#well anyway at least some good is coming out of this

[serpentandlily]

Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

Lost in a Labyrinth Part III - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine. 

Warnings: angst angst angst 

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

Part III

and when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The First Attempt

Poison was probably the easiest and cleanest way to kill somebody. It involved very little effort on your part, just a slip of the hand to pour the poison into their drink when they weren't looking. It usually didn't involve blood or puke unless you got one of the nastier poisons, which you never did anyways. Some of the girls were more sadistic though and well, you couldn't blame them for it. 

But while it was the simplest method of killing someone, it was probably one of the harder ones to pull off. First, faeries had very good senses, especially when it came to smell. One sniff of their drink could expose the poison in it, unless you were able to get your hands on one of the odorless ones. Those were more expensive though and Lydia and Keir certainly weren't willing to fund you guys besides your nightly rate from your clients. 

However, when you had made a trip to the apothecary in the underbelly of Hewn City, you had begrudgingly forked over the money for one of those clear, odorless poisons. There was no way anything else would get past Azriel and his shadows. 

Your heart ached in your chest as you stared at the decanter of whiskey sitting on the bar cart in your pleasure room. Azriel had been kind to you. He had offered you some mercy by buying out your nights and not returning until that fateful meeting at the party. And while he clearly liked being more dominant while bedding you, his touch had been gentle, soft. No one had ever shown you such care and here you were, plotting out his murder. 

But you simply had to do this. Freedom was only one dead body away for you. One more hit and you could finally wash your hands of this place, disappear to another court—perhaps one that would allow you to bathe in the sunlight for the rest of your days, something the citizens of Hewn City had never really experienced.

Kill Azriel.

Kill the shadowsinger and you'll be free to go. 

Those had been Keir's exact words. 

You had killed before. There was a time when your finger was covered in black lines, a new one added every time you didn't have enough money to pay the house fee or enough for food and had to borrow from Lydia. One every time you failed to perform for a client, no matter what they asked of you. But now you were down to one last mark. 

One for the Shadowsinger. 

One for Azriel. 

You let out a sigh, sitting down at your vanity to brush your hair. Azriel was due to show up any moment now. Ever since that night at the party, he had been coming by at this time every single night. He would buy out all the nights Lydia would allow him to before showing up. 

He never even made it seem like he expected sex on any given night. Sometimes the two of you would just cuddle in bed, whispering stories to each other about your lives. Sometimes he would come all tense and frustrated with whatever the High Lord had demanded of him. On those nights you would offer to give him a massage and listen to him complain about how much he hated his work. It seemed like the two of you had that in common, at the very least. 

You hadn't made any attempts yet. You told yourself it was because you were planning out the best way to kill Azriel. Poison, knives, strangling. There were a multitude of ways to do it. But you knew deep down what the true reason was. You had grown fond of the Shadowsinger. You didn't want to kill him.

But your wants and needs had never really ever agreed with each other your whole life. 

So here you were. Waiting for Azriel to come so you could poison him and be done with this Gods awful place. You wanted out of the labyrinth and unfortunately, this was the only way. 

No matter how much you liked Azriel, he was the one standing in the way of your freedom. 

You saw his shadows before him. They seeped underneath the door to your room like smoke. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of them before pure dread washed over you. 

Kill Azriel. 

Kill him. 

A gentle knock on your door was heard before it was pushed open and the Shadowsinger stepped through the threshold, his beautiful face illuminated by the candlelight. His hazel eyes searched the room until they landed on you and you watched as they lit up ever so slightly—the most emotion he would allow himself to show.

You set your brush down and stood to face him. Azriel stalked forward and by his body language alone, you knew the sort of mood he was in. You braced yourself on the vanity behind you as he came to a halt in front of you, tilting your head up to stare at his lethal and devastatingly beautiful face. 

He didn’t speak as he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you with a frenzy that lit your body on fire. You returned the passion, stringing your arms around his neck to pull yourself closer to him. His presence washed over you like a tempestuous storm, all encompassing. You lost yourself in it—in him. 

You had never felt so taken by someone before. But being with Azriel was just so easy. He was a breath of fresh air in this otherwise suffocating labyrinth. 

He pulled away all too soon.

You opened your eyes, heart pounding in your chest. “What was that for?”

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice hoarse. 

You smiled up at him. “You saw me last night, silly.”

“And yet still I miss you the moment I leave.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck and your hands slid into his dark hair. He exhaled a breath that kissed the sensitive skin of your throat. 

You didn’t want to say it out loud, but you felt the same way. Every second apart from Azriel felt like a lifetime. You gently raked your nails over his scalp and you felt his body loosen in your hold, finally relaxing. 

Your eyes fell on the decanter of whiskey sitting on the bar cart. So unassuming. So ordinary. But it held your freedom. You swallowed harshly as Azriel pulled away from you

“Go sit,” you said to him, nudging him in the direction of the couch. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

You watched him take a seat as you moved over to the bar cart. You picked up a whiskey glass, not even realizing how much your hands were shaking until you did so. You quickly set it back down on the cart, taking a deep breath.

You could do this.

All you had to do was just pour him a drink. Just one drink. That’s all it would take. One drink and he’d be dead within the hour. He’d be dead and your bargain with Keir would be over. You would be free. 

“I need to make a trip back to Velaris before it gets too late.” Azriel’s voice caused you to jump, almost knocking over the whole cart. “I have to give my mission report to Rhys before the day is over.” 

“You mean you haven’t gone to see the High Lord before coming here?” 

“No,” Azriel answered. “I…I just wanted to see you first.”

Your heart snapped into a million pieces in your chest. You frowned, staring at the back of his head. You could hear the hesitation in his voice—could feel how much it had taken out of him to admit that. Azriel wasn’t very forthcoming, so to blatantly confess something like that…

Fuck, you couldn’t do this. Not like this. You couldn’t kill him like a Godsdamn coward. 

You grabbed the decanter and dropped it on the floor, watching it smash into a million pieces just like your heart had. The whiskey splattered on the ground, soaking into the carpet. Azriel whipped around at the noise, eyebrows high. 

You turned red and stuttered out, “Oops. I-It slipped right out of my hand.” 

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. You had been minutes away from killing him. Tears lined your eyes as you knelt down to start picking up the glass shards. Azriel was at your side in a second, grasping your elbow and pulling you up off the ground. 

“Don’t touch it. You’ll cut yourself,” he murmured. “Let me take care of it.” 

His care, his concern, it only made you feel so much worse. You sucked in a breath of air, trying to blink away the tears.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, grasping your face with his scarred hands. He lightly stroked your cheeks with his thumb. “What’s wrong?” 

You stared up at him, into his devastating hazel eyes. “Why are you so kind to me?” Your voice cracked, your throat hoarse as you held back your cries. “I have done nothing to earn your care.” 

“Earn my care? Angel, you don’t have to do anything to earn my care. I care for you because…because,” Azriel paused for a moment, almost like he was debating something. “Because you allow me an escape from my duties—from my incredibly lonely life. When I’m with you, I don’t think about anything else. There is nothing you need to do for me. Just allowing me to see you—to be with you—that is enough.”��

“Azriel, I….” You wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to tell him about your bargain with Keir—about the steward’s demand that you kill him. But the words wouldn’t come out of your mouth. “I just wanted to help you relax and I’ve already messed it up. I’m sorry. Let me go down to the cellar to get another bottle—”

“I don’t need alcohol to relax. I just need you, angel.” 

You were speechless. So utterly speechless. Any words you might’ve said got caught in your throat. All you could do was stare up at him—up at this beautiful male who had shown you he was nothing like the reputation that followed him around. He was gentle, kind, and so much better than anyone you’d ever met in this wretched city. He deserved so much more than this, so much more than you. 

“Okay?” Azriel said, knocking you out of your thoughts. 

You nodded your head, swallowing down your cries. 

“Okay,” you murmured back. 

Tonight you’d give him what he wanted. It was the least you could do. 

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

Azriel flew back to Velaris feeling lighter than he had in decades. It was probably irresponsible that he had gone to see his mate before giving his High Lord his mission report, but he had needed to see her. To feel her in his arms after the day he had in the Illyrian mountains. 

Tonight had been a blessing. She always took care of him like she knew exactly what he needed. And tonight he had just needed to hold her. She had talked him into a massage, her hands magic against his skin and muscles and then they had just laid together, talking about everything and nothing. 

He felt more rested than he would have if he had tried to go to sleep. He felt refreshed, buoyant—like he could take on anything that was thrown his way as long as he had his angel to return to. 

It was nearing six in the morning now and he knew Rhys would be awake, usually tending to Nyx while Feyre got some desperately needed rest. He landed with a small thud in front of the River House and quietly made his way inside. He paused as his shadows whispered to him that Rhys was waiting in his office—no babe in sight. 

When he opened the door to the office, Rhys was indeed waiting for him—arms crossed and his brows furrowed. Azriel quietly closed the door behind him, pulling out his report from the shadow realm and setting it on the desk in front of his High Lord. Rhys glanced down at it for a second before looking back at him. 

“Azriel,” Rhys said, “Where have you been all night? I’ve been trying to reach you but your mental shields were up.”

Azriel cleared his throat before answering. “I had a matter to attend to before I came here.” 

He kept his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn’t want anyone to find out about her yet—his angel. She was his for now. His secret, his love, his mate. 

Rhys raised an eyebrow at him, nostrils flaring. “Is this matter the reason why you smell of cheap perfume and aphrodisiacs?” 

Azriel shrugged, nonchalantly. “This matter is none of your business.” 

“Am I wrong to assume that your scent means that you’ve taken my advice?” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw twitched but he refrained from speaking in anger. “Everything you need to know about the mission is in that report,” he said, nodding towards the file on Rhys’s desk. “If that is all, I will take my leave.” 

Rhys frowned. “No, that is not all. Please, sit, Azriel. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” 

Azriel begrudgingly sat in the armchair in front of Rhys’s desk. All he wanted to do was go back to his apartment and get ready to see his angel again in a few hours. He’d once again bought out all her time slots, leaving her with no clients other than himself. Meanwhile, he tried every night to convince her to leave with him, to return with him to Velaris. But something was holding her back…or perhaps she didn’t feel for him the way he did for her. 

That was a depressing thought that he frequently lingered on. 

“What is it?” Azriel asked, wanting to get this conversation over with. 

Rhys rubbed his jaw, his striking violet eyes assessing Azriel. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the way I spoke to you on Solstice Night. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry when I saw you and Elain together, so ready to make your…affections known in plain sight—especially when she has yet to reject the bond with Lucien. But I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.” 

Azriel tensed in his chair at the memory of that night—at the cruel words Rhys had thrown his way. But unlike before, no hurt came from the memory. No hurt, no longing, no despair. Nothing. Instead, where that hole had been in his chest before was now filled with thoughts and longing for his angel…his sweet mate. 

