put his shoes in their right place before going to bed.

Andrew wonders what had changed.

He sits on the bed, on Aaron's bed, his body heavy, his tiredness bone-deep, and closes his eyes for a second, Aaron's freshly washed hoodie next to his head, the scent of honey and lilies invading his senses, Aaron's pale face right behind his eyelid.

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

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open.

He's lying under his light green covers, in his own bed, in his own house, King purring on his chest, waiting for Andrew to pet him like he does every morning, Aaron’s pale face still dancing behind Andrew's eyelids, his lifeless hands and unmoving chest tattooed on Andrew's brain.

He grabs his phone from where it's charging on the nightstand to look at the time but what catches his attention is the date written in big white letters on his phone screen: 7:09 am, Tue, 8 May.

Had it been just a dream? Just a cruel creation of his own imagination? But it had felt too real to be nothing more than a nightmare. Andrew can still recall every second of yesterday, of today, every step he took, every move he made, the way Aaron's cold skin had felt, the way his moonstone-white face had looked. How could it have been nothing more than a figment of his own fucked up imagination? How could it all have been fake when he could still feel the ache in his heart, so real and tangible?

He dials Aaron's number five times before his brother finally answers, his voice like a stab to Andrew's heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew wants to scream at him, to never speak to him again.

“Are you still clean?”

“What?” Andrew can hear the disdain in Aaron's voice but pointedly ignores it.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?”

“No?”

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone, Aaron's voice too painful to hear, the memory of his death too fresh in Andrew's mind even if it had been nothing more than a cruel dream conjured up by his treacherous mind.

Andrew finally feels like he can breathe again.

Eight hours and ten minutes later, Andrew's phone rings again, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Not again, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling inside his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“This can't be happening again,” he says to an empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature, but how he can he be relieving the worst moment of his life for a second time? Is he lying in Aaron's bed trapped in a nightmare? Has he died and gone to Hell, forced to relive the worst day of his life for the rest of eternity?

Andrew was never one for denial and yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car in a trance, his mind lost in a fog he can't disperse.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had taken the same exact path yesterday, he had cursed at the same exact people he is currently speeding past.

Andrew can feel his hands tightening on the wheel and he wonders why speeding. He has already seen Aaron's lifeless body lying in that dim hospital room. He has already stood by his bedside and held his cold hand, has already felt Aaron's icy skin under his warm lips. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome would be the exact same.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other just waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks are going to be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. How dare he make him drive through it for a second time? What an asshole.

He walks inside the hospital as soon as his car is parked, the sound of the sirens as they race behind him loud as he bumps into the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he walks inside, the nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him like she had the day before, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground as she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” nurse Mary says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just-”

“I know,” he says, walking past her and heading towards the room where Aaron is resting.

“Oh- wait,” the nurse says running after him. “I can take-”

“I know where he is.”

“That's okay,” she says, trying to catch up with him but remaining silent as they walk in the right direction.

“You can go,” he says as soon as they reach the white door.

“Well, alright,” Mary says a little flustered. “My condolences.”

Andrew doesn't wait for her to leave before walking inside the dim room and closing the door behind himself.

He ignores the bed on the right, immediately heading towards the one occupied by his brother's body. The quiet inside the room deafening as he removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“How can you do this to me twice?” he asks the silent corpse. “That's cruel Aaron. That's just too fucking cruel.”

He looks at his brother for a few more seconds before shaking his head. “Is this some kind of divine punishment?” he asks towards the sky. “This is not fair. It's not fair.”

He covers Aaron's unloving face and walks out of the room and towards the doctors’ changing room as quickly as he can.

He wishes he could bleach his brain and remove the image of Aaron's lifeless body from his memory but he knows it will haunt all of his dreams, all of his waking moments.

“Wow. He looks like a better version of Dr Minyard.”

“Mr Minayrd-” Marys says.

“I know. Locker thirteen,” he interrupts her before entering the changing room and taking only Aaron's house keys and the Foxe’s picture out of the locker before bolting out of the hospital and speeding towards Aaron's apartment.

He doesn't know what he's doing, what he's looking for, what he's hoping to achieve, he just keeps looking all over Aaron's house as if he could find a solution there, an explanation.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks the empty house and receives no reply, a picture of him, Aaron and Nicky during their graduation staring at him from its silver frame.

He lies on Aaron's carpet, the picture in his arms, staring at the bright light on the ceiling until his vision becomes blurry and there are black spots in his eyes.

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - semi smut (not really)

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 18

My attitude toward the usual wedding formalities was naive and unsophisticated. If it had not been for my good friend Amber Doe, I can’t imagine what I would have done. Amber was great that way. She was raised in Missouri, where her mother was somewhat involved with political events and ventures. Amber knew all the social graces along with proper etiquette.

Before the wedding there had never been an occasion for formalities—the same people came around for years and were always included when there was a special party such as New Year’s at a local club or fireworks wars in back of Graceland.

She reminded me to order my own personalized stationery for later thank-yous and a guest book for later memories. She registered our name with the city’s finest silver and crystal dealers for the convenience of family and friends buying wedding presents.

I had never attended a wedding as large as ours—nothing even close. I was nervous. The bounty from the wedding showers took me by surprise. Graceland had always seemed to have everything anyone could want. We were content with what was there, plus little things I’d bought over the years, such as simple dishes and plain glasses (in case of breakage).

“What’s wrong with those?” I wondered. I was raised to be practical and it was showing. Amber introduced me to dining luxury, the top names in silver, crystal, china—Baccarat, Lenox, Steuben.

The wedding ceremony itself took place on May 1, 1967. Colonel William handled the arrangements. His plan was for Matt and me to drive from L.A. to our rented house in Palm Springs the day before the wedding, so that any inquisitive reporters who got wind of the event would think it was going to take place there.

In fact, we planned to rise before dawn on our wedding day and fly from Palm Springs to Las Vegas, where we were scheduled to arrive at the city clerk’s office at 7 a.m. to get our marriage license. From there, the plan was to rush over to the Aladdin Hotel, dress, have a small ceremony in the private suite of the hotel’s owner, and then—we hoped—slip out of town before anyone noticed.

Time was of the essence. We knew that once we applied for a marriage license, the news would flash around the world. It actually was only a few hours after we got our license that Rona Barrett’s office began calling to ask if rumors about the marriage were true.

Matt and I followed the Colonel’s plan, but as we raced through the day we both thought that if we had it to do over again, we would have given ourselves more time. We were particularly upset at the way our friends and relatives ended up being shuffled around. The Colonel even told some of the boys that the room was too small to hold most of them and their wives, and that there wasn’t time to change to a bigger room. Unfortunately, by the time Matt found out, it was too late for him to do anything about it.

Now I sometimes look back at all the commotion of that week and wonder how things could have gotten so out of hand. I wish I’d had the strength then to say, “Wait a minute, this is our wedding, fans or no fans, press or no press. Let us invite whomever we want, and have it wherever we want!”

It seemed that as soon as the ceremony began, it was over. Our vows were taken. We were now husband and wife. I remember flashbulbs popping, my father’s congratulations, my mother’s tears of happiness.

I would have given anything for one moment alone with my husband. But we were immediately rushed out for a photo session, then a nationwide press conference, and finally a reception, with more photographers.

Mrs. Matt Sturniolo. It had a different ring, a nicer sound than previous labels such as “constant companion,” “teen heartthrob,” “live-in Lolita,” “lover.” For the first time, I felt accepted by my peers and the majority of the public. There were exceptions, of coursethose who had that little hope that they might be the one to finally catch Matt. I didn’t understand that at the time. I was in love and just hoped they would be happy for us.

When I read in the newspapers that I was the best-kept secret in Hollywood, I felt very proud; it was good to be acknowledged. The years of doubt and insecurity of where and if I belonged were over.

I was both exhausted and relieved when we finally returned to Palm Springs aboard Frank Sinatra’s Learjet, the Christina. There were more photographers and reporters waiting for us as we stepped off the plane, and others were parked outside our home.

I was surprised that Matt was holding up so well, considering how nervous he’d been about this ultimate commitment. Yet he was charming with the press and dealt easily with endlessly clicking cameras and flashbulbs, all of which he could usually tolerate only for short periods of time. On top of everything else, we hadn’t slept for nearly forty-eight hours.

In his own way, Matt was determined that our wedding day would be special for us. He joked with Nate Doe, asking, “Is this the way it’s done?”

He carried me across the threshold of our house singing “The Hawaiian Wedding Song.” He stopped and gave me a long, loving kiss, then proceeded to carry me up the stairs to our bedroom, the whole crowd teasing and applauding.

It was still daylight and the sun shone brightly through our bedroom windows as Matt carefully placed me in the middle of our king-size bed.

I don’t think he really knew what to do with me. After all, Matt had protected me and saved me for so long. He was now understandably hesitant about fulfilling all his promises about how very good this moment was going to be.

I have to laugh at how nervous we both were. One would have thought that it was the first time we had ever been together under intimate circumstances.

Gently, his lips touched mine. Then he looked deeply into my eyes. “My wife,” he said softly, as he drew me close. “I love you, y/nn,” he murmured, covering my body with his.

The intensity of emotion I was experiencing was electrifying. The desire and lust that had built up in me throughout the years exploded in a frenzy of passion.

Could he have known how it would be for me? Had he planned this all along? I’ll never know. But I do know that as I went from child to woman, the long, romantic, yet frustrating adventure that Matt and I had shared all seemed worthwhile. As old-fashioned as it might sound, we were now one. It was special. He made it special, like he did with anything he took pride in.

Within a few days we were in Boston, where Angela Sturniolo held a small wedding shower for me. At the end of May we threw a big reception at Graceland for all our friends and relatives—and some fans. Matt and I wore our wedding clothes, greeted everyone, sipped champagne, and shared cake just as if the party were taking place after the wedding ceremony. It was much more comfortable and relaxed than Las Vegas.

Laughing and somewhat high from the champagne, we could really have a good time. There were no photographers or strangers watching our every move.

It was fun seeing James get loose.

“Dad, you want some more champagne?” Matt asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Don’t mind if I do, Son. That’s pretty good stuff.”

“Yeah. Well, don’t drink too much. I don’t want my dad gettin’ in trouble. I see that blonde you’ve been eyein’.”

James stole a glance at the girl and, with the same twinkle replied, “She ain’t too bad, is she? Think I’ll go see if she needs anything.”

Matt turned to me and said, “I like seein’ Dad happy. He hasn’t had too much of it lately, poor ol’ guy.” He watched James make his way through the crowd.

The reception at Graceland was our way of trying to make everyone happy—those who hadn’t known about the wedding ceremony, those who knew but couldn’t attend, and those who knew but weren’t invited. It was a way of including everyone, of making up to anyone whose feelings might have been hurt during the rushed hours in Vegas.

One person who had been very upset was Red West. He had not been invited to the wedding ceremony in the suite, only to the reception afterward. I believe the reason Red was so hurt was because Matt did not demand that he be present, did not take a stand over Colonel William’s decision that only the immediate family and best man attend. I also believe that Red wanted to be best man. After all, he’d known Matt the longest, since their days at Humes High. When Red found out he could not watch the ceremony, he refused to come at all.