“It’s fine,” Azriel replied, stiffly. “You did the right thing. It would have been a political nightmare had Lucien seen us.” 

Rhys nodded. “It would’ve. Especially with how many ties he has to other courts—other courts we’re still trying to repair our reputation with. But I treated you like one of my subjects that night and not like a friend. It wasn’t just Lucien I was thinking of, but you too, Azriel. I don’t want to see you hurt if you give your all to Elain and she decides to pursue the bond further down in the line.” 

“It wasn’t your choice to make. It was mine,” Azriel can’t help but say. To his surprise, Rhys nodded his agreement.

“You're right. It is not my choice nor is it my life to live,” Rhys said. “Which is why I’ve decided to rescind my orders for you to stay away from her. I just ask that if you two do pursue something together, please use discretion—especially when Lucien is around. At least until she fully rejects the bond or tells him of her own affairs. Is that reasonable enough?” 

Azriel stood from his seat. “I appreciate the apology, Rhys. But everything else is not needed. I have no plans to pursue Elain or court her. Is that all?” 

Rhys stood as well, his jaw flexing. “So I was right, then? You were willing to throw away our relations with other courts for a female you have no interest in months later? Azriel, I can’t even speak to how irresponsible that would’ve been.” 

“Well, nothing happened. You intervened at the right moment,” Azriel said, coldly. 

Rhys studied him again. “No, that isn’t like you, Az. Something else has happened. Does this have anything to do with that female you had hanging off you in Hewn City? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with a prostitute of all people now.” 

Anger striked through Azriel like lightning. 

“Watch how you speak about her,” he snarled, hands flexing. 

Rhys gaped at him with a disbelieving look. “Godsdamnit, Azriel. Are you that desperate for love that you have truly fallen for someone you’re paying to be in your company?”

“If you are truly my brother,” Azriel growled. “If you truly have my best interest in mind, then you will drop this now. I don’t need your advice or your concern.” 

“Of course I have your best interests in mind! But, Azriel, this is lunacy. I don’t know what that female has told you, but she only cares for your money. If you had any sense, you’d put a stop to this—”

Azriel lunged forward, slamming his hands on Rhys’s desk, shadows spiraling around him. 

“I said,” he snapped, bearing his teeth, his voice as cold as ice. “Watch how you speak about her.” 

Rhys’s mouth dropped open in shock and before he could say anything else, Azriel disappeared in a flurry of shadows. He needed to leave, far too tempted to rearrange Rhys’s face with his fists. So he let his shadows take him somewhere else he knew he could let off steam—the training ring.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The Second Attempt 

Azriel was laying next to you, fast asleep. Even his shadows had rescinded to the dark corners of the room, content to leave their master in your hands. The hands that were currently holding a dagger, shaking as you straddled his sleeping body. 

Why was this so hard?

You had killed plenty of males like this before. 

But as you stared down at Azriel’s beautifully peaceful face, something ached terribly in your chest. He looked so much more boyish when he slept. His dark hair tousled, his large wings relaxed, the harsh lines of his face smoothed out. 

The room was dark except for the singular candle on your nightstand, half illuminating his handsome face. He was nude from the waist up, his swirling Illyrian tattoos on display—tattoos you often traced over as the two of you laid in bed together. 

It had taken a while for Azriel to actually fall asleep in your presence. The first few times he had spent the night, you had woken up to him holding you in his arms, staring at you as though you were his entire world—like nothing else mattered in that moment but you. It had caused your heart to flutter and ache. 

But now here he was, asleep. A sign that he trusted you now. Trusted that he could sleep and not have to be vigilant. And he looked so vulnerable like this. Gentle and soft. Nowhere was the usual foreboding and threatening aura that followed him around.

So vulnerable. 

So unassuming.

So clueless that you were currently straddling him with a dagger held above your head, ready to strike. 

You blinked as you felt watchful eyes on you, freezing. His shadows had meandered out of the dark recesses of the room, slowly crawling your way—like they were giving you the opportunity to stop this yourself before they intervened.

You let out a deep breath and lowered your arms. 

Poisoning him had been a coward’s move and so was killing him in his slumber. If his shadows had any sense, they’d strangle you right here and now. You fell off of him, laying back down at his side. The shadows rescinded, the threat gone in their eyes. 

But as long as your freedom was dependent on Azriel’s life, he would always be in danger around you. No matter how much you wished to not hurt him. No matter what you felt for him. 

Azriel had to die. 

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

Azriel had never felt happiness like this before you. Not truly. He hadn’t even known it, hadn’t known that this was something he could feel. But here he was, his heart full and his mind at peace. There was only one thing that could make this better than it was.

He ghosted his scarred fingers over your bare back, lightly touching your soft skin. You were laying on your stomach next to him, nude except for the silk sheets pulled to your waist. 

His lips twitched as you let out a tiny noise of satisfaction at his touch, turning your head on your folded hands so you could stare up at him. 

He would never tire of staring at you—at your beautiful, serene face. Your alias made perfect sense. Serenity. That was what you made him feel. Though he felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of how many other males might’ve felt like this around you. 

The only solace he had now was making sure that you were his from now on. He didn’t care how much money he had to spend to keep you occupied with him. So long as it meant you’d be his angel and no one else’s. 

You smiled up at him and the sight was so breathtaking, he lost his train of thought. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked in that sweet voice that melted his ice cold heart. 

“You,” Azriel replied, honestly. 

You scrunched your nose at him, your smile growing. He trailed a finger down the slope of it, watching your eyes flutter at his soft touch. 

“That’s what you always say.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the truth.” 

“You're sweet,” you teased, making him chuckle.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever described me as sweet, Angel.”

It was your turn to shrug a shoulder. “You’re sweet to me.” 

“You’re special,” he said, so genuinely that it made your heart skip a beat. 

“Am I?” 

“Yes,” he said, brushing your hair off your back and over your shoulder. “Of course you are.” 

You closed your eyes with a hum, content as he began to trace lines down your back again. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Your eyes flew open, brows furrowing. You gave him a small nod, curiously. 

“Do you…” he trailed off for a second, his voice lacking the sureness it had a moment ago. “Do you…feel this—this thing between us the way I do?”

“Azriel,” you warned, making his hand pause on your back. This was a topic you tried to stray away from with clients. You weren’t supposed to develop true feelings for any of them and you hadn’t. Not until…

“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “I understand your line of work. But I…I can’t help what I feel, Angel. Tell me you feel it too.” 

You frowned, a nasty feeling coiling in your gut. It should be easy to say no. But that wouldn’t be the truth, would it? No, the truth was you did feel it—that fiery energy between the two of you. Azriel was different. He didn’t feel like a client. He called you by your real name, knew personal details about your life. All things you had shared for some unknown reason. 

All you knew was that you had wanted to share those things with him so you did. You wanted Azriel in a way you’d never wanted anyone else. You wanted to know him, craved his presence when he was gone, loved being with him like this. 

The line between the two of you was so blurred, you weren’t sure it had ever existed in the first place. 

You looked back up at him, your eyes conveying the things you couldn’t yet say out loud. Because you couldn’t let yourself feel like this. 

But Azriel stared back at you, knowingly, like he could read everything you had spelled out in your mind. “You don’t have to say it, Angel. I just need to know.” 

You rolled onto your back, letting out a sigh. “Azriel, we can’t—”

“Why not?” He cut in. “Why not, Angel? If you…if you feel something for me then please, take me up on my offer. Let me take you to Velaris. You don’t even have to live with me. I can buy you your own apartment and anything you need. You’d never have to work again. I could take care of you, Angel, the way you deserve to be taken care of.” 

And what a life that would be. Free of this place, of this gods awful city. Free to live with Azriel. Free to do as you please. Free to bask under the sun, to see the stars in all their glory—no longer buried under this mountain. 

But it wasn’t possible. It was a dream and only a dream. So long as that mark was still on your finger, this was all you could offer him before he’d meet his demise. 

“Azriel, I can’t,” you murmured. “You know this.” 

“But why? Whatever reason or worry you have, tell me. I can’t stand leaving you here day and night. I can’t stand the thought of another having you.”

You rose from the bed, hiding your face from his sight so he didn’t see the tears lining your eyes. You quickly shrugged on a night gown, hugging yourself as you lingered by your dresser. 

You didn’t want to talk about this. You didn’t want to confront this head on. You couldn’t. Just like your other dreams, it would never come true for you. 

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew he had pushed too far but he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. I’ll drop it just please come back to bed.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. You should kick him out, send him home. You should tell him to never come back even if it meant you’d be stuck in this place forever without his death on your hands. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Come back.” 

The pure desperation in his voice had you folding. You laid back down next to him, let him take you in his strong arms once again. 

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The Third Attempt

It had taken at least twenty minutes for you to lug Azriel off the bed and into the chair that you dragged into the center of the room. The faebane laced sleep draught had done its part in this scheme. Azriel had been knocked out, his shadows nowhere to be seen. 

And now you were tying him to the chair with some strong rope, in knots you knew he wouldn't be able to undo. 

Another week had gone by with no attempts on his life due in part to your growing feelings for the shadowsinger. But a visit from Keir had you snapping out of whatever hold Azriel had on you. You needed to do this. You needed to kill him and put an end to this. It wasn't fair, it was never going to be fair but it had to happen.

Out of all the males you had killed, you knew this was the only one that would linger with you for the rest of your life. But it was a necessary sacrifice if it meant you could not only leave this awful city but this Labyrinth too. 

You decided you weren't going to be a coward about this. Azriel deserved to be looked in the eyes as you killed him, otherwise the shame might just eat you alive. It would be so much easier to just try and poison him again but you knew this was the only way it would get done. Maybe you could explain it to him, maybe he would understand. 

Hell, part of you was hoping he'd fight his way from the binds and end your life himself. Would that be a better outcome to this mess? 

You were still debating that.

For now you leaned against the wall, fiddling with your dagger as you waited for him to wake up. You had spent all last night making sure he was happy—content. You had given him everything. Your body, your heart, your mind. It would be your last gift to him. 

But your freedom was hanging in the air between the two of you and that far outweighed anything else. You had been lost in this labyrinth for far too long. It was time for you to finally find your way out. Unfortunately, your way out was through th—killing the one male who had made you feel things you'd never thought you would.

"A-Angel?"

Azriel's hoarse voice made you stand up straight, your gaze falling on him tied to the chair. He blinked a few times, still a bit drowsy from the draught. You watched as he slowly realized his predicament, that he was tied up and without his shadows. He yanked at the binds that had his arms held behind his back, strung up to the chair. 

"Angel," he repeated, finally catching sight of you, "What...what is this? Why...why am I tied up?" 

You stalked forward and he noticed the dagger you held in your hand. His eyes went wide with alarm and he stared up at you in disbelief. He tried to yank himself free again, making the wood of the chair groan. 

“What are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to do this,” you started with a sigh. 

Azriel stopped his struggling, raising an eyebrow at you. “Do what?”

“Kill you,” you said, bluntly. 