Matt was aware of Red’s decision but was determined not to let anything mar the wedding. I understood that but was never able to figure out how Marty Lacker made it to the ceremony. In a last-minute decision Matt had included him as best man along with Nate Doe.

It took a long time for Red to come around again without showing his displeasure. This bothered Matt and he discussed it with many of us, justifying himself and blaming Colonel for putting him in an awkward position.

“You didn’t make the decision—I did,” Colonel reportedly stated. “No matter who you picked, there was gonna be someone left mad. You got too many as it is. You oughta listen to me and let go of some of ’em, then these things won’t come up.”

There’s an old Southern belief that holds that a woman goes into a marriage thinking she can change her man, while a man wants his woman to stay the same as when he married her. I didn’t want to change Matt, but I did have the romantic delusion that once we were married, I could change our life-style.

For the first few days after the wedding, I thought my dream had come true. We divided our time between Graceland and the ranch, where Matt and I had taken up residence in a large, three-bedroom trailer.

It was typical of Matt to choose the trailer over the quaint little house. He had never lived in a trailer before and it intrigued him. The place was completely furnished, including a washer, a dryer, and a modern kitchen. It turned out to be very romantic.

I loved playing house. I personally washed all his clothes, along with the towels and sheets, and took pride in ironing his shirts and rolling up his socks the way my mother had taught me. Here was an opportunity to take care of him myself. No maids or housekeepers to pamper us. No large rooms to embrace the regular entourage.

I got up early, put on a pot of coffee, and started his breakfast with a pound of bacon and three eggs, proudly presented it to him the moment he woke up.

“You see, if we were ever stranded somewhere alone, you know I can take care of you.”

It must have been difficult for him to eat the instant he opened his eyes—but he wasn’t going to disappoint his new bride.

Although the rest of the group traveled with us, they respected our privacy as newlyweds and, for the most part, left us alone.

I understood Matt’s need for the camaraderie the entourage provided, and I didn’t want to take him away from the people he loved, especially now that we were married. He had always criticized wives who tried to change the status quo. He told me about one wife, saying, “She doesn’t like him to be around the boys so much. She’s going to cause problems in the group.” The last thing I wanted was for Matt to think I’d be the kind of wife who’d come between her man and his friends.

I decided one evening to show off my cooking skills for everyone by making one of Matt’s favorite dishes, lasagna. I invited the regulars, bragging to one and all about how well I prepared this Italian specialty. Despite my outward confidence, I must have made ten longdistance calls to my mother in New Jersey, checking and rechecking on quantities and measurements. It was important for me to prove myself a success. Nate Doe, our only Italian and a “gourmet chef,” kidded me all week about how he bet that my lasagna wouldn’t be as good as his. All that ribbing only made me more nervous. I kept thinking, What do I know about pasta? I’m not even Italian.

Finally, the night of the dinner came. Everyone was seated at the table, watching me expectantly. I tried to appear cool and confident as I brought out the fancily prepared platter and started cutting individual squares for my guests. I did notice that when I started slicing the lasagna, it felt a little tough, but thinking I was holding a dull knife, I continued dishing it out.

I sat down, smiled anxiously, and said, “Please start.” We all took a bite and—crunch. There was a look of shock on everyone’s face. I looked at my plate and was mortified when I realized I had forgotten to boil the pasta.

Matt began laughing, but when he saw I was about to cry he turned to his plate and began eating, uncooked noodles and all. Taking their lead from him, everyone followed suit.

Nate Doe still laughs about it, frequently saying, “y/nn? How about some lasagna?”

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - married!! 🎀

[trelinha9]

Every time I see a Friede x Amethio post, ten of my neurons die. I know these posts come from new fans who only watched the episodes released on Netflix (which goes up to 13 if I'm not mistaken), and he's only appeared in 6 episodes at this point (which is a crime against my mental health. What the hell is he doing in that time offscream? I WANT ANSWERS!!!) I remember in the first episodes of Horizontes, that Tumblr and AO3 were full of posts and fics about Friede x Amethio, and they disappeared over time as the episodes went on.

It's funny, because nowadays, almost a year after Horizons officially started, fans who watch the subtitled episodes are all worried about the mental health of this teenager and wondering why the heck they are in Exploradores, while the new fans are in the same boat as most of the old ones were and abandoned, shipping the poor guy with Friede.

I personally never shipped them because:

1: Amethio is, canonically, and confirmed by his original voice actor, a teenager (on bulbapedia it said he was between 13 and 19, but now they removed that part and only added the fact that he is a teenager, without mentioning a possible age) I headcanon him as 16, because, for me, it's the age that makes the most sense for his behavior and mannerisms, but that's just me. You can imagine him as 18 or 19 if that makes you feel more comfortable shipping him with Friede, but it doesn't change the fact that he's still a young and emotionally immature person, with no apparent emotional support base other than his Pokémon and his subordinates (Zir and Conia will get there someday, I know they will), while Friede is a fully grown adult, and clearly more mature than Amethio (there's even a line about it in episode 25). Friede had already been a Pokémon teacher for probably a reasonable amount of time when Liko was around 5 to 7 years old (we find out about this in episode 18), and honestly, Amethio doesn't look that much older than Liko. The clear age difference between them makes me uncomfortable. There are a lot of adults in the Horizons cast to be shipped with Friede, leave the traumatized teenager alone.

2: The way Friede, especially in the first arc, keeps teasing Amethio, even though he's clearly irritated and on edge, makes me want to punch him. I love Friede. But the way he interacts with Amethio, one minute he's having a good time taking care of Liko and Roy, and the next he's ready to annoy the shit out of a teenager make me so angry. I love this idea that Friede is a complete social disaster who doesn't really know how to pick up cues (scareing a deaf girl, for example, is definitely something he would do by accident 👀), but there's no way he can't see how negatively his actions and words affect Amethio. Amethio wants to prove himself. He wants to fulfill the mission ordered to him, and this idiot adult, in addition to getting in the way, bothers him every chance he gets (ep 5, ep 22 and ep 25 are the best examples). I'm amazed at how Friede either doesn't really realize the harm his actions cause to Amethio, or he does and simply decides to keep doing it.

This post may make it seem like I don't like Friede, which isn't true. I love Friede. I think he's a very funny character, but he also has a lot of flaws, and bullying a teenager is one of them.

I don't want to start fights about ships, because I'm not in Horizontes for the ships, but for the story and the characters. The only ship I really like is Friede with a certain Explorer who erased a child's memory (because for the love of god, they couldn't have made their battle in the last episode any less gay, could they) I don't want to offend anyone who ships Friede and Amethio, I just wanted to give my opinion on the matter and why I, with my interpretation of the story and characters, hate this ship. (Hate is a strong word, but I feel uncomfortable whenever I see this ship somewhere)

I'm really sorry if I offended anyone at any point in this post, I just don't like seeing a teenager and an adult being shiped.

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Read on AO3

Cadmus returned a few hours after he’d left her, appearing in the door she hadn’t bothered to close. Ever immaculate, the second born son smiled that wolfish grin as he stepped into the room.

“Sister,” he crooned, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Don’t say that so loudly,” she warned, all but bouncing off the bed. Elain was bored. It had taken her ten minutes to unpack her things and Arina had never returned from wherever she’d gone with Eris. Elain knew she shouldn’t be frustrated but she was. Stupidly, she’d believed she and Arina were in this together.

But Elain was on her own, at least when it came to navigating Autumn. And clearly Cadmus was going to be her unofficial guide through it all, smirking like his older brother—like his younger brother, too. It must be a genetic thing, she decided, because she knew she’d seen that arrogant look on Lucien’s face more than once. 

Elain sighed. She missed Lucien which made her feel a little pathetic. She was certain he’d found ways to entertain himself and by the time she returned would have a whole host of stories for her. Elain didn’t believe for a second he was pining the way she was.

“Ashamed?” Cadmus asked, leaning casually against the frame of the door. She bet the ladies of Autumn went wild when they saw that. He was handsome in an aristocratic sort of way, with elegant, sharp features that could slice as easily as any knife. He was the only one of the Vanserra’s to have hair that was more brown than red, still coppery but in a darker, warmer sort of way. His features skewed toward his fathers and she wondered how that made him feel when he looked in the mirror.

She liked him, though. Liked him much more than she was sure to like the High Lord, at any rate. 

“No, I’m not ashamed,” Elain replied loftily, poking him in his broad chest when she reached him. “I don’t need you broadcasting what I told you all over the palace.”

Cadmus arched one elegantly groomed brow. “And when you return?”

“Would you like to be penpals?” Elain asked him with syrupy sweetness.

Cadmus’s expression shifted for a moment. “I’d like to see my mother more often.”

Ah. Elain mouthed a wordless oh, because she understood what he was asking—would she use her influence on Lucien so his half-brothers could visit without so much animosity. Elain’s heart ached at the thought of how little they must have gotten to see her and what it was like knowing she was happy without being able to see it for themselves. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Elain murmured softly. Anyone who stumbled on the scene at hand would think something intimate was happening between them which was better and safer than the truth. Killain would be irate but he was always angry when another male was in her vicinity. 

Cadmus exhaled a breath Elain hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders slumped for only a moment before he straightened himself back out and offered her that same arrogant smile.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” she lied. Elain wanted to meet everyone who’d come and get a sense of what she’d be doing. Lucien had given her a rundown on the rather boring piece of policy Beron wanted to debate.

Which was shattered the moment Cadmus casually said, “Atticus is trying to rally the seasonal courts into strong arming the Night Court into war. They’ll see you as an ally.”

“Is she a prisoner?” Elain asked, certain there was no one and nothing that could keep Feyre if she didn’t truly want to be there. Not even the fearsome North and their Daemati powers were enough. 

Cadmus shrugged casually, falling into step with Elain. His smoke gray pants and navy blue jacket were a rather lovely combination against his complexion, and made him seem more naughty prince than anything. “No one knows. There is a rumor Feyre sent a letter, but no one has seen it so whether that's true or lies from Night Court, well…you’ll have to take Atticus at his word.”

“Atticus is…” A liar, though she didn’t dare say that. Not when Cadmus likely was, too. And she knew too well that these males often pulled rank and protected each other, regardless of the circumstances or female wishes. If Feyre was saying no, but Atticus was saying yes, Cadmus and Tarquin and maybe Lucien, too, was likely to fall in line. After all, if one female said no and they were forced to honor it, what stopped the rest of them from saying no, too?

Cadmus raised both brows. “I’m interested in your reaction specifically, princess.”

Elain narrowed her eyes, though she supposed princess was better than sister. “Is Tarquin here?”

“Yes,” Cadmus murmured, fingers brushing her back as he led her down a flight of stairs. “Viviane, too.”

Viviane felt like a dream to Elain. Had she once been jealous of Lucien dancing with the Winter princess…or…whatever she was? General to the High Lord who’d been unable to drag his eyes off her, at any rate. Elain wondered if Viviane would be an ally or if she’d side with the males. 

Reaching between them, Elain grabbed Cadmus’s hand. “Don’t let Atticus take me out of here.”

Cadmus paused. “Are you asking for sanctuary?”

“No, I—”

No. She couldn’t get stuck in Autumn and didn’t think the High Lord would ever let her leave. She’d become leverage in his silent war against Helion, made worse when he realized he had the prince's mate. 