Azriel was silent for a moment before he burst into laughter. Your brows furrowed in confusion at his reaction. Normally this was when males started demanding you untie them or pleading for their lives depending on how much pride they had. 

“What’s so funny?” You snapped, taking a step closer to him. 

Azriel shook his head, his laughter fading. “You’re not going to kill me.” 

You frowned. “I am. I have to.” 

Azriel leaned back in the chair, his wings held out proudly. He had completely ceased his struggling, all the alarm gone from his eyes. “And pray tell, Angel, why do you have to kill me?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you answered quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Not to you anyways.” 

“Well, seeing as I am the one about to die,” Azriel remarked, so nonchalantly, “then I think it does matter.”

He smirked at you, furthering your confusion. Why was he acting so…so calm?! You narrowed your eyes at him, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Why are you smiling?” You huffed, fisting his hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat. You pressed the dagger against his pulse point. 

“It’s cute that you think you’re in control here,” he shrugged, that smile not leaving his face. 

“I am in control here,” you snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the one tied up!”

“Am I?” He drawled out before yanking at the binds again. “Ah, you’re right. I am.”

You stepped away from him with a sneer. “Why are you acting like this!”

“Like what, Angel?” He smirked at you again, flicking his hair out of his face. 

“Like I’m not about to kill you! Like you’re not about to die!” 

“I’m hoping we can talk this out,” Azriel shrugged. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you growled, frustrated. You’d expected some yelling or shouts from him, maybe a few pleas thrown in but not whatever this was. 

“I beg to differ,” he replied, “seeing as I’m about to die, I’d like to know why.” 

“Because…you…I—fuck!” You turned away from him, holding the sides of your head in exasperation. You squeezed your eyes shut, Keir’s words replaying in your head on repeat. 

The smile dropped from Azriel’s face at the show of your distress. “Angel, come on. Just drop the dagger and talk to me. Whoever has put you up to this can be dealt with.” 

“You don’t understand,” you cried out. 

“Then make me understand,” Azriel pleaded. “Please.” 

“I have to kill you, Azriel,” you wept. “I have to or I’ll be stuck here forever.” 

“Stuck here? Stuck in The Labyrinth?”

“Yes!” You let out a tiny sob, still not facing him. “If I don’t….if I don’t kill you, I won’t be able to leave.” 

“Angel,” Azriel whispered, “Why would you be stuck here? If you need help leaving, I’ve already offered to get you out.” 

You whirled around to face him. “I can’t just leave, don’t you get it! I can’t just walk out of here like you. I’m trapped.”

“Trapped? Angel, please explain it to me. You’re not making any sense.”

“I was so, so stupid. So stupid, so naive,” you cried. 

“Just tell me what it is,” Azriel said, gently. “Let me help you!”

“You can’t,” you whispered, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. “You can’t help me. Not with this.” 

“Why?”

“Because I made a bargain with Keir,” you said, staring down at the dagger in your hand. “All the girls here have to do it. We get to work here, not get sold off and eventually we will be allowed to leave but…”

“Not without a price,” Azriel filled in the blanks. “So what do you owe Keir favors or something?”

You shook your head. “We’re given marks and targets. He tells us a name and we…we kill them for him.” 

“And let me guess, Keir gave you my name?”

“Yes, he did,” you sighed. “You’re supposed to be my last mark. After this…I’ll be free.”

Silence fell over the room. Silence until Azriel uttered one sentence. 

“So kill me.”

Your head shot up in surprise. “W-what?”

“Kill me,” he repeated, staring directly into your eyes. “If it means you’ll be free, if it means you can leave this place and have a life of your own…kill me.”

“Azriel,” you murmured. “I—”

Azriel yanked himself out of the binds, causing you to gasp. He gripped your arm and dragged you to him, angling the dagger right against his heart.

“Do it, Angel,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Kill me. I want you to be free. I want a better life for you. So kill me.” 

You stared at him, tears pouring down your face. Your hand was shaking as you held the dagger against his skin. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Azriel was giving you his permission, telling you to do it, to kill him. 

He kept a firm grip on your wrist, burying the dagger deeper so it pricked his skin. A small droplet of blood formed, sliding down his bare chest. “Do it, Angel, please.” 

“I-I…I can’t,” you sobbed. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself to push the dagger straight through to his heart, you couldn’t. “I can’t.” 

“Why?” Azriel asked. “Why can’t you?”

“I just…I can’t—”

“Why!” Azriel shouted, making you jump. Your hand was shaking so bad now, tears still streaming down your cheeks. “Why can’t you do it! Tell me why!”

“I don’t know,” you stuttered out through a sob. “I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do,” Azriel said, sternly. “You know why.”

You shook your head, sobbing. He pressed the dagger deeper into his skin. “Why can’t you kill me, Angel? Come on, you know. You know why.” 

He was right. 

You knew why.

You’d known all along. Since the moment you had laid eyes on him that night he came to your room. Something deep inside of you had recognized it and subconsciously buried it. But you couldn’t deny it any longer. 

“Say it,” Azriel demanded. “You know why. Say it!”

You let out a sob.

“You’re….you’re my mate.”

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

taglist: @itsswritten @impossibelle @lilah-asteria @heartless-tate @sheblogs

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[wosoamazing]

Celiac

McFoord x Child!R

Warnings: Vomiting, Celiac Disease A/N: Doesn't really have a plot and I don't like the ending, only short but at least it's something

“Ma, I don’t feel good,” you told her as your stomach cramped, you were sitting beside her as you watched some of the girls train, your Ma having a quick break.

“Oh Munchkin, do you think you’re getting a bug?” you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach tighter, “what have you eaten today?” you listed off everything you’d eaten that day. 

“Kyra, did you check the oats were gluten free?” your Ma asked the younger Australian, as you leaned your weight into your Ma’s side, stomach feeling worse by the second.

“Um, no, I thought they were, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise, I should’ve checked anyway just to make sure, I-” “It’s okay really, don’t worry, you didn’t do it on purpose and we know you tried your hardest, could you just tell Cait that Y/N/N is having an episode and to talk to Jonas, I’m just going to take her inside.” Your Ma asked the now guilty girl who nodded before quickly jogging off to your Mum.

-

“Hey Monkey, you not feeling well?” Your Mum spoke softly to you as she walked into the locker room, you just shook your head slightly in response to her, “Jonas said we were right to go home,” she told your Ma, from just a quick glance it was clear you were quite unwell. You were sitting in your Ma’s lap cured into a ball, her arms tightly wrapped around you, she rocked you slightly back and forth as she murmured comforting words to you, hating how there was nothing she could do to help you. 

“I think the oats Kyra used in the Anzac Biscuits she made for us all weren’t actually gluten free, she felt really bad but I told her not to worry and that it wasn’t her fault, do you want to have a shower and then I will and we can take her home?” Your Mum nodded before quickly heading to the shower.

-

“That’s it Monkey, let it all out, hopefully it will make you feel better,” your Mum encouraged you as you were hunched over the toilet in the bathroom, stomach harshly ejecting it’s contents, you sat in her lap and she held your hair back with one hand while the other rubbed soft circles into your back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” your Mum told you as you collapsed back into her, curling into a ball, pressing your side against her front. Your stomach was super bloated but also intensely cramping and you felt really tired.

“Do you think we should try your tablets? Maybe the anti-sick ones first and then you muscle ones?” she asked as her hand carded through your hair.

“P-please,” your voice answered barely above a whisper.

“Okay, let's just stay here until Ma comes out of her shower, I’ll message her to bring them to us,” she murmured into the top of your head before kissing it.

_______

Your Mum’s were quite thankful for their now quiet day, not realising how much they both needed it. Thankfully the anti-nausea meds had worked and you had only thrown up once. Your muscle relaxers helped a bit but you were still in a lot of pain and your stomach was still cramping quite badly. When you arrived home your Mum’s took you into their room, where you almost immediately fell asleep on your Mum. You had moved in your sleep and now you were sleeping on top of your Ma, hand clutching the fabric of your Mum’s shirt to make sure she stayed. They had a movie playing in the background as they organised some things, in the middle of a discussion about the Olympics and whether you would go on camp with your Mum or go and watch some games with your Ma when the doorbell rang. Your Mum pried your hands off of her shirt and quickly got up to find a guilty looking Kyra on the other side of the door when she opened it.

“Kyra? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at training?” Your Mum questioned her.

“I feel really bad about y/n/n, Jonas let me go early, I bought some things for her,” she told your Mum as she presented the gift basket to her. 

“Thank you Kyra, that’s very kind of you, and honestly it’s not your fault, it was an accident, we understand.” Kyra nodded as she fiddled with the bottom of her hoodie, “you can see her if you want, she is currently asleep, and not very well, but I’m sure she won’t mind you coming to say hi,” the young Aussie nodded and followed your Mum through to where you were. You had woken up now, and Katie was helping you drink some water, you were still quite unwell, and looked like you were falling asleep sitting up.

“Monkey, Kyra came to see you,” your Mum told you as she walked into the room.

“Kyra?” you said groggily and she softly nodded her head, the younger girl stepped inside the room and sat down on the bed next to you, to which you climbed into her lap and fell asleep.

[darks-ink]

Welcome back! I saw you are taking story ideas so I wanted to submit two of the prompts I wrote for Phic Phight.

1) Danny's excuse when someone notices the resemblance between Fenton and Phantom and comes too close to his secret: The ghost is his dead twin who he ate in the womb. This might have more truth to it than he originally thought.

2) Long ago Clockwork had and lost a child, the young Ancient of Space. Even with his Sight of time, he could never see what became of them, only that they disappeared. Now another being that evades his Sight has crashed into his existence. Another child, and this one a boy with the stars in his eyes and the cold of space in his veins.

I hope you like either of these!

Thank you! I went with #1, but admittedly it turned out a little short.

Duplicity

Rating: Gen Warnings: focuses on vanishing twins & the formation of ghosts, especially in connection to each other Words: 770 Additional Tags: Post-reveal, Good Fenton parents

[AO3]

---

“You know, one thing still confuses me about ghost cores.” Danny resisted the temptation to fidget when three pairs of eyes turned to him. “Or, uh, the cores of half-ghosts, at least?”

“Do tell, Great One, and perhaps I can answer.” Frostbite turned further to face him.

“Well, um.” Danny’s eyes darted over to his parents, briefly, before returning to Frostbite. “Isn’t it kinda weird that my core is more stable than Dani and Vlad? Like, I thought Dani was just because she was a clone, so she was destabilizing, but apparently Vlad got really sick as he was developing his powers? But I was, well, fine?” He shrugged, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words.

His mother hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. Neither did his dad, though he did frown.

“Of course not. Both other half-ghosts you refer to had to develop their own cores, growing them from scratch. You, on the other hand, absorbed yours from another ghost, thus stepping past the initial growing pains.”

Danny felt his heart stop. His core freeze. Thoughts grinding to a halt.

“Excuse me?” he blurted out, automatically, incredulously. “Are you telling me I killed another ghost?”

“No, no.” Frostbite lifted his hands, voice dropping into a soothing tone. “Although it is not unheard of for proper ghosts to fuse together into one, this sort of core-binding is only possible with blob ghosts.”

“And blob ghosts aren’t truly sentient, right?” Maddie hummed in thought, saving Danny the effort of trying to figure out what, exactly, Frostbite meant. “They’re barely more than free-floating ectoplasm, which is common here in the Ghost Zone.”

Frostbite nodded. “Indeed. A more developed ghost couldn’t have been absorbed in such a manner, so there is no need to worry, Great One.”

“That’s a relief.” Danny heaved a sigh. It still felt weird to imagine that his core wasn’t originally his, that it had developed separately, but, well. At least he hadn’t killed someone in the process.

“Although,” Frostbite suddenly started, interrupting Danny’s thoughts. “It is very unusual.”

“Oh?” Danny felt like slapping himself. Why did he ask for more information? He regretted asking in the first place. Knowing more wasn’t going to make himself feel better, was it?

But his parents would probably have asked if he hadn’t. Right? Yeah, definitely.

“Typically, ghosts require some form of connection to be present to bind together. Two fully-formed ghosts can fuse over shared goals or other such traits, but such a thing isn’t possible with a blob ghost. To absorb one of those, a more tangible connection is required.”

Frostbite eyed Danny, but he couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes. “Obviously the power of the Ghost Portal let you bypass the part where you weren’t a ghost yourself—” or perhaps he was dying and turning into a ghost anyway, “—but that connection would’ve still been necessary.”

But how. What? Who? The blob ghost must’ve come from somewhere, something, someone, but Danny couldn’t imagine, couldn’t think—

“Oh, that makes sense,” Maddie said, voice casual. “Danny absorbed his twin in the womb, so it makes sense for him to do the same thing with his twin’s ghost.”

“What?” Danny blurted out, turning to her in shock. “I had a twin? A twin I absorbed?!”

“Well, yes.” Maddie nodded, looking at him in confusion. “Of course, it happened fairly early on, so he wouldn’t have become a real ghost. But the impression of it, the potential of a twin gained and lost, that would’ve been enough form a blob ghost.” She turned to Frostbite. “Right?”

“Right.” Frostbite nodded back. “And yes, a connection like that would have worked quite well. A connection of blood and spirit, an action repeated. An echo between life and death.”

Danny shook his head. Well. Jerked his head side to side. “Are you serious? Why are you all acting like this is—this is normal, totally expected?”

“I thought you knew, honey.” Maddie was frowning at him now, confusion deepening. “Weren’t you the one who started using it as a cover?”

“What?” He blinked at her, then realized. Yes. Yes, he had been using that as an excuse for the resemblance between Danny Fenton and Phantom. A dead twin, a ghost which looked just like the living Danny. “I didn’t—I didn’t think it was real.”

“Oh.” She shot an uncertain look at Jack, then Frostbite, then turned to him. “Well. You know now?”

Danny stared at her, incredulous. Then shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do now.”

But what the hell was he supposed to think of all this?

[heartsforhavik]

superfan! and stalker! yandere boys x reader hcs (but they're animal hybrids)

✰ warnings: obsessiveness, sfw, murder, mentions of corpses, just overall unhealthy behavior cuz they're yanderes. (i do not condone yanderes irl and this is for writing purposes) gender neutral reader, no use of y/n.

✰ a/n: guys idk why i havent updated in so long. ig i just havent had much motivation?? anyways ummm i'm still super busy right now and i have 400 assignments due in 3 days but i don't wanna do them soooooo how about i write some short and cute headcanons for y'all? 😁

if bayani was a puppy hybrid...

clingy clingy CLINGY

bros going wherever you go. even if u gotta take a piss he's gonna hold your hand. wait, you don't want him in the bathroom with you? at least let him sit outside!

he is very easy to distract, though. if you ever want to be alone for a while but he just won't leave your side, throw a tennis ball somewhere and it should keep him busy for a solid 10 minutes.

loves snuggling with you. he literally distracts you and takes up at LEAST one hour every morning trying to keep you in bed with him. if you leave him alone in bed, he'll be whining until you come back.

he's also very talkative, and always yapping your ear off about random nonsense, until you tell him to shut up. problem is, if you tell him to shut up, he isn't going to open his mouth again for a few days. he'll be very sulky about it and look up at you with those big puppy dog eyes of his, silently hoping you'll allow him to speak again. as much as he loves hearing you yell at him, he still doesn't want you to be mad at him for long periods of time.

he'll eat anything you cook. you could be the worst cook in the world and burn your dish to a crisp, and he'd still eat it up like it's nobody's business. he doesn't even notice if it's well cooked or not, he sees anything you create as a masterpiece.

but this also means he's like a guard dog! even though he is quite small and his face isn't very intimidating, he tries! he goes to the gym frequently so he can be stronger for you. he wants to be able to defend you if anything goes wrong.

he is very patient. if you have any work or assignments you need to get done, he'll sit and wait however long you need him to. he'll even bring you beverages and snacks so you can keep working without getting up.

overall, he has some similar traits to a puppy, but he's still the same optimistic (and obsessive) bayani.

if victor was a cat hybrid...

LMFAOOO good luck getting away from him.

bros a silent killer. he watches from afar. if you happen to feel his eyes staring at the back of your head, and you look to see if your feeling is correct, he'll snap his head the other direction so you don't suspect a thing.

he follows you around, but unlike bayani, he wouldn't stop if you asked him to. and he isn't in your personal space, he is much farther away so it's harder to tell when he's tailing after you.

and like a cat, he proudly brings you dead things and is convinced that you would like it. usually he kills anyone that seems to be too close to you, and shows it off like a trophy of his affection and strength.

victor would kill someone and be like: "this week's new corpse looks awesome. they'll totally love this, i gotta show them!" (you did not, in fact, love seeing the rotting corpse of your friend on your doorstep.)

he guards your house as if he's a soldier at war. if he sees anyone break in, or if it's an insect that happened to fly in through your vents, he'll eliminate the threat before you even notice it.

he's also quite moody. sometimes he's affectionate and kind to you, then the next minute he'll act like a brat and expect you to cook and clean for him.

and if you called him out on his behavior, he'll act all pouty and mutter: "i don't do that.." then he'd get up and silently do some chores around the house as an apology. if you brought up his acts of service, he'll get flustered and say you were "too lazy to do it yourself" or something along those lines.

overall, he's quiet, moody, and does things his own way. unlike bayani, victor doesn't do anything you ask him to do, but he still shows his affection for you in his own subtle ways.

[bookyeom]

to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted. 

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you. 

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks. 

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse. 

Why are you here? 

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw. 

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down. 

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you. 

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this? 

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this. 

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to. 

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself. 

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him. 

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over. 

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t. 

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin. 

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together. 

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was. 

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited. 

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing. 

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over. 

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. 

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face. 

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.” 

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you. 

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him. 

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.” 

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven. 

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut. 

"Is that my sweater?" 

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back. 

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does. 

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?” 

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it. 

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back. 

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.  

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him. 

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out. 

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless. 

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out. 

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

[hitlikehammers]

you definitely need a 💐LADY WHISTLEDOWN REVEAL💐 for Steddie to follow up on the ✨Morning After✨ the Carriage, don't you???

Regency/Bridgerton AU

once last time: for @hbyrde36, @pearynice, and @penny00dreadful 💜

For perhaps the first time in his life, Eddie is at a loss for his words.

Possibly, it is because there are no words. None that he knows, at the least, and he knows a great deal of them—too many for his own good, according to some.

Though—possibly—it is because his heart is pounding so violently, somehow in his chest and in his throat all at once, that the breath for words at all is lost on him, and if it weren’t, the words would end up pummeled somewhere on the way out his mouth anyway.

Double-edged sword, really.

It is in true Edward Munson form, the way it comes out in the end, the way he confesses without truly confessing. It’s been a growing pit in this stomach, despite the glorious splendor of the past weeks leading up to their nuptials—nuptials!—and the Queen’s renewed obsession weighs, true, though she’s off the scent for now. But when Eddie’s father drove his family to ruin, and his uncle gave up freedom in the Highlands to enter back into society, to house his mother and his own half-fear-made-feral self before the age of seven, to make the Munson name respectable again, not least for spending most of his worth on the property across from the storied Harringtons—but then there was the one specific boy of the family, about Eddie’s own age, who had to come to the Munson’s every day for a month, almost certainly against the wishes of anyone who stood to reign him back and failed, an entire month before Eddie would so much as kick the dirt between them, let alone dare for eye contact.

Which is to say: Eddie started the strongest and dearest relationship of his life with cowardice, without even knowing yet that Steve Harrington wasn’t built to back down from a challenge for the life of him, despite the scars he bore for his stubborn virtue.

It wouldn’t really be true to Eddie’s own well-worn character, now, if he were brave about any of this.

Which is how he ends up slinking to Steve, who is sprawled comfortably on the settee with a book, before dropping a thick, twine-bound collection of pamphlets, years of publications that fall on Steve’s chest dramatically, though Eddie can’t even claim to have planned it so: he’s simply shaking too much to have handed over the evidence poised to damn him with anything like composure.

He trembles even as he stands taut, spine too stiff and shoulders too sharp, hands clasped behind him as Steve sits up, eyes the bundle curiously, unties it carefully and…reads Eddie’s last rites in his own pen because the dawning of clarity isn’t slow: what the papers are is crystalline.

That these are original drafts, in Eddie’s pen, is even more undeniable upon finishing just the first column: Eddie’s writing pen was a gift from Steve early in their years, and he’s never parted with it—too attached, too sentimental—not least when it started to show its age, blotted messy at the ends of lines, especially on a damning ‘s’ at the stop of a sentence.

So many sentences; to spell out his own.

Steve is quiet, as he thumbs through a few more issues: but it’s clear the perusal’s unnecessary. Likely meant just to buy time. Eddie feels an ache in his chest that he can’t place a name to; feels a burning on the ring finger of his left hand that he holds too tight: fearful. Afraid the minutes are numbered, now, before he loses the promise there forever.

But he could not have beared to trap Steve into marriage under the pretense of a lie. He may have already done damage irreparable but, but—

Whatever he can still salvage, for Steve if not himself: he has to try.

“So.”

Eddie’s attention snaps back into the moment as soon as he hears Steve’s voice; startles at the weight of the pamphlets falling atop the table to hand at his side.

Eddie feels Steve’s eyes upon him but…hells beyond if he can lift his own to meet them.

He’s a boy kicking at dirt all over again.

“So,” Eddie breathes; barely. His sentence, his sentence, and all the loss undoubtedly to follow with, and—

He’s too far in his own mind, in his own pulse too heavy to have noticed the approach of anything, even his beloved, until his beloved’s hands are framing his face, those sunrise eyes steady on him. Warm.