“I’m asking you not to let Atticus take me out of Autumn.”

“I can’t stop him if he’s your prince,” Cadmus reminded her. Elain loathed all these rules that bound females unfairly to males and their territory. She hadn’t claimed Lucien and he hadn’t claimed her, hadn’t renounced her home in Spring. Cadmus’s steps slowed, his eyes burning the skin of her cheek. “Is he?”

“So I say you are—”

“You say my brother is,” Cadmus murmured, his voice so soft she felt like he was speaking directly in her mind. “And force me to honor our blood.”

Lucien would kill her for this. She knew he wanted his brothers to learn about his bond at the same time everyone else did. Was she foolish to trust the Vanserra’s when conventional wisdom told her not to? No one in their right mind would entrust the second born Vanserra to a secret of this magnitude.

“Lucien is my mate,” she breathed. Cadmus’s eyes widened for only a moment, bright with wonder. 

“I ought to spend more time in Day,” he finally said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “No one knows?”

“Eris does,” she said, grateful he’d kept that secret when it might have served him better to tell his family. Cadmus didn’t seem surprised to hear that. “And Lucien, of course.”

“He hasn’t claimed you—”

“He can’t,” she hissed, forgetting that in Autumn, males owned their mates. If Lucien had been born in Autumn, he could have declared it before court and culturally, the expectation would be that Elain would accept. Spring was the exact same way, but Day, like the other solar courts, allowed females to decide whether they accepted the bond. She could see Cadmus chewing on this knowledge. He knew it in theory—but he was watching it play out in practice and it clearly confused him.

“Are you?” he finally asked, his face a strange mix of wonder and vulnerablity. 

“Maybe,” she replied, poking him in the ribs. “Feeling sorry for Lucien, are you?”

Cadmus scowled. “No.”

“That’s good to hear,” Elain said with a smile, gripping Cadmus’s arm once again. “I promise he is not suffering.”

A cruel smile spread over Cadmus’s face—the sort that told her he was about to ask her something wildly inappropriate. She was spared by Atticus, who rounded the same corner they were coming down only to nearly crash into Cadmus. She’d forgotten how tall and imposing the future High Lord was. He halted, his severe, tan face eyeing them both with distaste. He knew, now. And there was no doubt in Elain’s mind that Killian would be informed at some point. 

Those pine green eyes landed on her, lip curling with distaste. “What are you doing here?” he asked roughly, the demand clanging through her.

“She’s Day Court’s emissary,” Cadmus snapped, speaking when Elain’s mouth opened silently. Heart thudding, she didn’t think she could speak to Atticus. Not without making herself look small and foolish.

Atticus smiled, then, his whole face lighting up as though Cadmus had told a particularly funny joke. “Of course she is. Just as you and I are newly crowned High Lords. My brother is looking for you.”

“He knows how to find me,” Elain said, but the waver in her voice betrayed her. Atticus’s smile was undimmed.

“Mm.”

And then he was gone, swanning past the pair of them like they were little more than an annoyance to him. Cadmus watched, fingers clenched to fists at his sides. “Don’t know where he thinks he’s fucking going,” Cadmus grumbled, placing one callused hand against her back. “Dining room is this fucking way.”

“He’s going to call Killian—” 

“So?” Cadmus interrupted impatiently. “You knew that.”

But knowing it and being confronted with seeing Killian, who was going to try and drag her home, were two entirely different things. And Elain didn’t know how to navigate this situation. Grabbing Cadmus roughly, she pulled her toward a shadowy corner just outside the twin doors carved with the image of a long-dead dragon. 

“I kissed him, once,” she said. Had she told anyone that? Maybe Arina—definitely not Lucien. Cadmus’s brows furrowed, struggling to understand why it mattered. “Killian has been kissing females his whole life. Surely—”

“But he wants to be married, and he’s…you know….how they think about these things.”

“Are you suggesting I think every female I kiss belongs to me?” he asked archly.

“No,” she snapped in response. “You only think they belong to you if you want them for longer than a night or two!”

Cadmus smiled. “You’ve got me there. This is a serious gathering Elain and not an engagement party. Killian still needs the permission of the High Lord to attend and father famously hates everyone. He’s not letting the second Spring son into his home when he didn’t want the first one.”

“Are you sure?”

Cadmus shrugged. “No. Father does things for his own reasons more often than I can count. But I would bet he’s not half as interested in your personal life as Killian is, and he’ll want everyone out just as soon as he can manage.”

And for some reason, that made Elain feel a little better. Everything felt as though it revolved around her and hearing Cadmus say no one was half as interested in her as she was felt reassuring, if nothing else.

With that in mind, Cadmus tugged her toward the doors that would take the pair of them to dinner. With every new step, Cadmus seemed to fade into a male she didn’t recognize. Straight spine, bored expression, and an almost lazy gait. He was every inch one of the Autumn bastards then, leading her into the high ceilinged dining room as though she were of no consequence to him. 

Eris was already there, sitting at a high table at the far end of the room just beside his father. Arina sat beside Viviane, her back to the Autumn prince a few feet away. The two blondes were smiling brightly, ignoring a table of nearby Autumn court males watching them with wolfish expressions. 

From behind them, Tarquin shoulder checked Cadmus. “Excuse me,” the handsome Summer prince murmured, winking once at Elain before making his way toward Viviane. Slipping away her arm, Elain did the same, taking the last chair at the little table already laden with food. Cadmus sauntered off, seemingly unbothered. He didn’t so much as look at her, even when Elain stared him down. He merely joined his brothers away from the high table where his brother and father sat, eating and making rude gestures at a table of nearby giggling females.

“What are you two talking about?” Elain asked, turning back to Viviane and Arina. 

“The Hybern General,” Viviane said, blue eyes crinkled at the edges. She was, if Elain recalled correctly, one of the Winter High Lords most trusted soldiers. A General in her own right, not that she appeared so in her soft, wintergreen dress. “She’s in Spring right now.”

“Atticus is here, though,” Elain said with surprise. She’d seen him in the hall—surely he’d want to stay with his father if a foreign dignitary was joining.

“He was forced here to deal with the Feyre Archeron situation,” Viviane said blithely, forgetting that Feyre was related to Elain by blood. “And I suspect the High Lord doesn’t want an audience to his meeting with her.”

“Or he’s showing her the wall,” Tarquin said casually, picking at a strawberry from a bowl. “Rumors swirl, princess, that Hybern is after more territory.”

“He’d have to be short sighted and stupid,” Arina chimed in, watching Tarquin with an unreadable expression. “Where does he think Hybern will turn once he’s slaughtered the humans?”

“Maybe he hopes to work out some deal. Make himself regent–”

“The High Lord of Spring would never rule under someone else,” Elain interrupted, thinking of that proud, haughty male. “He’d be aiming for High King.”

“He’ll die, just last,” Viviane whispered as Atticus stomped back in, his face twisted with anger. “But not before damning us all to a war on two fronts.”

“Three,” Tarquin replied, popping a grape into his mouth. “He’s been looking for a fight with the High Lord of Night for centuries. He’s finally found it. Just something to think about as we decide Feyre Archeron’s fate.”

“Lucien Spell-Cleaver is doing that already, is he not?” Viviane asked, eyes turning to Elain. Elain had no idea what Lucien was doing while she was away, and thought it was a trap to admit she had any interest in his coming and goings. She shrugged, taking a page from Tarquin’s playbook. Arina, of course, knew better—she knew better than any of them what Lucien might be doing.

She said nothing, drumming her fingers against the table.

“So the seasonal courts agree Night has stolen a Spring Court princess and…what? We force her back—”

“And put the prince on trial,” Tarquin murmured, leaning forward on his elbows. “Draw out his father from his mountain court where he’s much easier to assassinate. Kill the son, see the power transfer to someone more…aggreeable. Like the High Lord’s brother, for instance.”

“A stupid plan,” Arina hissed softly. “Stupider if he thinks someone like Beron would ever bend the knee for him.”

“One thing at a time,” Viviane said cooly, reaching for her fork. “Feyre Archeron today, Prythian’s politics tomorrow. How are you planning to vote?”

“I’ll be waiting to hear what Lucien Spell-Cleaver has to say,” Tarquin replied, glancing at Elain. “He’s honorable—and if she’s been forced, he won’t pretend otherwise, Solar Court alliance or not.”

Tarquin’s gaze slid to her, and Elain knew he was thinking about the night on that pleasure barge when Lucien by rights could have taken her. She’d been throwing herself at him. Begging him, even. And Lucien had locked her up, had put her to bed, and hadn’t touched her any more than was required to keep her safe. She wondered if that was what kept Tarquin from saying anything else. Lucien had mentioned Tarquin suspected what was happening between them when he’d warned her who might be in Autumn. 

Elain was grateful for his silence. 

“I heard she wrote a letter renouncing her home in Spring,” Viviane said, looking once again at Elain. “And if that’s true, I won’t be calling to bring her back, and neither will Kallias.”

“Very progressive of you,” Tarquin said with a slick smile. Viviane’s answering smile was just as vicious, lethal in its beauty. Like she knew some secret about the prince none of the rest of them did—a secret she, too, was choosing not to divulge, at least for now. Elain didn’t care. Sitting at that table, Elain could only think of Feyre.

What trouble have you gotten yourself in this time?

LUCIEN:

“What are you painting?” he began, well aware she’d been working on a portrait of Rhysand. That didn’t seem to bode well for the Spring Court princess—was her mind consumed with him? And if it was, had Rhysand been the cause of that. He could scent nothing unusual about her. Not even sex, which he would have assumed would be present had Rhysand so much as touched her. That’s what Tamlin was alleging, at least partly. Feyre’s compliance was all forced. 

Scanning her form, Lucien couldn’t detect a spell bound around her. A bargain shimmered against her forearm, but that was hardly a secret given the swirling, black-inked tattoo was visible to anyone with a working pair of eyes. 

“Nothing,” she said, cheeks dark with embarrassment. Lucien was tempted to look behind him and see if Rhysand was still watching and didn’t think he’d like what he’d see. Feyre Archeron rose from her chair, fair skin splattered with multi-colored dots of paint. Planting her hands on her hips, she demanded, “Are you taking me back to Spring?”

“I could take you to Day Court, if you’re looking for sanctuary,” Lucien replied evenly. Feyre considered this for a moment, clearly not expecting him to offer an alternative. 

“With Elain?”

“Yes,” he agreed, picking up a dry paintbrush on a little stand by her easel. “I’m sure she’d be very happy to see you.”

Feyre snorted. “Annoyed, more like it. Nesta is here—no one is trying to drag her back.”

“I suppose they assume she plans to return at some point.”

“Well, that’s stupid considering she’s training with—”

“Feyre!” Rhysand interrupted, his smooth voice sharper than usual. “Manners, darling.”

Lucien did turn, then, sighing with exasperation. “You don’t have to watch, you know.”

Rhysands expression shifted, eyes wholly focused on Feyre. He said nothing for a period so long Lucien had began to wonder if he wasn’t going insane. Turning, he saw Feyre’s grinning back at him and— 

“Oh, Cauldron boil me! You’re doing very little to convince me she isn’t under your control, you know.”