Still love there, in them. For him.

“Thank you,” Steve lets his thumbs roam Eddie’s cheekbones; stretch to the line of his jaw where it starts: “for finally trusting me.”

Eddie’s comprehension of time grinds to a halt; he thinks his pulse takes the brunt for how it stalls-still from its racing.

It takes him at least three tries to make a noise from his throat, and even then it’s mostly just a sound, rather than any words to comprehend:

“I,” he manages more as a squeak that he follows with a cough, which does little to clear his voice but a great deal to jostle his heart back to pounding as he flounders:

“I’m sorry?”

And Steve’s brows furrow, but only for an instant; an instant is all it takes to read Eddie top to toe and then soften, to use his hands to pull Eddie close for a chaste kiss that still holds so much:

“Oh, angel,” Steve breathes between their lips as Eddie feels the tremors still tight-wound through his person threaten to break him, to widen the cracks he is composed of wholly, now, and shatter him to bits, but then there is Steve, and Steve is holding to him, and then he’s…he’s speaking incomprehensible words that take too long to even begin making sense:

“You could not have imagined that I didn’t know?”

Eddie’s silence is the only necessary answer, and then Steve’s eyes are widening in shock alongside something close to horror.

“Oh, oh, come here,” the realization in the words is so tender, and honest, and Steve flutters his hands a little in his haste to lead Eddie to sit, to press against Steve’s body so he can melt into Steve's solid hold. And Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s temple, almost aggrieved and unbearably gentle, but the note of incredulity is undeniable as he asks soft, a low rumble through his chest, close under Eddie’s ear:

“Were you so anxious, my darling?”

Eddie doesn’t know what sound he makes, if he makes any at all—he did not anticipate this, he did not anticipate anything like this at all and so he likewise has no idea how it means to progress from here; his pulse feels all the more precarious as it hangs in a balance he cannot predict—but whatever comes from him, sound or some other indication only Steve can see and sense, he is being wrapped tighter, closer, cradled into the soft shirt, mostly unbuttoned to soft tufts of hair across Steve’s broad chest.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes against the top of Eddie’s head, laces their fingers together to kiss before dragging them to better secure Eddie against him, holding their twined hands to his ocean-deep pulse:

“We are family,” Steve murmurs with a certainty that shakes in Eddie’s bones—irrefutable. “Always have been, really,” he adds, a little rueful; “and soon by law and name, but your passions are my passions,” and he squeezes Eddie’s hand once in perfect time for both their unmatched heartbeats, finds the hidden moment where Eddie’s still-sprinting blood matches Steve’s steady drumbeat and somehow the surety, the intimate certitude in that peerless moment holds like a palm soft to Eddie’s frantic heart itself that cradles him, inside and out; talks him down from fears of unknown reprisals.

“Your struggles are my struggles, to remedy immediately,” Steve kisses at Eddie’s curls like a promise, more a vow; “your triumphs are mine to hold close and celebrate in full with you, for you.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat, but only as a precursor to the warmth the floods the whole of him as Steve adds, even more like true vows against Eddie’s own soul:

“Nothing you could ever do or be would make you less the whole of my heart,” Steve cradles him dear, caresses along his jaw; “certainly never something like this.”

Eddie’s heart throbs heady, surges and expands and he has to focus on breathing a bit more, for a few long seconds, because to be told that, to be touched like this, to be loved this way—

“How,” Eddie has to clear his throat to be heard and still his voice lands thready:

“How did you find out?”

And Eddie isn’t truly ever surprised by how he loves Steve in turn, he doesn’t remember what it feels like to breathe as less, but: Eddie will never not love, in an especially giddy way, how Steve lights up in something a little wily, here, a little mischievous, and now how it’s spiraled along with a glistening adoration that tingles through Eddie with every tap of his pulse.

“First,” Steve cranes his neck to grin lopsided Eddie’s way; “Whistledown was always among the cleverest minds in the ton,” and Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his as he peppers kisses along the crown of Eddie’s head, wholly unprompted, just because he can before he concludes with a sweet little shrug:

“There are perhaps only three people in the requisite radius who fit the terms, and two are my own sisters.”

Eddie cannot—does not want to—contest that point. It isn’t wrong, but more than even that: he’s honored to be counted alongside Lady Nancy and Miss Robin, equally formidable in unique—and therefore frighteningly complementary—ways.

But he does fear his fortunes to come, should they not be as forgiving as it seems their brother is—against all odds, though Eddie should never have doubted his beloved just because his own conscience ached; Steve is stalwart and steadfast, and Eddie’s heart has never rested safer.

He will come to know that in the very veins of him, with time. He’s certain.

They both will; Eddie knows it.

“Second,” Steve’s adding on, stroking their still-clasped hands up and down his own chest; “the way it’s written,” and then he’s lifting those hands to kiss again, his smile a tangible thing to feel, and a swift beam of relief to loosen lingering tensions in Eddie’s muscles:

“I may have been blind to precisely how you’ve lived within my heart up until these past weeks,” Steve returns their hands to his chest again and presses in emphasis on the beating he speaks of, the home Eddie feels safest in, now he knows he’s welcome wholly; “utterly spectacular weeks, weeks I could never have imagined,” Steve hums, then grows a touch more serious as he murmurs:

“But you’ve lived in my heart near all my life, Eds,” Steve says simply, then smiles to answer back to the question asked of him:

“The flourish in your theatrics is telling, beloved,” Steve speaks it like an open secret, and something he rejoices in. “Perhaps not to the masses, only because you did not advertise them to their fullest extent for as many years as I’ve been…” he worries his lip endearingly through a losing fight against a grin:

“Privileged enough to experience them in their entirety. To experience you,” and Steve leans to snag a kiss quick before smiling full: “in your entirety.”

Eddie bumps his shoulder against Steve’s in indignation, earning first a yelp and then a hearty chuckle as he protests with very little fire in it, too much soft-sweet joy rising in him now for the ever-more-pressing proof that he is accepted, that his work, his creative purists change little, maybe nothing between them, save that Steve said…

Steve said he would celebrate him. As if Eddie were someone to be proud of.

“You’ve chided and shrugged me off for it, for all my wild theatrics—“ Eddie cuts off the spike of emotion threatening to well in his eyes with wholly put-upon affront as Steve ducks his chin to kiss sloppy, playful, just short of Eddie’s cheek, a little farther back as he defends:

“Lovingly, darling,” and there is humor, ready and easy between them but there is truth, more solid, the bedrock of any other thing:

“No matter the kind of love,” Steve nuzzles him fondly, no—no, it’s so much more than fond:

“Always lovingly.”

And what is Eddie to do in the face of that, save but to sigh against Steve’s chest where he’s held, still; to nuzzle there a little in kind and if the steady lulling of the motion matches Steve’s heartbeat within moments, well: who is Eddie to protest the song that his whole world moves in time with?

“But third, my dearest,” and here Steve’s voice deepens, then lightens to a whisper as he breathes against Eddie’s curls:

“Robin knew.”

Eddie stills. And then he shoots up and braces himself over Steve with eyes wide enough to water as he gasps:

“No,” he barely mouths because, because yes Robin knew, or Eddie suspected—her interest in his dealings with the printer was too sharp, too pinpointed before it died off entirely. Which could have meant she found better distraction, but: she hadn’t.

Which meant: she’d almost certainly fulfilled the curiosity she’d already chased.

But no one had spoken, not a single person had come even in confidence to accuse—

“Oh yes,” Steve sighs gravely but there’s a smirk in it; he teases; “I was the only one she told, I do know that, but.” And Steve shrugs, shakes his head before he lets out a harsh whoosh of air as Eddie falls back upon his chest—at least now they can match, the wind knocked out of them both.

“Of course the possibility alone was always a gamble,” Eddie eventually concedes, draped over Steve once more—a little defeated, though he can’t quite put a finger on why. “I simply…presumed you’d have spoken if she’d,” he gestures aimlessly; “shared her knowledge.”

He doesn’t expect the response to come in the form of a sharp cackle, of Steve easing them both to sitting, but somehow still tangled up and pressed together tight.

“I’m not so proud as not to own fully that I am a terrible gossip,” Steve says without a shred of shame for it, and it is true, Eddie may well have learned his own lack of shame in the enterprise from the man held against him in the first place.

“It brings too much joy, why would I spoil the fun? For anyone, least of all for you,” he asks honestly, which is maybe shortsighted; Eddie knows he’s caused strife with his pen, but he’s never told falsehoods, and he’s never sought to ruin anyone who didn’t cause ruin thrice-fold first.

“I’d have helped you write it in an instant, if you’d wished,” Steve says, almost wistful, the last thing Eddie expected when he entered the room, his shaking hands full of damning evidence; “though of course you never needed my help.”

“I’d have wanted it,” Eddie is immediate to affirm despite his surprise, because his adamance is stronger; because any moments spent with Steve, now or then, before or since becoming what they are, have never been less than a privilege and a delight; “a couple’s activity, far more appealing than the promenade,” Eddie huffs a laugh, still a touch incredulous for how this all is playing out before him, still a little bewildered that his anxious, whirring thoughts and heavy heart were for nothing at all.

He trusts Steve unreservedly, but, surely, surely there is something…

“If I were to continue,” Eddie nudges, hedges with perhaps quite foolish daring; “you would not mind?”

But it isn’t even a surprise when Steve simply leans against Eddie and draws him sideways toward his chest, breathes gentle into Eddie’s hair and kisses his head as he reaches to play with his fingers, to spin his engagement ring.

“Darling, even if I thought it dull as bricks,” and Steve speaks it with such, such warmth; “it brings you joy. And that is my joy.”

And Eddie’s heart soars for the…for the knowledge that this is his life. That this will be his life: forevermore.

He leans to kiss Steve whole and full, and he’s met as passionately, as ravenously, until they soften to gentle pecks, back and further.

“Together then, I think,” Eddie declares, their lips still close so the words drag between their mouths, breathy with devotion; a new flavor of commitment as Steve’s eyes rake over him, widen first to then shine blinding:

“Truly?”

“Every soul deserves its desired secrets,” Eddie reaches to trace Steve’s jawline; to marvel because he doesn’t think he’ll ever see fit to stop; “but there is no part of me that I desire to keep secret from you.”

Steve smiles at him a little longer, before he reaches around Eddie and grabs below the stack of issues—Eddie’d balanced it all on his folio, with the blank sheets and his beloved pen.

“May I?” Steve lifts the case less than halfway sheepish, more than halfway impish; “I think you need a bit of a sendoff.”

Eddie blinks, largely adrift save for Steve’s heat so near to him: anchoring.

“Where am I going?” he asks, bewildered even as Steve's smile grows wider still.

“Wedded bliss in perpetuity is the hope,” Steve presses his lips firm and fast to the left corner of Eddie’s mouth; “but in practical terms?” and then he kisses just the same at the corner on the right before he stands to make toward his desk:

“Quite soon, our honeymoon.”

And oh: but they haven’t spoken overmuch about such a thing but, but…

They’ll be married, and then they’ll be free to…be. Together and in love and wherever and however they wish, as long as they wish it—they get to be husbands and revel in it, wanton and cow-eyed and blissfully besotted.

Eddie must spend long seconds daydreaming—wholly justified, he would note most heartily—because he comes back to himself in the moment, next to Steve where he’s seated again, tapping Eddie’s thigh with the stiff parchment he’s covered in his endearing looping script waiting for Eddie’s attention, which, of course he gives in an instant and oh:

Most Dear and Gentle Reader,

All good things come to their ends, or else their pauses, their crossways and forks in the road. And whichever this communiqué ultimately lands upon happily, my farewell to you now comes on the wings of pure delight: to announce the end of the season with love, with the culmination of a tumultuous journey where not every player walked at the same pace, but one that was nonetheless undertaken together, unreservedly, and met hand-in-hand at the turn of its tale to new chapters. New journeys to seek and embark upon with joy.

I admit my attentions have been distracted of late, so you must forgive what comings and goings I may have missed in the interim. Nevertheless, I think none have slipped my notice so monumental, and indeed relevant to prior missives, as the dramatic and dearly heartwarming culmination of the tale of one of our most scandalous subjects of inquiry, not least because he has not always relished the attention: here, though, he might see the end of his delightfully roguish absurdity, but may our loss be his gain, as it is most certainly his husband-to-be’s.

To wit: Sir Edward Munson has done the honor of pledging the pleasure and privilege of his unmatched mind, his unreserved compassion, his unequaled wit, his inimitable fortitude, his most miraculously peerless heart, and the indescribable joy he brings by merely breathing in proximity, to one Lord Steven Harrington: a man not wholly deserving, but forever committed to the pursuit of earning all of the above, and worshiping with gratitude his beloved, as is only right and proper when one is blessed so thoroughly.

The very sort of happy ending we rarely see played out in these pages to such heartwarming conclusion—for we may seek scandal, but we none of us can deny the unparalleled appeal when matters of true love rise to the fore. And triumph magnificently.

But do not despair in my absence, however long it proves to stretch—there is pleasure in the pathless woods, after all. Journey well, dearest gentle readers, in the whiling.

x 

Eddie swallows hard upon the final words landing, settling in his chest.

How on earth did he get here? How in god’s name can he possibly deserve…this? All this?

With this impossible gift of a man, he—

“So?” and Steve’s tone is just slightly anxious, and oh. Oh, none of that.

Eddie tosses the spectacular, unthinkably praise-filled draft to the table and grabs Steve’s chin, tilts his face up to kiss him, long and hard and deep until they’re both gasping.

“You astound me endlessly,” Eddie breathes, settling his brow to Steve’s as he nearly breaks his face, he feels, for smiling so wide, in such wonder.

“Didn’t think I had it in me?” Steve smirks a little, but nips at Eddie’s lips all the while, and it’s thrilling beyond reason.

“I think you’re capable of just about anything,” Eddie says honestly, caught up in the feeling of it soaking through his ribs.

“Sap,” Steve laughs, but it’s a nearly giddy sort of thing before his tone softens, silken almost, as he bumps the tips of his nose against the side of Eddie’s own; “I had a good teacher.”

“Who in your family reads romance?” Eddie asks, frowning to deduce. Possibly the little ones outside their mother’s notice but—

He’s interrupted in the work of it by a gentle smack to his shoulder.

“The columns, you delightful knob,” Steve rolls his eyes at him, and Eddie’s too buoyant, too effervescent with joys innumerable that he cannot help but lean, nip at Steve’s lower lip and tease back:

“You do delight almost voraciously in my kn—“

He earns himself another smack to the shoulder, and a delightful flush to Steve’s cheeks, and Eddie laughs deep in his chest, his cares of no consequence; invisible really.

“Could you possibly think I didn’t read every single issue once I knew they were yours?” Steve asks, more chiding than anything, like he takes a genuinely dim view to Eddie thinking otherwise; and now Eddie must revise his position—his cares are of no consequence, here, save one:

To worship this man, with all that he is, with every moment life sees fit to grant him, and never to cease, only to grow.

“I love you so,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin; “so much more than I know how to say—”

“I know it though,” Steve says with clarity, with confidence; “I know it,” and he reaches to trace Eddie’s lips as he asks, less out of doubt and more to confirm, to swell with what it means to be sure: “just as you know it?”

“I do,” Eddie whispers, and he feels it, the swelling of certainty, of loving beyond words and yet being wholly sure of their weight.

“You quoted Byron,” Eddie runs the tip of his nose along Steve’s jaw, awestruck.

“I listen when you talk,” Steve answers simply; “always have,” which pings exquisite chords in Eddie’s chest, his heart dancing steps it’s never learned, save in loving the man beside him.

“And it felt appropriate. Bookending an era, one might say,” because of course Eddie began with such words, and, he, it, this…

It is perfection. It is so far beyond the realms of what he has earned or deserved and yet—

“Have I upset you?” Steve’s voice breaks in, only a touch of hesitation; “should I apologize for so thoroughly shocking you?”

“Never,” Eddie cups his cheek and draws him in to prove it.

“I love finding out new things about you,” he adds warmly, breathless when they part, warmer still for the heaving of Steve’s chest against his own.

Steve himself takes a moment to catch back his breath before he raises a brow in askance. Eddie, less the athletic type, is still this-side of breathless but: perhaps it is better that way. More reflective of the way his chest seizes while it keeps at stretching him wider, wider, wider still to hold his ever-swelling heart.

“To know that the adventure of learning you, is not only the adventure of a lifetime, but an adventure for a lifetime,” Eddie wonders at him, confesses the core of his deepest heart with joy and pride and abandon as he holds Steve’s face dear between his hands:

“Words fail that privilege, my dearest.”

Steve leans into his touch, and runs his hands up from Eddie’s chest, pressing possessive near his bounding heart, before both slip to either side of Eddie’s neck, stretching to cross behind and drawing him in adoring, ethereal for how his eyes shine:

“A privilege in itself, spoken from so fine a wordsmith himself,” Steve murmurs, close enough that the shape of the words on his lips brush Eddie’s like their own kiss, and then, more than any kiss, he mouths deep in earnest:

“How I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“And I you,” Eddie breathes, his heart a mallet for all the most ineffable, unthinkably rapturous reasons; “another thing words fail for the depth.” Eddie shakes his head, tries to breathe into and out through the wholeness of that feeling in him as a rule, his new norm.

“I’d live inside your heart if I could,” Eddie finds himself exhaling slow, almost overcome, the words spilling on their own for wanting, for feeling this much: “I’d hold you close inside mine.”

“And here you stand, saying you have no words,” Steve whispers, leaning close, cheek to cheek as they both breathe so close their chests lie flush; they can both feel the hearts pounding beneath the other’s ribs.

“I said no such thing,” Eddie corrects brightly, but it’s so featherlight, it’s a certainty that’s nearly weightless save that it’s singlehandedly shifted his entire world:

“I said words failed the feeling,” Eddie mouths against the barest hint of Steve’s stubble; “and to that I still hold.”

And if it means exactly what it feels like: Steve holds the same.

Because the way he leans away only to dive back in to devour Eddie, relentless, passion bleeding between them so fast and full that Eddie thinks he can trace the way it bruises them both so deliciously, marks them reverent and exuberant; the way Eddie feels a sparkling coursing through his veins and sees it reflected in Steve’s eyes in the moments they’re forced to part for breath just to plunge back in again within mere moments, to drown only to better learn to breathe at all—

There are no words for this.

But the truth is undeniable that the both of them feel it.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

divider credits here and here and here

💫 ao3 link here

[everythingwasnormalhere]

actually I've been thinking about it and kenny is so disability-coded???

like, even without my chronic pain headcanon, if we only take the canon material, he's incredibly disability-coded and im not sure why nobody's mentioned it before

Ok so, first thing first, south park isn't exactly known out of its community for having the best rep of... anything, actually, but anyone who's watched the show knows it has some of the best disability representation of any piece of media. Jimmy and Timmy, neither of their characters revolve around being disabled - they don't even make much fun of it! (It's south park, they have to make fun of everything). Their characters are complex, not because they're disabled, but because the writers didn't want to make them revolve around that. And if you don't believe me, please just watch the fucking show or at least their episodes (this is however not about them so I won't say much more about them, there's some pretty cool posts on this site that talk about this in more detail if you wanna read more though)

Now, onto Kenny: Kenny is a pretty cool guy. Fandom favorite, well-known even by people who don't watch south park. And besides how he's incredibly cute (like, c'mon, you heard his little "woohoo!"?), the reason why he's so famous is simple: He dies in every episode.

(well, not every ep in the latest seasons, but at the beginning he did and that's enough for me)

You might be thinking, "hey Loki, that's cool, but I have no fucking idea where this is going". And I'll tell you: his constant deaths actively avoid him doing stuff. Dying makes him spend less time with his friends, he can't take part in their shenanigans, he's generally unable to do things due to dying 24/7. Like, hell, he spent a whole season not hanging out with the guys because he was too dead for that! His friends substituted him, and he's still less-there since that happened.

This means: the impairment 'has a substantial and long-term adverse effect on their ability to carry out normal day-to-day activities'

(because he can't carry out normal day-to-day activities when he's, you know, fucking deceased)

Also, as Kenny himself says, "'Pretty cool'? Do you know how it feels like to be stabbed, to be shot, decapitated, torn apart, burned, run over? It's not 'pretty cool' Kyle! It fucking hurts!". His deaths cause him actual, physical pain. And guess what's a disability criteria?

You guessed: they have a 'physical or mental impairment'

(it "fucking hurts", I think that's physically impairing enough)

Also, his deaths have slowed down for the last few seasons, sure, but they still happen. And this is important, because they'll probably keep happening for the rest of his life - and if not, they've already lasted long enough anyway:

A 'substantial adverse effect' means more than just a minor impact on someone's life or how they can do certain things. This may fluctuate or change and may not happen all the time.'Long-term' means either:it will affect them or is likely to affect them for at least 12 months it's likely to last for the rest of their life It can still be considered long-term if the effects come and go. For example, a fluctuating condition might affect someone for a few months at a time with other times when they're not affected.

So, yeah. Kenny, canonical Kenneth McCormick, legally qualifies as disabled. But what makes him such good rep? He's still a well-loved character, not only in spite of his disability (yes, I'm calling his deaths a disability, sue me), but also because of it. Kenny is a pretty cool guy, he's cute, he's silly, he's a goddamn perv but really respectful about it too, and he dies in every episode which is actually hilarious. And about the perv part - fuck yeah, disabled character who not only isn't asexual, but is canonically the first in his friend group to do (consensual) sexual things! He's also canonically pretty desirable, he's the 7th in the List after all (and he's not just there for the girls' benefit like Clyde, Kenny is poor asf which means they genuinely find him desirable, and probably could've ended in the top 5 had it not been rigged). He's such a cool guy, and he's also disabled, and we love him for it.