“I’m not,” Feyre said with a sullen expression. “You don’t need to know everything.”

Great. 

Lucien caught how Rhysand flinched at Feyre’s declaration Lucien didn’t need to know everything. Lucien raised his brows and decided to play a little harder. “Alright. Take me back, then—”

“She means about my territory,” Rhysand said smoothly, pushing off the door frame he was leaned again. “Not about her stay here. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Oh, but of course,” she bit back sarcastically. “As I’m just a silly female, it makes total sense that the only way I’d be able to make my own decision was if another male was controlling my mind.”

Rhysand smothered his grin. “Play nice.”

Feyre rounded on him, arms crossed over her chest. “How is my sister? Do you boss her around, too?”

Lucien sighed. “Hardly.”

Feyre didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Good. I hope she’s giving you hell. She hates you, you know.”

“Yes, I am well aware of Elain’s feelings toward me,” Lucien replied dryly. He didn’t mention that those feelings had shifted because this wasn’t about him or Elain, but preventing an absurd civil war over one female Lucien was relatively certain had come of her own accord. “Why Night Court, Feyre?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, turning toward the window looking over the mountains. “Nesta was here and I thought…Elain is practically engaged, and I think she’s content with that. I worried if I came to her, she’d urge me to go back. I snuck in–”

“How did you manage that?” Lucien asked, genuinely curious. Feyre glanced at Rhysand, something silent spoken between them. Lucien caught Rhysand subtly shake his head no.

“Their mind control doesn’t work on me,” Feyre told him, defiance flashing in those silvery blue eyes. “I’m daemati, too.”

Lucien blinked. A seer and a daemati in the same family. “Does Spring know—”

“No,” she said quickly, defiance replaced with panic. “And they can’t. This is between us, Spell-Cleaver.”

He inclined his head. “So, you can’t be manipulated. You sneak into Night. What then?”

“Rhysand picked me up at the border and brought me here.”

Lucien very much doubted that was the entirety of the story. He’d seen the city below, though, and guessed the prince was keeping far more secrets than one beautiful city. That was fine—Lucien was, too. All the courts jealously guarded their territories, hiding it from others who might try and take it if they knew it better. Night was hardly any different. 

“I’m not going back and I’m not marrying him. I wrote him a letter saying as much,” Feyre finished, her voice icy steel. “I know Atticus is convening in Autumn to try and whip the seasonal courts into a frenzy.”

Lucien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, your sister is there on behalf of Day, so I suspect she’ll side with you.”

“You suspect, or you know?”

“I can’t predict Elain’s actions with accuracy,” Lucien replied in his most level tone. Rhysand rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she wants you to go back to Spring.”

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Rhysand finally said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Give it the illusion of fairness.”

That was the last thing Lucien wanted. He had to remind himself that going home wouldn’t bring Elain back to him any quicker and would only make him more restless. At least here he could pester Rhysand about Night and get to know Feyre a little better. He knew so little about her life before she’d come to him, though he knew the stories. Of course he knew of Feyre, but he didn’t know her well.

It was cynical, but maybe if he got in good with Feyre, Elain wouldn’t be so afraid to accept the mating bond—

“Mating bond?!” Feyre’s surprised gasp pulled Lucien from his thoughts. Even Rhysand’s eyes went wide, surprised by the news. “You and Elain are mates?”

Rhysand began laughing, pulling his hands from his pockets to cross them over his chest. “Oh, how funny, Spell-Cleaver.”

Lucien was tempted to divulge Rhysand’s secret right then and there. Careful with his thoughts, Lucien snarled, “My head isn’t an open play ground for you.”

“Forgive me for not trusting you,” she replied dismissively. “You were practically screaming them at me, besides.”

“We talked about this,” Rhysand murmured reproachfully. 

“Is he your teacher?”

“She has to earn her keep somehow,” Rhysand said smoothly. “Just like Elain does.”

“I asked him to,” Feyre said, defensive all over again. “You don’t know what it’s like to know everyones thoughts all the time.”

Lucien couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine. That seemed like a particular kind of hell, hearing what everyone thought of you as they were thinking it, even as they smiled to your face and lied. He wondered if that didn’t play a part in why Feyre was so desperate to get away from Tamlin. She knew exactly what he thought of her—what he wanted, what he expected, even if his lips said something different. 

“It’s quiet here,” she told him with a slump of her shoulders. “I feel like I can breathe.”

Lucien tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “How about lunch?”

Feyre’s eyes perked up. “Can I take him to—”

“Yes,” Rhysand interrupted smoothly, eyes twinkling like a thousand stars. “Don’t give it away. Lucien likes surprises. You two enjoy yourselves. I have to meet my mother at the border—mind what you tell the fox, hm, darling?”

Feyre’s smile was razon sharp. “As you say, princeling.”

Oh, Lucien liked her, even of Rhysand was wrong. Lucien liked nothing of the sort—at least, not the kind Rhysand found amusing. Still, he found himself charmed by Feyre Archeron and her easy, unguarded emotions. He sympathized with her.

And if she wanted to take him to lunch, well. Lucien was happy to tag along.

[deluweil]

I know it's been a while, but with the new 911 season coming up ( I will not be watching,probably check in every now and again) I wanted to share my own self check of how I view relationships on tv.

After S6 finale, I was like lost and furious, I mean, I wanted and still do want the last 6 years of my life back from 911. (Well three because they didn't always suck).

But I went back to watching normal TV, you know, the kind that portray relationships and are being clear of the direction.

I watched Good Omens, so rooting for that pair, they are the best! And with that cast of unbelievably talented actors, I enjoyed every minute of it. Point is I didn't allow myself to see that friendship as a ship because of how damaged my perception of on screen relationships became after 911 displaying all the right signals, then taking a hard left into a tree at the end of the seasons.

I am not even going to to touch the First Prince of RW&RB, which is essentially a buddie storyline that was followed through to its logical conclusion.

I also thought, maybe I just can't enjoy straight on screen relationships anymore and I'm looking for more.

My sister sat me to watch Bridgerton for the very first time (just S1 for now) I can say with absolute certainty that it dis-abused me of that theory as well, because I rooted and got excited for Daphne and Simon at first sight.

Such a wonderful love story told right!

These are the two prominent tv shows that cemented my belief that it is in fact not on me.

Going back in my head I remember rooting for Catherine and Steve, and almost every one of Danny's gfs (except Rachel, it was clear she'd break his heart again.) In H50.

I wanted Gibson to end up with Andy in Station 19. Never wanted her to end up with Maya or him with Miller.

And even though it didn't need to be said, but was said in a humorous fashion, the writers also made clear that Gibson prefer women.

So it is in fact the flawed 911 writing that got me to give up on all forms of logic of reading tv relationships right.

That I gave up on tv for a while.

But, that being said, I can say I was always attracted to Ryan, but Eddie always got my gaydar to go off. And Oliver is not my type, but Buck is a hot bi firefighter - and that is a thing I already thought in S1, way before Eddie arrived.

So either the writers has no clue what they're doing, or they did and chickened out last minute.

And I finally reached the point where, I throw in the towel, wish you all well and move on.

It is not just about buddie, it is just a buddie post.

If anyone is interested, I can make a whole post involving the "development" of the rest of the og characters, where I say enough is enough.

Either make them interesting again, or bring in new blood that hasn't been first a piece of ass to further Buck's questionable development.

Let me know if you are interested.

The blinders are off and I am not keeping quiet for the sake of followers anymore.

9-1-1 was a great show, 3 seasons ago. They had sparks every now and again in between, but those were few and always demolished in some way by horrible writing choices.

Thank you for a great time, this fandom has been a place to come to whenever I needed to escape reality, I love you all. ❤️

[tamurilofrivendell]

Beauty and the Beast | Chapter 35

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34]

Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Beauty and the Beast inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking and a human reader from a nearby village Taglist: @captainchrisstan​ @rebleforkicks​ @yjrevolution​ @majahu​ @honey-wine @accio-boys​ @achromaticerebus​ @solomonssimp​ @tired-ass-show-girl​  @dreamlessnight​ @daddy-long-legolas​ @sleepyamygdala​ @coopsgirl​  @penguinlovestowrite​ @midsommar-nights​ @whore-of-many-hot-men​ @elvyshiarieko​

note: Don't ever listen to a word I say again because I split the ending into two parts so the final chapter (genuinely this time!) will be posted tomorrow because it's all finished and I just can't wait!! Though I'll be kind of sad for this to end!

Two days later, you had finally stopped crying at every opportunity. You had half wondered if you should flee the kingdom and spare Thranduil the pain of watching you wither and die before his very eyes, but you knew that it had never actually been something you were seriously entertaining. Merely the panicked scrambling of a mind scared to break the already fragile heart of the one it loved so deeply.

Leaving Thranduil now had never been an option, not really. You could not have lived with that and it was true that it would cause him pain just as much as losing you in the future would. You did not wish to hurt him at all but doing it right now felt far more cruel, especially when he had finally blossomed into this wonderful being who had learned to open up and feel love once more.

Besides, you were quite selfish, and you could not be without him.

So you accepted, a little reluctantly, that you loved Thranduil as he was and he loved you as you were - a mere human - and you were going to marry him and live out your days in his realm before one day, far too soon, leaving him to mourn you beneath these very trees.

Your father had been able to tell that something was wrong, of course, but you were loath to talk about it with anyone else in case you started sobbing again. You assured him it was fine and he accepted it even if he did not fully believe it.

He smiled and laughed more in the days since he awoke and you found great joy in seeing him interacting with the elves, even with Thranduil who he had once feared and wished to rescue you from.

You walked in on the two of them one day, your father laughing heartily over a glass of strong elvish wine and Thranduil lounging in his chair with a glass of his own, an amused chuckle leaving his lips.

“What have I walked in on here, hm?” You asked with a soft laugh of your own as you sat down at the other side of the table, propping your elbow up and resting your chin on your hand as you looked between the two.

Thranduil was the one to speak, your father too busy trying to get his laughter under control. “Well, your father was regaling me with stories from your village.” He raised his chalice to his lips and threw back the rest of the contents, his brow quirked in amusement when he set it back upon the table. “However, I fear that the wine is much too strong for him, considering that he has been laughing over something he is certain he said out loud to me, but in fact only said in his own head, for the past twenty minutes.”

You shook your head as your eyes turned on your father. “For Eru’s sake!” You tried to scold him but it didn’t quite hit the mark and it wasn’t long until he looked as though he might fall asleep at the table any moment.

“Elros!” Thranduil’s voice beckoned to the elf he could sense lingering outside the door. You turned to watch Elros enter and you smiled kindly at him. He seemed much less jittery than last you had seen him as he returned the smile.

Thranduil gestured to your father. “Would you be so kind as to escort our friend here to his room? I fear he shall keel over any second.”

Elros assisted your father in standing, the man putting his arm around the elf’s shoulder and leaning in close as though he were about to tell him a secret, but all that came out ended up being a jumble of nonsense. Elros looked a little concerned as he walked your father from the room and it was all you could do not to laugh at the poor fellow.

You turned back to Thranduil as the door closed and found he had risen from the table and moved towards a little desk at the back of the room. When he returned, he lay out a little box on the table in front of you and opened it up. Curiously, you watched as he unveiled a collection of beautiful looking rings. You tilted your head as you looked up at him, silently asking what they were for.