Not to talk about Mysterion & PK, whose literal powers are the things that disable Typical Kenny - which, yeah, it's a bit of inspiration porn, but it's also a huge "fuck you" to god on Kenny's side. And it's not like "hey, I rose over my disability!", the moment in which Kenny talks (complains) most about it is actually when he's playing Mysterion - or it is in the show, at least. He was given bullshit, and yet he used it on his own benefit, but that didn't make the struggle disappear in his usual life - he's still disabled, no matter how much he uses it in his own favor. And we all love him for that.

I think he's actually awesome disability rep, mostly because he's accidental representation, and yet can (and in my opinion should) be read that way. Kenny McCormick is a beloved character everywhere, and he's also canonically disabled, and I love him for it.

[lovelynim]

Intruder countermeasures

Honkai: Star Rail - Sampo & Svarog (feat. Clara)

A/N: First out of two commissions for no other than the @otomiyaa herself! Thank you so much for the trust and support, Ginny, it means a lot to me to write a commission for you!

Summary: Someone triggered the alarm system inside the Robot Settlement. Now, who could it be and how are they going to deal with them?

Word count: 1913 words

Just how hard could it possibly be?

Get into the Robot Settlement. Check.

Find the pieces and gears the client requested. Check.

Steal Borrow them for an indefinite amount of time. Check.

Get out. ….

Well, it seems like the good, old Sampo Koski found a nice challenge for himself this time, huh.  

Against what he expected from a bunch of old machines running around, the security in the Robot Settlement - especially around that big, scary manor where the little girl in red lived - was… hard to crack, to say the least. It took him a couple hours studying the best route to get in - for which he was definitely going to charge extra.

Now, if Sampo could figure out how to get in, then what’s the problem? Well, get out. Who could imagine that tinhead would have alarms against invaders all around the house? All the sorts of robots were patrolling the place, from the silliest, smallest ones to the big, threatening ones. 

Sampo, hiding behind a conveniently placed wall, peeked at the grounds in front of the manor and watched the robots walking left and right, left and right… Damn, Svarog was really prepared for anything, huh? No opening in sight, maybe it was time for Sampo to wander a little more. Maybe he would even bump into something valuable interesting enough.

Walking a little deeper into the site, Sampo carefully followed a nearby why to the zone behind the manor. Luck seemed to be on his side as no robot was spotted patrolling that part of the settlement so far. 

“My my… what do we have here..?” Sampo muttered quietly, peeking again as he reached another safe spot. Svarog, the so-called and feared tinhead, and the little girl in red, Clara. Maybe this was some sort of playground for the girl, Sampo thought, still not sure what kind of thing she did with all those gears and screws scattered around, but who understands kids these days anyway?

The most logical thing to assume was that Svarog drove her here while the machinery did the patrol on the other side of the manor. Such a good guardian, huh?

Sampo leaned against the nearby wall, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. If he could make it past those two, he would be out of the manor’s ground - but why did it have to be those two?

He sighed, feeling defeated by Svarog’s security system. A loud, long sigh that slowly dragged itself out of his throat. Also, a mistake.

As soon as the air left his mouth, Sampo could hear a faint metallic sound coming from where he last saw Svarog and Clara standing. However, when he turned his eyes back to said spot, they were nowhere to be seen.

Uh oh.

“Target located,” Svarog’s heavy, deep robotic voice announced seconds before his hand crashed into the wall. Sampo widened his eyes as the hit missed his face by barely a couple inches - he didn’t even want to think about what that would’ve felt like if it did land. Well, he didn’t have time either.

Thanks to Gepard’s endless chasings, Sampo managed to develop quite the agility when it came to avoiding blows - still, this was not the best scenario to put them into test. “W-woah, careful that, you could hurt someo-wOAH!”

Sampo gasped as Svarog almost hit him again. “Target ‘Threat Index’ undetermined. Stay back, Clara,” the robot commanded, his free hand in front of the girl.

“I-I’m not a threat!” Sampo wheezed, desperately waving his hands in front of his chest, hoping it would appease the angry robot dad. “I’m just your good ol’ pal, S-Sampo Koski!” He spoke in a hurry, his words barely understandable under the fear in his voice.

Svarog didn’t seem to be convinced, though. Before Sampo could even have another chance to speak, he swayed his hand at him again and, this time, managed to push him against the nearby wall. Svarog’s palm was large enough to pin Sampo’s body against the surface behind him, making the mercenary gasp - half in pain and half in shock at how fast Svarog could be despite how big he was.

“Commence annihilation.”

…What?

Sampo widened his eyes as he saw Svarog lift his other hand and spread his fingers. The cannon within his palm charged at an alarming rate and, no matter how much he kicked or squirmed, he could free himself.

Was this the end of the good ol’ Sampo Koski?!

As Sampo prepared himself for the worst and closed his eyes shut, all he could hear besides the machinery in Svarog’s body running was a panicked, yet firm command.

“Svarog, s-stop it!” Clara pleaded, tugging at Svarog’s leg. And so he did.

“Clara, stand back. I couldn’t confirm the intruder’s intentions. It can be dangerous,” Svarog explained calmly, turning his attention to the girl, but making sure to not ease his grip in the slightest.

As stubborn as her robot dad, Clara shook her head. Her cheeks were a little flushed, as if she was just about to cry. “N-no! I don’t want to see you hurting someone!”

Sampo nearly cried along with the girl as he heard those words. Yay, he was saved!

“The intruder could harm you, Clara. I can not let them go,” Svarog insisted, his head turning back to Sampo with that threatening, but faint red light coming from his ‘eye’. “They need to be ‘taught a lesson’, so they won’t come back.”

“C-can’t we teach him some other way?” Clara muttered, still clinging at Svarog’s leg with teary eyes. “Without hurting him?”

Svarog didn’t answer and, if his face could express emotions like humans, he would probably look half confused, half concerned. Sampo pawed at the large, metallic hand keeping him place, but Svarog didn’t lower his guard yet. “In what way should we deal with the intruder? What do you propose, Clara?”

“Hmm, m-maybe…” Clara hummed, looking at Sampo and then back at Svarog. Something that would leave the message, but wouldn’t hurt? “T-tickle him!” She beamed, remembering the times when the kids in Boulder Town would decide their the one to lead the Moles’ squad through a tickle fight. Surely adults could solve their problems like that, without needing violence, right?

Sampo, on the other hand, didn’t look at the suggestion as brightly as Clara did. Svarog wouldn’t consider something like that, right?

Wrong.

Carefully wrapping his fingers around his body, Svarog picked Sampo up and brought him down to the ground. With his massive strength, pinning both his arms above his head with a single hand wasn’t a big deal.

“E-eh? Wait a second, C-Clara, darling, can you tell your d-”

“Understood,” Svarog sadly coldly, his attention turning back to the man he had pinned underneath him. Sampo gulped.

Getting tickled certainly sounded better than getting blasted into pieces, but Sampo wasn’t sure if he should be thankful yet. Did Svarog even know how to tickle someone? Or would he have his bones crushed one by one by the giant robot dad?

The answers for those questions soon came into his mind. Clara watched attentively as Svarog moved his free hand and began to knead Sampo’s side and stomach. A crooked smile took place in Sampo’s face while he started to squirm and kick his legs. Yes, it tickled. And tickled a lot.

“B-be careful, mr. Svarog. Just tickle, don’t hurt him,” Clara instructed and Sampo nearly told her to shut up, but the last bits of sense he had told him to keep quiet.

“Understood,” was Svarog’s simple answer as his cold, metallic fingers continued to prod and wiggle against Sampo’s body, testing out his reactions and studying where it would work the best. “Target’s heartbeat frequency increased. Suspicion: embarrassment.”

“H-hehey! That’s- agh, c-cohohome on!” Sampo grunted, his cheeks quickly turning red as he fought the urge to laugh with all the bits of strength he had. His eyes widened as Svarog moved his hand down to his hips. “W-waitwaitwahaHAHA, NOHOHOHOH!!”

Clara nearly jumped from her spot as Sampo bursted in loud, uncontrolled laughter. Well, that was the sign that Svarog was, indeed, listening to her, right? “I-I think you got him, mr. Svarog!”

“Target’s reaction: positive,” Svarog announced, his analysis bringing new results into this system and allowing him to tell which method worked - or, better saying, tickled - the best.

There barely was any room for Sampo to complain about the coldness of Svarog’s hand or about how rough a touch or two were. As expected of a machine, his tickling was meticulous and every move felt like it was calculated. From the way he kneaded into his sides, to the repetitive pokes all around his stomach and, of course, to the squeezing and pinching over his exposed waist and hips.

It was not like Sampo could see it clearly, but Clara had a relaxed look on her face. Svarog managed to find a way to deal with the intruder without harming him. How amazing! Still, all Sampo could feel and see was an ominous figure that was surely going to tickle him into his very death. 

Choking between a laugh and the other, Sampo planted his heels into the ground. With teary eyes and flushed cheeks, he shook his head left and right, thrashing as much as Svarog’s pinning allowed him to. “PLEHEHEHEASE!!” He wheezed, the air barely making it into his lungs before he laughed again. “I’M SOHOHORRY!! I SWEHEHEAR!!”

Svarog didn’t even consider those words, as if they were unknown to his system. He looked to the side, gazing at Clara. “Unable to determine if the target is lying or not. Heart rate too unstable to consider. Your assistance is required, Clara,” Svarog pointed out, almost casually, while his hand continued to wreak havoc.

“M-me?” She chirped, clenching her little hands in front of her chest. “You want me… to help you t-”

“No,” Svarog promptly interrupted, not giving her a chance to even consider it, “it can be dangerous, don’t approach the target,” his eye then turned back to Sampo, that now terrifying, but dim red light pointing straight into his laughing face. “Do you believe the target tells the truth?”

“I D-DO! AHAhaha, plehehease!! I’m truhuhully sohoHOHORRY!!” Sampo cackled, having to almost squeeze his words out of his throat to make sure they would be heard through all the laughter.

“A-ahm, I… I think he did learn his lesson,” Clara smiled, a sense of getting the job done filling her heart. “You can stop now, mr. Svarog. Thank you,” she said, nodding shyly.

Again, listening to Clara and Clara only, Svarog stepped back. Sampo’s body went limp on the cold floor, his head spinning as he still had to come down from his high. “T-tha- ahh… t-thank you… I t-though… haaah, I was d-done fohohor…”

“Warning: further attempts of trespassing will be punished accordingly. Leave at this moment, intruder,” Svarog ordered, coldly, taking his place in front of Clara and holding his hand out in front of her.

“I-I will! I swear!” Sampo cried, prostrating himself in front of Svarog and Clara, hoping to convince them he was going to ‘behave’ this time. When the two didn’t oppose his plea, Sampo understood it was the time to flee as fast as he could.