“I would like you to choose one.” He explained, looking up at you as he gestured a hand towards the rings on the table. “I have chosen yours, it is only fair, after all.”

“You want me to pick a ring for you to wear?”

Thranduil nodded. “Once we wed... I shall wear it, as a symbol of our love.” He paused so briefly you nearly missed it. “For the rest of my life.”

You bit your lip lightly, glancing back down at the rings. They were all so beautiful, you didn’t know where to begin. You wondered what he would prefer but he offered no assistance, wishing it to be entirely your decision. Eventually, you settled on one of silver to match yours, but instead of ruby coloured gems set into flowers, this had emerald coloured stones twisted into leaves. He seemed satisfied as he put all the other rings away, smiling as he studied the one you had chosen.

“What... ring did... did Caleniel choose?” You asked after a long pause, unsure if you should mention the Elvenqueen at all. He had told you all about her the day of her begetting, when you had sought him out after he’d shut himself away in her chambers. Still, you did not sure if it would be too far of you to bring her up out of nowhere.

While he hesitated, he did not seem upset or angry. His gaze dropped to his hand with a tender smile and he held it out to you, slightly wiggling his finger. “This one...”

You reached out for his hand, brushing his skin gently as you studied the ring. “She had a good eye.” You said softly, smiling as you released his hand.

“Well, yes.” He shrugged, pulling his hand back. “She took me as a husband, did she not?” Thranduil joked in return, smirking as he poured himself more wine.

You blinked at him and shook your head, trying to look far less amused than you actually were, though the twitch at the corner of your lips likely gave it away. “You are terrible.”

“Yet you love me.” He teased, watching you over the rim of his glass as he lifted it to his lips once more.

You shot him a scathing look but ended up laughing in spite of yourself. You rolled your eyes at him. “I do love you... ego and all.”

Thranduil feigned a look of indignation as he placed his wine back down and leaned towards you. “Hmm.” He hummed and you shivered slightly as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

Your eyes drifted shut and you leaned into him, sighing as he kissed a line from your ear down your jaw and to your throat.

A knock at the door caught your attention and you heard Galion’s voice on the other side. “My lady? Myleth is looking for you, she wishes to go over your dress and your hair one more time.”

You groaned softly. “I cannot wait to wed you, Thranduil... but I fear I have become Myleth’s personal doll.”

“One more week, my heart.” Thranduil chuckled against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your throat before he pulled back and rose from the table. “Just one more week.”

“Why can I not look at it?” You asked with a heavy sigh, your head tilted back slightly and your eyes on the intricately carved ceiling above you.

Upon entering the room, Myleth had (as seemed to have become routine) made you close your eyes and turn away from the large mirror. “It’s a surprise.” She huffed, shooting you a look that you wouldn’t even see, but you knew her enough by this point to realise she’d done it anyway.

“It is just a dress.” You muttered childishly.

“Excuse you!” Myleth playfully smacked your hip from her place down at the hem of the dress she had helped you put on blind. “That attitude is exactly why you are not seeing yourself in this dress until the day you are presented as the king’s bride.” She shook her head, baffled. She had full faith in the fact that you would change your mind when you actually saw yourself all beautifully dressed on the day... and she would be gracious enough not to throw it in your face!

You had grown used to her dressing you up by this point and, as someone who had never grown up with many dress options, you didn’t really care what you wore. You didn’t fully care what you got married in, truthfully, for it wasn’t as important as being married, being with Thranduil’s. While you did want to do it, this was in some way merely a stepping stone, and one that you felt had been a long time coming.

You idly thought of Vermund and how angry he would be if he could see you now. A smirk tugged at your lips. He would absolutely hate this. Good.

“Do you have much more to do?” You asked, bored of studying the ceiling. You wanted to check on your father and then go and find Legolas or maybe finish the book you were reading.

“No, just... a little... there!” Myleth stood, smiling. “All done.” She took a moment to study the dress, her gaze softening as she thought how lovely you looked in it. “Alright. Close your eyes!”

When Myleth had finally released you from her evil seamstress clutches, you made your way down the hall in the direction of your father’s room. Just to check in on him before you went to the library to read the rest of the day away. There was still so much to do but today you did not wish to do any of it.

Rounding a corner, you came upon Tauriel, sitting alone on a bench in the quiet hallway. She saw you coming and immediately stood, pasting a smile onto her face, but you had noticed her quickly wipe away a tear. You frowned and quickened your steps.

“What is it?” You asked upon reaching her.

Tauriel shook her head quickly, smiling at you. “No, no. Nothing. Do not worry! Everything is well.”

“It doesn’t look well.” You said, tilting your head at her. “You can tell me.”

Tauriel was quiet a while as she bowed her head, gaze fixed on her feet as she seemed to wrestle with the decision of whether or not to talk to you about whatever was on her mind. When she looked up, it seemed that she had decided to speak on it.

“Do you remember the conversation we had before?” She asked quietly, glancing around a moment as though afraid of being overheard.

You paused a second as you thought back and then nodded. “About Legolas?” You asked, thinking about the day you had left Thranduil in the library, upset about the way he seemed to hold disdain for Tauriel in regards to his son. You recalled the way you had fled the library after he entered it and the way he had come to try and offer an unsure apology later, however your ire had waned by that point. It was the day you found that copy of Beren and Luthien in your room.

Tauriel nodded, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I am afraid I lied to you.” She shrugged and you knew what she meant. She was saying that she did not simply see Legolas as a friend, but more, and you had already known it. She had not outright denied it but she had not confirmed either.

“Why were you crying?” You asked her then.

“Well, I... I...” Tauriel floundered briefly, not wishing to say anything to upset you or make you feel bad, not when you were so happy and everything had fallen into place. She was happy for you and she was happy for her king, of course she was, she had seen and felt the changes and nothing could be better for him, or you, or this realm... and yet. “It is... it is just the wedding, my lady. All the talk and the...”

You nodded in understanding. You hadn’t thought about it but it was probably difficult to see it, especially if she was fighting feelings. Maybe she was having similar thoughts as you had on that day - maybe seeing Thranduil marry a mere human made her wonder why she would not be deemed good enough for his son. “I see. Tauriel...”

She shrugged quickly and turned from you. “Forgive me. Please, I am alright. I must go, I have things to attend.”

She fled before you could say anything else and you blinked after her for a while, even after she had turned the corner and was out of sight. Then you turned and hurried back the way you had come and made for the stairs that led you back to Thranduil’s chamber.

He looked up in surprise as the door burst open and you came rushing in. He rose from behind his large desk, papers forgotten, and quickly took in your expression, trying to figure out what was wrong just by looking at you.

“Why do you not allow your son the happiness you have allowed yourself?” You asked once the door had closed behind you.

Thranduil blinked, taken off guard. Of all the things that had rushed through his mind, this was not one of them. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Indeed, I heard you, yet I do not understand the question.” He said with a slight bite in his tone, eyeing you as he walked around the desk.

“I see the way he and Tauriel look at each other.” You said.

At this, Thranduil rolled his eyes and turned away, suddenly understanding what it was you were getting at.

“There!” You said, moving closer to him. “Thranduil... if you can marry a lowly human, why cannot your son marry a Silvan elf?”

He whirled back round to look at you with a deep frown. “What are you talking about? Who said that?”

“Tauriel.” You scanned his face. “Do you remember the day in the library? When you thought you had done something to upset me?”

He nodded. This was something neither of you had spoken of since and he had to admit that he was still curious. “Of course.”

“I had asked Tauriel about... about her and Legolas, because I had seen things and I thought they were together. She told me that you would never allow it. That she was but a lowly Silvan elf, not of royal breeding, not suitable for your son.”

“What does that have to do with you fleeing the library?”

You hesitated for a second but figured that there was no use in secrets between the two of you now. “I thought that perhaps, if you thought such of Tauriel, then what must you think of me.”

He tutted a sound of disapproval and took a step closer, taking your face into his hands as he looked back at you. “I said this to Tauriel once, yes.” He sighed and you could see in his eyes that he did regret it. “But I did not mean it.”

“Then why say it?”

Thranduil was quiet for a long while then, his face thoughtful, almost a little sorrowful. “I just wished... to keep them apart.”

“Because you don’t think her good enough?”

“No.” He said firmly. “Because I am not blind either. I have seen their stolen glances for years upon years. I have heard their familiarity and their inside jokes. I have seen them grow close... too close.”

“But why?” You implored, unable to understand anything he was saying. If it was not for the reason that Tauriel (and maybe even Legolas) believed, then... why?!

“To spare them!” He snapped a little, frustrated by your prodding, though he was not angry at you, you could tell that easily enough at least. He did not want to have to admit it, to say any of this out loud, but he knew that he must now that he was faced with you.

You blinked up at him, lifting your hands to cover his own, still on your face.Your thumbs brushed against the back of his hands. “Spare them from what?”

“My suffering!”

He did not need to say any more, for you understood almost immediately. He dropped his gaze from your face to the floor and you shuffled closer, removing your hands from his and wrapping them around his neck, pulling him close. He let himself fall against you, his arms going round you in response.

Thranduil had said what he had to Tauriel all those years ago, he had kept himself in between her and his son like a wedge, because he knew that what they shared was real... and that a loss of that magnitude was catastrophic. Especially with Tauriel and Legolas always in the forest with their weapons, fighting spiders and orcs and the like. Thranduil had striven to keep them apart to spare them the pain that he knew came from it... the pain he had drowned in all these long years.

It was another cruel act from a shattered heart, you realised.

You stood like that for a long while before you turned your head to kiss his face. “It is like you said the other day, my love... why should pain or loss mean we forsake the happiness that these years before will give us?” 

Thranduil inhaled a shaky little breath as he pulled back and then he managed the tiniest of smiles and a small nod, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

The day of your wedding had come at last and you found that you had woken with more nerves and anxieties than you had anticipated. You had thought it would be simple, you would walk through the formalities and then... you would be Thranduil’s wife, you would stand beside him and support him, and most of all you would love him.

For as long as you were able.

But you were shaking as Myleth weaved your hair into a beautiful tangle of braids and curls.

She smiled kindly at you in the mirror as she tied a red ribbon. “Breathe, dearie.”

She was doing her best to suppress her excitement, you could tell, and it almost made you laugh. You had grown to truly love her during your time here, she had made those first few days so much easier for you... and now you were marrying the king you once feared and despised! Who’d have thought?!

Next, she helped you into your dress and, when you turned to look at yourself, you were struck for a long moment. For having next to no input in the entire thing, you found that you loved it, just as Myleth knew that you would - she knew you so well by now, of course she would find something that was utterly perfect. Utterly you.

“Oh...” You breathed out, blinking back a few tears as it hit you that this was actually happening.

The door opened but you barely registered it until you heard a soft gasp and turned, your father standing staring at you. “You are a vision, my girl!” He beamed, moving to embrace you.

Elvish customs were different from those of humans, but Thranduil and you had decided that you would merge the two together, considering you were joining from two separate worlds.

You hadn’t thought you minded but he had insisted upon it and you found that you were glad for it as you neared the hall with your father. He would be ‘giving you away’ as it were, walking you towards Thranduil where you would do some kind of ring exchange and then there would be a feast... though you knew that elves technically did not consider themselves truly wed until after... consummation. It made you blush, to think of it. The night you had agreed to marry him, he had taken you to his bed, but he had merely kissed and touched you... all over, yes, but it was not what you knew tonight would be. You shivered with anticipation but you could only be nervous about one thing at a time so you turned your mind back to the ceremony.

Walking into that hall was the most nerve-wracking moment of your life even if your father’s firm hand grasped your own as you clung to his arm. However, it all got easier when you actually saw Thranduil. He was standing waiting and he looked almost as uneasy as you did, but setting his sights on you seemed to have the same effect as it did you.

Everything else seemed to melt away as you neared him, though your legs were still shaking beneath you with what was practically the entire kingdom watching you. You still held some small concern that they would not like this but you felt no such emotion emanating from the crowd and it eased you further when you even heard cheers from some after Thranduil kissed you in front of everybody.

Even Legolas and Tauriel were in higher spirits than you had ever seen them, as you sat down at the table with Thranduil. You wondered at their merriment until Thranduil leaned down and whispered in your ear that he had had a long, fruitful discussion with them after your talk... and that they had his blessing.

It made your heart soar that he would do that and you felt a surge of emotion, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek. Every time you thought you could never love him more, he surprised you.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of good wine, plenty of food, and lots of singing and dancing as it seemed the elves were so very fond of. You danced with your father and sobbed into his shoulder when he told you how proud he was of you... and how proud your mother would have been.

Then Thranduil had cut in and the music had changed again, to the same slow tune that had been playing that night of your first dance, during Mereth Di a Rhîw Menel.

This time it was not Legolas who changed the song, but Thranduil.

All eyes in the room were fixed upon the pair of you as spun you around the floor, but the two of you hardly noticed, only seeming to have eyes for each other.

[pearlywritings]

Token of appreciation event

I deeply appreciate all the love and support my followers show me, so this event I decided to dedicate to this feeling. And nothing, in my opinion, could help me better than the amazing manga “Veil”. I highly recommend it for reading and, using some of the citations, do not claim any of its contents - all rights belong to the author.

Masterlist

Rules:

character x fem!reader. Plus please remember that I prefer writing human x human, immortal x immortal etc.

1 character if you want a ~1k words drabble and up to 3 characters if you want snippets.

1-2 prompts per request (2 prompts are only for 1 character cases).

It can be written either in a canon setting or in a modern one

smut, angst, fluff - anything

will be written with the established relationship in mind, so please state specifically if you imply another kind of relationship, or you can specify, if you want the characters to be married or still dating.

you CAN change some words within the prompt. But if you send only a number - I am following the original one.

Characters I can or can try to write about: 

Albedo, Alhaitham, Capitano, Childe, Crepus, Dainsleif, Diluc, Kaeya, Ayato, Kaveh, Lyney, Neuvillette, Pierro, Thoma, Tighnari, Wriothesley, Zhongli; Blade, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo.

Your request, if ALL things are considered, will look something like this:

Character’s name(s), prompt(s) in number or in text if it’s altered, canon/modern setting, genre, relationship status (optional) + you can add some details that I am free to both utilize or decline.

But it also can be shorter if you want to give me more freedom!

I hope we all will have fun during this event ^^

Prompts:

1)

- You can’t go a minute without me, can you?

- No, i can’t go a minute without you

2) 

- …Sometimes it's hard to tell whether you're serious or just joking.

- That's actually my special skill.

3) 

- How is it?

- Really good.

- My word, is that the only thing you can say?

- It really is beautiful. Ah… with those rosy cheeks, it's stunning. Madam…

- Puh! Surely, you jest.

4) 

- What will we be doing today?

- I have an idea - sleep in.

5)

- Did we have something planned today?

- No, nothing. In fact… let's think about it in bed.

6) 

- By the way… If I like dressing up so much, it's only your fault!

7)

- Well, well… You shouldn't stay like that, a thousand steps away from me. Stay close to me, alright?

8)

- Your boots make a very strong and imposing sound.

- My boots are honored to be admired, however they also recommend you not to stray too far.

9)

- You don't say "enter!" without at least putting a bathrobe on. Or anything at all!

- I didn't want to keep you waiting.

10)

- Oh… you mean you'll write your name? On me? Oh you!

11)

- Say give me your hand? Hm… I see.

- What's going on?

- Apparently the size of your hand is the same size as your heart.

12)

- You know I like the face you make when you smell something you like.

- I'll start charging an exhibit fee then…

13)

- Are you trying to tell me I should carry you to bed?

- My room is soooo far away, at least twenty steps from here… I'm afraid you won't be able to carry me that far?

- My room is right here.

14)

- I dreamt I was touching your hair.

- How was it?

- Well… I forgot…

- Oh, the thing is… I don't let just anyone touch my hair.

15)

- Helloooooo?

- It's so nice of you to wake me up before my alarm does…

- Your alarm has the right to rest on Sundays. At least I think so…

16)

- You… You are not going to ask me how I think you look?

- What do you think?

- You're oh so handsome.

17)

- I'm often told I have a mean glare…

- Definitely not. Anywho says that has never truly looked at you.

18)

- The razor is sharp. 

- They are made to be dangerous. But I know I don't need anything sharp to make a braid.

- You'd like to braid my hair? I can show you!

19)

- I am wondering what could be so distracting that you couldn't hear my voice anymore.

- Your hands.

20)

- It… it's the first time I've heard them described that way.

- It's the first time I used such words too.

21)

- …and above all, do not let go… For any reason, understood?

- If you tell me this one more time, I will let go.

22)

- I'm being serious right here!

- If you are so worried about it, just handcuff me to you!

23)

- Ah! Your shoelace is undone! On the left…

- I can tie it on my own!

- Well… Too late, I already did it.

24)

- I'm the one keeping a spare key to your place?

- Of course. What am I supposed to do with it? I already have one.

25)

- Saying my hair looks like glass, and my hands are flowers… how romantic you are. Or are they just words from the book?

- Only if I were to write them down.

26)

- That free cigarette looks so inviting.

- Nuh-uh!

- Ooh, so scary. Is that your last one?

- There's lipstick on it… I'll have her smoke it…

27)

- Is your bed cramped when we sleep together?

- It is. In the good way.

[theawkwardanglophile]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you to the wonderful @thisnightissparkling089 for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

I have 21, and older fics on FF. My goal is to get everything I've done on Ao3 soon.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

51,556

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently The Rookie, but have previously written fics for The Big Bang Theory, Gilmore Girls, New Girl, and Single Parents.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

While I'm Alone and Blue as Can Be

And If You Have a Minute (Why Don't We Go)

Maybe I'm Crazy To Suppose

We Must Be Living In the Golden Age

Before I Knew It (I Became All About You)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to respond to all of them, but I know a few have probably slipped through the cracks.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I really don't have any! Yikes. I'm a sucker for happy or at least hopeful endings. Maybe the closest would be Who's Gonna Come Around When You Break? It's not exactly angsty, but it is on the sadder side.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Allll of them?? 😂 Here are a few on the fluffier side of endings:

Maybe I'm Crazy To Suppose

My Favorite Line Was "Can I Call You Sometime?"

The Opening Night Prolongation

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't. I just can't do it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Never written one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet, but I'd certainly be open to a collab!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oof. I have a few in my top tier, but Chenford has probably been the most wonderful shipping experience I've ever had!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The thing is I absolutely want to finish all my fics! The most obvious answer is my Gilmore Girls multi-chapter A Tale in Prose of Fire since it hasn't been updated in *checks date* SIX years. But I know what I want to do with it, and I still plan to finish it. I also have an unpublished Single Parents fic I've been planning since 2020, and knowing literally only a handful of people would read it hasn't given me much motivation to work on it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I LOVE writing dialogue, and I think it's what hopefully stands out in my fics. I've been told several times that my dialogue sounds just like the characters, which in fanfic, I can't think of a better compliment! So that's what I always strive for.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not always the best at fully setting the scene, or getting into more minute details that can enhance the story. I also don't take enough risks in my writing, which isn't a big deal in writing a fluffy one-shot, but in some other pieces I've written over the years, I feel like the stakes could've been higher.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I haven't done it before, and probably the only language I'd feel even the slightest bit comfortable attempting would be Spanish. I'm nowhere near fluent, but know enough I could put some sentences together.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My beloved Shamy from The Big Bang Theory. It's been 10 years since I wrote my first fanfic!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

For my older ones, I love The Relationship Recalibration, especially a specific chapter that was a departure from anything I'd done before. I also love the previously mentioned A Tale In Prose of Fire even though it's still incomplete. And of more recent fics, I'm really proud of what I was able to put together in I Need Your Runway Lights To Burn For Me.

Tagging @sgtbradfords, @firstdegreefangirl, @americorys, @wanna-be-bold, and anyone else who would like to do this!

[hi-im-dr-spencer-reid]

Heyyy, can i request a dr house x reader smut where she picks him up at a bar and they sleep together and then the next day is her first day at a new job and he is her boss (yes this is the plot of the first episode of greys anatomy)

HERE WE GO AGAIN I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this but i did and sorry about if i miss spell something That was my last night getting drink, and my first and last time bring someone Home. “wake up you have to leave and i have to go work” what time is it….8:07 Shit  “five more minutes” he groans “you need to get up and go, or i'm going to be more late than i am”  where is my bra? “I think you're looking for this,” he said as he held my bra in his hand. “Thank you but, seriously you have to go” shit it’s 8:19 “don’t worry about being late” he said as he put his shirt on “what do you mean ?”  i say as i make my way to the bathroom “don’t worry about getting in trouble” he claim as he limp toward me “when i'm done peeing i will leave” “I still don't understand” i said looking confused “you don’t need to understand, just have a good day, ok foxy” and with that he walks out of the bathroom and leaves.

“Dose anyone knows where doctor house office is” i really hope i don't get fired take the elevator two three floors up and take a right right down the hall” one of the nurse tell me “hi im sorry im lat…” you got to be fucking kidding me. “House this is good you have a six year old who had a heart attack, and just had a heart transplant” the brunette girl said “hold on cameron '' he said as he turned my way “see foxy i told you dont worry about being late”. He said with smirk. Flashback to last night

“You need to get out more and have fun” my friend said “you know i'm a homebody, i like to stay home and read, not being outside with people '' i hate it here. “Let’s play a game, it's called find your man” she said as she take a sip of her drink “alright” i said as i roll my eyes “look 3 o'clock” she said and oh my god this man was 6 feet, salt and pepper thing going on with his hair, and the scrub would be so nice in between my leg, and those eye are so blue and powerful i would do anything he asked. “Ok now what?” i asked “you get up go on the dance floor and dance and hopefully he’ll get behind that” she said happily “alright here i go”  i said as I took a shot.

I got on the floor and the DJ started to grind with me and I started to feel the music. I sway my hips from side to side running my hands through my hair. I feel someone walking behind me ‘I've been seeing you eye me from the side of the room, pretty bold” he says as he puts his hands on my waist and starts to flow with me ‘while I have a good eye for good things” I say as I back into him more. “Well�� I like to play with good and pretty things” he whispered in to my ear “well how bout you come back to my place and play with me” i say as i turn around and wrap my arms around his neck “lead the way”.

Time skip

This man has a mouth on him i thought as he work his tongue into my mouth “mmm” i moan into his  “your lips are soft, i wonder if the ones between your legs are the too” he said as he makes his way down my neck “take this off” i say as a unbuckle his belt. Wow” is what i say when i seen his cock " Take a picture it'll longer” he said with a wink. I started with a long lick from the base to the top of the shaft “shit” he said as he looked down at me. I took as much as i could down my throat which as lot “fuck” he said as he throw his had back “mmmm” i started to hum.

on his dick which made him push hand father down his cock and i began to gag “thats a good girl, letting me fuc- shit- fuck your throat” his legs began to shake “fuck baby im bout to cum” i start to play with his balls to make him cum quicker “shit shit shit fuck” he say out loud and push my head down as his cum shot into the back of my throat “be a good girl and sallow it” i sallow it and open to show him “come on show me your bedroom”  he said as he help me up. I led him to my room “strip and get on the bed for me” I gave him a little strip and made my way to the bed. He takes the rest of his clothes and climbs on top of me. “You got a condom or something?” he asks “im on birth control” i say with a smile. He push the tip in and my god is it big “oh shit” i say as he pushes himself all the way in. he began to rock his hip back and forth into me shit “your tight” he said as he grunt into my neck “more please more” i moan out loud. This man is making my bed rock “fuck im going to cum” i tell him as i look him the eyes “come on cum on this cock” and thats all i need to cum “FUCCCCK!!!!” i just now that the neighbors are going to be mad in the moring “fuck im close” He say as he speeds up the paced “oh shit oh shit oh-” he filled me with all his cum and fell on top of my  “that was good.. I am crushing?“ he asks as he kisses my neck “not at all” i say with a smile. “Where are you going?” I asked as he got up and walked away “to pee” he said as he limped away. He return back with a towel and cleaned me off. “Can’t leave you all stick” he said as throw the towel on the floor. I move closer to him and laid my head on his chest. “This isn't bad for the first one night” i said as i closed my eyes “yeah me too” he said as drift to sleep. “I told you not to worry foxy” and that's how i ended up here if feel like this isn't my best work

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Thank you for the tag @shortcuts-make-long-delays!

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

Currently 104 although they'll go up to 105 in a few minutes.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?  

736,265 :D

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

Star Wars, I don't have any fics for other fandoms :|

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Meg vaabir Ni haa'taylir? Get an ne'tra. (What can I see? Mostly all black.) - My blind Obi-Wan work that I wrote with my friend after I a) tripped over her guide dog again and b) said it would be interesting to see how Obi-Wan managed

meg a copikla tooka (what a cute tooka) - Obi-Wan is a tiny tooka shapeshifter, enough said

gaanla solus at hibirar be tooka-wan (chosen one to learn of tooka-wan) - Where Anakin finds out Obi-Wan is a shapeshifting tooka :)

te geroya at gotal'ur te vod'e nayc suvarir (the game to make the brothers confused) - Where the clones find out Obi-Wan is the above, there's a lot of tooka in this

Ahsoka kar'taylir meg tookas cuyir guuror (Ahsoka knows what tookas are like) - At the surprise of no one, it's where Ahsoka finds out Obi-Wan is a shapeshifting tooka. I don't make the rules, you all just seem to like tookas?!

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I like to answer them the same day but sometimes my disability means no energy so I just treasure them until I have the time and energy to answer them!

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Angiest ending is probably this one (Ni ceta... (I'm sorry...)) because I tend to give my angst in the middle of chapters and then happy endings.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably this one (cuun briikas'la oyay (our happier life)) because the other happier ones haven't ended yet!

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I don't think it was hate but I once received a rude comment?

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I mean, it was very soft smut if that counts? I don't really do smut, it's not my favourite to write.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope! :)

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so? I mean, I hope not!

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, I don't think so but I'm very open to the idea! I think stories should be accessible to everyone and if that means podfics or translation then that's great!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I have actually! I cowrote the Codywan reverse bang fic with a dear friend @forloveofcodywan and she did a wonderful job (find it here Ni ru'kir rejorhaa'ir kaysh Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum kaysh (I should tell him I love him))

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Codywan and I will scream it from the rooftops.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I, unfortunately, have this horrible disease called inability to leave a WIP alone, so they'll all get finished at some point.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I think my prose is relatively good? I do like writing that as opposed to action sequences.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences and scenes with multiple people talking because I get confused.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If we're talking fictional languages, I already do it, if we're talking real languages, as much as I would like to, I don't, for fear that I get it wrong.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

Nice and easy, it's the fic where I gave Obi-Wan a cane because I have one. It's also my excuse for using Tholme as a main-ish character for once because I love him.

Ni haa'taylir ner'st o'r gar (I see myself in you)

I'm tagging, with no pressure: @forloveofcodywan @happybean17 @tired-bshocked @kcrabb88 @kenobster @afoundling and @deathdovesong and anyone who wants to play!

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 34/38: Dreaming

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6 , Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17,  Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33

An alternate universe in which Evelyn managed to save Caleb after his confrontation with Phillip. The two of them escaped to present day through time pools, and have been using time pools to secretly rescue grimwalkers just after Belos attempts to kill them. The story follows Darius' mentor as he adjusts to his new life, as well as changes to the course of canon.

Ao3

“Hah!” Phoenix sat straight up, blinking in the cold white light of the archive house. “Uh—ah—”

No one walked through the hallways. Not King. Not Petro. Not the Collector—Phoenix was the only one here. Phoenix slowly got to his feet, looking both ways for any sign of life.

“Hello?” he called. His voice echoed, and faintly, he heard a returning call—no, not a call. A… giggle?

“Hey!” he tried again, “Is anyone there?” It was a risky move, giving away his position, especially if Petro/Belos was still around, but the eerie silence was almost worse than unwanted attention.

Another giggle, this one louder, then…

“Nee-nee!”

Phoenix surged through the hallway, blind panic taking over his limbs. “Ghost?! Ghost, where are you?!”

He’d thought Jason and Ghost had gotten away—had the Collector caught them later? Was just Ghost here, or had Jason been captured, too? Were they alright?

That ghostly giggle bounced through the hallways, and Phoenix raced after it, somehow never getting closer, even though he knew Ghost couldn’t move that quickly.

Phoenix shoved open the door he knew led to Eda with a small twinge of relief. Eda and Lilith would probably protect Ghost—and he knew there was nowhere else for Ghost to run off to if they were in here.

The puppets inside had vanished, all except one. Phoenix shivered at Darius’ lifeless eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, “I’ll—”

A cold, hard hand caught his wrist as he passed the puppet, and Darius’s head whipped around. His eyes no longer had that glazed, puppeted look to them—they were real and living, somehow, still inside of a puppeted body, but flesh and blood.

“Why did you leave?” Darius asked. His mouth moved up and down mechanically, but his eyes, those real eyes welled up with tears. “Was I not good enough for you?”

“What? No, I—” Phoenix blinked back tears of his own. “Darius, I never—”

“You replaced me! All those years spent wondering what had happened to you, and you forgot about me? You promised you would protect me, but look what’s happened to me!”

“He’s good at that.”

A chill ran down Phoenix’s spine, and even though he couldn’t break away from Darius’ viselike grip, he twisted his head around to see Jason, holding Ghost on his hip.

“He always says he’ll protect you,” Jason continued, “But then he sends you away. Into danger. He says he’ll protect you, but he always, always fails.”

“I tried,” Phoenix begged, “Jason, I tried. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I tried to keep you safe, both of you. I—”

Bright light blinded Phoenix, and when he blinked it away, he saw puppeted forms of Darius, Jason, and Ghost pulling up and away from him.

“No!” Phoenix lunged upwards, but they were already too far away, and they quickly disappeared from view.

Where did they go?

Who else got caught?

How do I get them back?

“Whoa—” One of Hunter’s friends, Luz, caught Phoenix’s shoulder. King grabbed him in a hug, while Eda stood behind Luz, casting him a worried look. Everything around them was still those cold whites and blues with occasional pops of color, but Phoenix didn’t recognize their surroundings from the archive house. “Hey—Phoenix, right?”

Phoenix blinked, disoriented by the change in location. “Uh—yeah—where—what—”

“I don’t know.” Luz sat back. “We just woke up a minute ago, too—the Collector trapped us all in some… nightmare… and the light glyph woke us up.” She flinched guiltily. “I’m… sorry about Jason. I really thought he’d make it back to you.”

“He did.” Phoenix couldn’t stop staring at the sky where Jason, Ghost, and Darius had disappeared. “How long…?”

Luz rubbed her arms. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell time here.”

Eda winced. “We didn’t even see you there for a second.”

King let go of Phoenix, pacing around. “Hey, uh, I’m glad we’re all awake and reunited, and I definitely want to know what everyone’s been up to, but we gotta find a way out of… whatever this is before—”

The sky flashed white and pink, and the Collector descended with a dramatic sigh and headshake. “I don’t get it, King. I really don’t get it. You either, Phoenix. I thought you loved playing our games! Why choose these… itty bitty spiders over me?”

“Because your games stink, squirt!” Eda called, one of her arms transforming into a claw.

The Collector had come alone—where had Petro gone? Phoenix put one arm out, edging in front of Luz and King, but Luz quickly whipped out a magic staff, standing with Eda. “And spiders! Are awesome!”

King dashed out from behind Phoenix. “Yeah! Especially the itty bitty ones!”

A momentary flash of hurt crossed the Collector’s face. “You act like I’m doing something bad!” he shot back defensively, “But I’m just having fun!”

King glanced back at Phoenix. “Trapping people and scaring them and controlling them? That’s not fun, Collector. Phoenix tried to tell you that.”

“I was going to let him go, wasn’t I?! I only got mad because he tried to take you with him!”

“Hey, don’t forget, everyone nearly died from the draining spell!” Eda added.

“Psh. So?” Collector held out their hand, a toy forming in his palm. “Toys break all the time. You just fix them.” He snapped the doll’s head off and reattached it for emphasis.

Luz blinked. “Do you… not understand what death means to mortals?”

“Phoenix knows what I’m talking about!” Collector said cheerfully, “After all, Belos broke him pretty good, and he’s fine!”

Phoenix winced. “Well—that was—”

Collector jumped up into the air, their powers sparking around them. “Don’t worry! I don’t wanna scare you anymore. I think we can all be great friends. So. Let me show you some of my favorite games!”

The ground rumbled beneath them, and walls shot up, hiding the Collector from view.

“A maze?” Luz yelped.

Eda transformed completely, sprouting wings and feathers. “Let me check the top—no use wandering around if we can just fly out.”

Her voice had that same eerie, echoey quality it had when Phoenix had met her—this must be what the elixirs allowed her to do with her curse.

I wonder if they’d do that for me?

Eda launched herself upwards in a rush of wind from her wings, but before she could get very high, the maze behind them shook. A giant face chomped its way towards them, half yellow, half purple, just like the Collector—no, it was Collector.

Eda swooped back down, scooping up King. Luz offered Phoenix a hand to get on her staff.

“I think I can outr—”

“This isn’t a time to be self-sacrificing, get on!”

Phoenix let her pull him behind her, and she took off, hurtling through the maze after Eda and King. The giant Collector head chomped closer and closer.

We’re not going to make it, Phoenix realized, I’m dead weight.

It wouldn’t have mattered even if they had been faster—their next turn led them to a dead end, and before Phoenix could even consider a way out, the Collector was on top of them, and his jaws closed easily around Phoenix, Luz, and the palisman.

Just as quickly, though, they opened again, and the maze tumbled around Phoenix. Luz’s palisman broke her fall, but Phoenix landed heavily on one foot, and his ankle twisted, sending him stumbling forward a few steps before falling. Little shocks of pain shot up his leg from his ankle, and he hissed. Already, he could feel his ankle throbbing and getting heavier inside of his boot.

“Whoa—” Luz gave her palisman a proud, congratulatory scratch while the Collector yowled in pain, but quickly knelt next to Phoenix. “Are you okay?”

“I think it’s just twisted,” he grunted, “I’ll be o—”

“I’ll just fix it,” the Collector interrupted loudly, but somewhat garbled while he sullenly held his swollen mouth, “Watch.”

They snapped their fingers, and Phoenix’s foot whipped back into place—and over, twisting too far with a snap. Phoenix bit his hand with a strangled scream.

“Oops!” The Collector snapped his fingers again, and Phoenix’s foot twisted again, this time stopping when it was straight. “There, that’s right.”

“Oh my gosh,” Luz yelped, “Eda, could you—”

Eda’s talons sliced through Phoenix boot, and Luz drew a glyph. Vines wrapped around his injured foot and hardened, securing it in place.

“Do you think you can keep going?” she whispered.

Phoenix nodded faintly, even though his stomach churned from the pain. “I think s—” his now-broken ankle sent a wave of throbbing pain through his body, and his arms responded, shifting to claws. Luz’s eyes widened, and she jumped back away from him.

“I’m not possessed,” he said quickly, “Luz, I promise it’s not that—I know it looks bad, but—”

“You’re not walking on that,” Eda declared, giving he and Luz a brief, confused glance, “You’ll make it worse.”

“Collector!” King yelled, “Phoenix needs a break! He’s too hurt to play!

“Yeah!” Luz joined in, “Time out!”

No—that would get him turned back into a puppet. “Wait—you said you wouldn’t control us anymore, so you have to just send me to the archive house!” If he could manage that, maybe he could find and free everyone else—or at least figure out where Petro and Belos had gone.

Collector heaved a dramatic sigh. “Do you promise you won’t run away this time?”

“Promise,” Phoenix said quickly. And for once, he meant it. He’d get the others out, but then he’d wait. He owed Collector that much. But Jason, Ghost, and Darius didn’t.

“Fiiiiiiine.”

Collector snapped his fingers again, and Phoenix’s surroundings just sort of… switched to the archive house, in the dark of the Collector’s room, with none of the usual twisting or flashes of light that Phoenix associated with teleportation.

Petro dug through the drawers, looking for something, and Phoenix’s eyes narrowed. He launched himself at the other grimwalker, tackling him to the ground and pinning him neatly. “You! You told him to destroy our house!”

Petro grinned easily, looking totally nonchalant, despite his vulnerable position. “Sure. Best way to get you all crawling out of your hidey hole.”

Something was off. Petro sounded like… himself. Those weren’t Belos’ words. And, Phoenix realized, Petro’s eyes shone magenta, rather than blue.

The hairs on the back of Phoenix’s neck rose, and he threw himself to the side just in time, a familiar blade slicing through the air where he’d been. Phoenix sprang to his feet, whirling around to face the new threat.

Belos had picked a new body—one of the Collector’s puppets, a witch with green hair and one long dangling earring. Petro climbed to his feet.

“Surprise!”

“Wha—” Phoenix spluttered, “Why—how—”

“More efficient to have me acting on my own.”

Belos scowled. “In theory. I thought I told you to make sure the Collector brought back Caleb. Not this one.”

“Not my fault he’s obsessed with this guy for some reason. Why don’t you try corralling the brat? Oh, that’s right. Because if he saw your face, he’d send you hurtling into the nearest wall.”

“Watch your tongue. I’m the only reason he’s out there playing his ridiculous games instead of in here hovering over us. Luckily, it’s not too late to fix this… error.”

Phoenix edged away from the two of them, quietly jumping into the air before they could stop arguing long enough to remember he was there. The lower gravity in this room made walking easier on his injured leg, and he soared effortlessly through the air.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Phoenix twisted to avoid another blow from Belos. He’d lashed out too late, though—Phoenix reached the door and bolted, dragging his deadweight leg behind him. Luz had done a wonderful job splinting his ankle, but still, every step sent little stabs of pain up his leg.

Behind him, Petro crashed out of the room, closely followed by Belos. Phoenix quickly turned down a hallway and out of their sight, breathing heavily. He couldn’t outrun them, not like this, he knew. But they’d only been at the archive house for a day at the most—he’d spent weeks, maybe months, here. He couldn’t run. But he could hide.

If he could make it to Darius (was he in the same place? Or had the Collector put him somewhere new?), he thought he could remember a light glyph well enough to wake him up. Then at least he’d have backup. But then, what if he couldn’t wake him up before Belos and Petro caught up to him? Belos would remember Darius, he was sure, and he’d leverage that against Phoenix if he could. Phoenix couldn’t put him in danger like that.

“Phoenix?!”

Phoenix nearly slammed into Odalia, but skidded to a stop just in time. “You! Wait, no, I don’t have time for you.”

“Oh, you saw that thing, too? Horrible, isn’t it? I’m lucky I got out with my life.”

Phoenix edged around her, glancing behind him anxiously. “Yes, well, it’s currently chasing me, so—”

Her eyes glinted. “Is it?”

She touched the pendant around her throat, and an oracle spirit sprang out, lunging towards Phoenix. Phoenix grabbed it by the arms, wrestling it away from him. “Hey!”

“Better you than me, dear. Best of luck!”

Odalia disappeared into a side room, while the spirit drew back, reevaluated, then tried to tackle him again. Phoenix’s arms shifted, and he let them, slinging the creature across the hallway into the wall.

Before he could run again, something slammed into his back, a familiar pulse of magic. Phoenix stumbled forward, twisting around to see Petro holding an artificial staff.

“Where did you even get that?” he groaned.

“Stopped by the keep on our way here,” Petro said nonchalantly, “Pretty handy.”

Belos was only steps behind Petro. His eyes widened when he saw Phoenix’s arms, but Phoenix didn’t stick around to see what he had to say about it, bolting again.

He wasn’t going to make it. He knew it in a sinking, hopeless feeling deep in his chest. There was nowhere to run, and they were too close behind him—one warp from Petro would end this chase. The only thing he might have been able to hope for was that the Collector would come to bring him back, but it seemed like they were too busy with their games.

Phoenix pivoted, planting his feet to face whatever would come after him. Was it a fight he could win? Probably not. But whatever Belos and Petro were planning, he’d stall them here as long as he could. Phoenix dug through is pockets, hoping to find some leftover glyph, but his hand closed around a small glass bottle instead. Evelyn’s explosion potion. He’d completely forgotten he’d taken it from Petro. Better than nothing.

Only Belos came around the corner dragging his stolen body along, Petro nowhere in sight. Phoenix checked the hallway behind him.

Where did he go?

Belos took a step closer, and Phoenix threw his arm out, hoping to knock him backwards, or at least make him think twice about getting closer. But the cursed mud only flew a few feet before splatting uselessly on the ground and inching back towards him, almost like it was afraid. That same fear he’d felt in the pit started to creep through Phoenix, starting in his fingertips and working its way upwards.

Belos shook his head with a cluck of his tongue. “Not as easy, as it looks, is it? Allow me to demonstrate.”

Before Belos could make another move, Phoenix hurled the explosion potion as hard as he could towards Belos, saying a silent apology to the witch whose body he was inhabiting. The potion slammed into the floor, exploding in a crack of stone and a cloud of dust. Phoenix coughed, backing away from the explosion.

Two blue eyes gleamed in the hazy cloud, and Phoenix’s stomach dropped.

Not enough.

Before Phoenix could move, Belos lunged out of the dust, gripping Phoenix’s wrist, his stolen puppet face too close too close to Phoenix’s own. “You’re flailing like a child,” hissed, “It’s about control.” One hand slammed into Phoenix’s chest, and Phoenix flew backwards into the window with a crack. And Belos was there again, grabbing the front of Phoenix’s shirt and mashing him into the window again, this time shattering the glass. Only Belos’ grip kept him from falling out, but that same grip held him dangling out the window, unable to come back in.

Phoenix wheezed, grabbing Belos’ arm in a desperate bid to protect himself from the dizzying drop below.

Belos smirked that small, cruel smirk of his. “You never were very fond of heights, were you?” He pushed Phoenix out further, jagged shards of the window pressing into his back. Phoenix yelped, glancing again the ground below.

Please

Collector

Anyone—

“Did you really think you could use my own powers against me? Did you think this was a fight you could win?”

He held up one oozing hand, grabbing Phoenix’s forearm even as he clutched Belos’. That deep, overwhelming, primal fear swallowed Phoenix whole, and his arms burned at the touch, the mud bubbling and boiling. His hand fell away from Belos’ arm, numb as when the draining spell from the day of unity had taken over.

Belos’ triumphant face flickered, his eyes losing their blue glow to a softer green.

“Get—out,” the witch snarled in a new voice.

Their trembling hand dropped Phoenix, smacking themself instead. Phoenix tumbled out the window with a strangled scream, clawing frantically at the air.

Sorry, Collector. I really did try to wait for you.

His back slammed into a glowing star, sending the whole thing into a nauseating wobble. Phoenix yelped, scrambling from the edge of the star to the center, and bumping directly into Petro.

“Quit that,” Petro snapped. With a twist of his staff, ropes appeared around Phoenix’s arms, pinning him just a little too tight. “You’ll make us both fall.”

“Why?” Phoenix gasped. He couldn’t get the whole sentence out, couldn’t say “why would you save me,” but based on Petro’s scowl, he understood.

Petro swung one leg over his staff. “Wasn’t my decision,” he grumbled. He hopped off the star, hovering to the side, just as Belos leapt from the window, landing lightly on the star. “I would have watched you fall.”

Belos eyed Phoenix with an unsettling, hungry, pleased look, wiping teardrops of cursed mud away from his eyes. “A body more accustomed to this condition… I think it will last longer, once Raine’s is done.”

Suddenly, the drop to the isles below seemed a lot more appealing. Phoenix scooted away from Belos and closer to the edge of the star. Maybe once they got closer to the ground…?

Petro’s face darkened at Belos’ words, flickering with some emotion Phoenix couldn’t quite read. Relief that he wouldn’t be the one possessed anymore? Anger and hurt that he was being replaced once again by Phoenix?

Belos, for his part, just looked amused by Phoenix’s scramble to get away. “Later, perhaps. This body hasn’t given out yet. And there’s something I need to do before I track down my wayward brother.”

Phoenix glanced again at Petro for a clue, but his face had turned stony and blank—a guard’s face.

Belos turned the star towards the center of the isles, where his keep used to be. “Enough delay. I will finish what we started. Once and for all.”