The components his client wanted? Screw those, he would try to look for a phony to deliver instead.

Stealing from the Robot Settlement? Never again!

[theamberfist]

Sink or Swim Part 2 | Stolas x Reader

Romantic! Stolas x Swim Instructor! Reader

Description: When Stolas is busy, Stella must take Octavia to her swim lessons instead; which no one is very happy about.

(Notes:) (gender neutral reader) (reader is a sinner) (reader is young Octavia's swim teacher) (Part 2 of Sink or Swim)

Words: 2,488

Read part 1 here

"We're going to be late!" Octavia called as she tugged on the taller owl's hand. "Mommy, come on!" 

Stella rolled eyes but followed after her daughter, who was practically dragging her to the pool. For the owlet's sake, she kept her frustration about the situation inside for now. After all, swim lessons had never been her idea, so it peeved her that she was now the one having to deal with them because of Stolas.

The prince would have attended in her place like usual if not for some work-related obligation that had come up. And, since the pool had a rule that required a parent to be present for all lessons, Stella had been forced to perform the responsibility in his absence until he got back. He'd promised to be as quick as possible, hoping to show up before the lesson ended, but she highly doubted that would happen. 

Finally, they reached the building and headed inside, where the imp at the front desk immediately recognized Octavia and checked them in. Stella helped her into her swim suit, thankful that the little girl was at least old enough now that she wouldn't have to get in the water with her.

Stella couldn't understand the point anyway. It wasn't as if any of them used the pool they had at the house, and she would hardly have been caught dead getting her feathers wet, anyway. She didn't know why Stolas insisted on keeping Via enrolled in her lessons these last couple years, but it seemed it was just another reason for her to hate him. 

Finally, she and Octavia made their way onto the pool deck, where the little owlet instantly recognized her swim teacher and grinned from ear to ear. She called your name and then let go of her mother's hand; taking off running for the water. 

"By all means, run." Stella mumbled sarcastically. You turned around, smiling but reminding the girl not to run. She slowed her pace but continued going over to you. 

"Good to see you again, Octavia." You smiled before pulling yourself out of the water you'd been waiting in. When you noticed Stella, rather than Stolas following behind her, a look of slight surprise appeared on your face. There was a flash of disappointment in your eyes, too, before you quickly put on a smile and took a step forward, extending your hand to her.

"Hi, I'm-" She cut you off.

"I do not care," she informed you with a wave of her hand, "Just get on with it. You're lucky we didn't skip this lesson entirely." You retracted your hand at that; smile faltering.

"Alright..." You could only assume that this must have been Stolas' wife from the way he'd described her to you before. She was even worse than you expected, but you had little time to dwell on it as Octavia gently tapped your leg. 

"Can we get in the water?" She asked excitedly, "I wanna show Mama what I can do!" Your smile returned at that and you nodded, leading her back to the side of the pool as her mother collapsed on a nearby pool chair.

Sighing, you hopped in the pool and then turned to help the little owl after you. She was even more eager than usual to be in the water, and you assumed it had to do with the excitement of a different parent having accompanied her; though you could hardly share her sentiment. 

Once she was in the pool and holding onto the side, you started her on her usual drills. Since you'd been working with Octavia since she was an infant, you were well aware of her strengths and weaknesses, as well as her favorite activities when it came to your lessons. She chatted on as you two worked, telling you about whatever came to her mind, and you felt glad she'd gotten so comfortable with you over time. 

"Daddy's working today so Mommy brought me instead," she went on to explain as you two sat on the wall doing more kick drills now. 

"I saw." You smiled down at her, trying to keep the positive energy you knew was so necessary for teaching kids. 

"But he said maybe he'll be able to come to the end of the lesson," Octavia explained, "So maybe they can both watch me then!" You grinned and then pushed yourself into the water before turning to her.

"I'm sure he'll try his best to make it." And, if you were being honest, you hoped you were right. Stolas' company at these lessons was something you thoroughly enjoyed. He would always chat with you before and afterwards, and had such insightful thoughts that you constantly looked forward to his and his daughter's weekly classes. 

Stella, on the other hand, was thoroughly uninterested in what her daughter was up to; her eyes trained on her phone as she lounged on the pool chair. Considering she'd shown up in a full gown, you assumed she didn't find herself in places like this often, and therefore, did not care what you taught Octavia so long as you left her alone.

The owlet seemed to notice this because a frown appeared on her face. When you took her in your arms and began helping her with her front glides, she called out to her mother on the deck.

"Mommy, look at me!"

Stella's eyes never left her phone. "That's nice, Via." She replied. Unfortunately for her, though, her child was smarter than she seemed to give her credit for and her frown deepened. 

"You aren't looking!" She exclaimed sadly as you reminded her to kick her legs. Stella rolled her eyes before glancing up for a second and then returning to her phone. 

"You're doing great." She said dismissively. Octavia looked a little sad so you quickly stepped in to cover.

"She's right; you're doing great," you told the girl with a reassuring smile, "Can you look down at the bottom of the pool? See if there are any runaway fish down there I need to catch." Octavia giggled at that but obliged anyway and put her face down in the water to check for said fish. 

After a moment, she looked back up with a bright smile. "No fish!" She exclaimed happily and you smiled back at her.

"None? Are you sure?" You asked cheerfully and she looked down again for good measure. Finally, she raised her head again. 

"No fish!" You giggled and she did the same as you finally brought her into the wall. 

"Well, thank you for checking!" You told her, "I'm glad we don't have any loose fish today." You placed her on the wall again where she checked to see if Stella had bene watching.

As expected, she hadn't. Octavia's smile immediately dropped and she turned back to you with a sad expression. Feeling pressure to keep her happy, you quickly spoke up. "How about we work on your back float again, hmm?" You suggested. She nodded slowly before letting you support her back and leaning into your hold. 

"Lay back like you're sleeping in bed," you reminded her, "and look to see if any fish are in the sky!"

"The sky?" She asked through giggles and you nodded.

"Yep! Sometimes they like to swim around up there. Watch out for Craig specifically; he'll try to splash you." Octavia laughed before bringing her head up to look at Stella again. You couldn't help but feel bad for the girl's neglect by her mother; wishing Stolas would come back to encourage her like he always did. It was so important that kids be told how proud their parents were of them; you knew that. 

"Mommy, look at me!" She called again and your heart squeezed. Stella glanced up again.

"Great, sweetie." She replied nonchalantly. This seemed to finally be enough to upset the owlet, though, because she didn't take it for an answer. 

"You aren't looking!"

"Yes I am!" Stella shouted back, angry herself now. 

"No you aren't!" Octavia replied, crossing her arms as she continued to float on her back with your support. "You're not close enough to see!" Stella rolled her eyes again but stood from her pool chair now and put her arms out as if to say 'see?' 

"Better?" She asked in a frustrated tone.

"No!" Octavia called back, "You aren't close enough!" Grumbling, Stella took a few steps closer to the pool. Before she could even ask, though, Octavia was already calling to her. "You're not close enough, Mama!" She exclaimed through slightly teary eyes that made your heart clench, "I want you to see!"

Nearly fuming now, Stella came even closer to the pool so that her feet were right by the edge now. "There, am I close enough for you n-" She couldn't even finish her sentence, though, because as she was walking towards the edge, she slipped on some water and fell back. Her back smacked into the concrete of the pool deck and then the rest of her body slid into the water. 

It was at this moment when you realized Octavia's mother likely did not know how to swim. She flailed about in the water, which was a little deeper than where you currently stood holding the owlet, and seemed to panic as the weight of her huge dress pulled her down. 

To make matters worse, the lifeguard that was currently supposed to be watching the pool while you taught your lesson was hardly paying attention. Even when you called his name, he hardly batted an eye. Sighing, you replaced Octavia so that she comfortably rested in your left arm now; the way a parent might carry their toddler around.

There was no time to put her safely on the deck if you wanted to save her mother, and it wasn't as if you could leave the girl in the water by herself yet when she had only ever ran assisted drills up to this point. So, you were left with no choice by to swim through the water and towards Stella with the little girl in your arm. 

"Mommy!" The owlet called in fear as you finally made your way over to her mother. Stella was still flailing about in the water, which was a good thing at least, since it meant she hadn't yet lost consciousness. 

Amidst all the commotion, you didn't even notice that another owl now entered the scene, coming onto the pool deck with a bright smile that immediately disappeared when he saw what was going on. Unsure what to do, he rushed over to the deck near where you and his family were, but he worried he might not reach your group in time to help. 

Finally, you reached Stella and grabbed her by the waist with your free arm, dragging her up to the surface as she continued to flail. She smacked you in the face multiple times but you didn't waver; keeping Octavia away from the path of her arms and making sure both their heads stayed above the water. 

The lifeguard finally seemed to have noticed what was going on now, because he stood from his chair as if to help, but you just glared at him; having already done most of his job in this situation. 

You reached the pool deck now, where you let go of Octavia as soon as she was holding onto the wall. Stolas reached you too, immediately taking her into his arms and out of the water as he asked if she was alright. 

You turned your attention to the still-panicking Stella now; making sure she was still breathing as you helped her to sit on the poolside. The lifeguard had grabbed a first aid kit and was coming over to you four now as you looked her over. Luckily, she seemed relatively unharmed, aside from the scare. 

"Are you alright?" You asked, "You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?" Now that she was on dry land, the owl's glare returned as she stared you down.

"No," she replied, crossing her arms, "But my dress is completely ruined! This is all your fault; you filthy sinner!" With that, she stood up from the side of the pool and stomped away, ignoring the lifeguard that tried to offer her medical attention as she passed. 

"Mama, where are you going?" Octavia called from her father's arms. Stella didn't pause.

"To get a new dress tailored!" Stella called back, glancing at you again, "And I'll be billing you for it!" Finally, she stormed through the locker rooms and out of the building as you shuddered. The lifeguard gave you a look that asked if you were okay but you just nodded and waved him off; pulling yourself out of the water. 

"I think that'll be it for our lesson today," you sighed, turning to Stolas, "I'm so sorry about that." Before he could reply, the owlet in his arms shook her head.

"It wasn't your fault; Mama fell!" She exclaimed as your expression softened. She turned back to her father now. "She needs swim lessons too." He smiled.

"I don't think your mother will be going anywhere near the water after that." He admitted and then looked to you. "But I am sure you had nothing to do with it. Stella can be quite...Easily angered." If he were being completely honest, he couldn't help but wish she hadn't been saved, but he knew you would never let that happen. "And, of course, I will not allow her to take any legal action against you; that includes her clothing expenses." You grinned.

"Thank you, Stolas." You said softly, grabbing your towel from one of the nearby pool chairs and wrapping it around yourself. "If you want to reschedule your next lessons with someone else, I understand." You would have expected him to do so, actually, but he quickly shook his head.

"No need!" He exclaimed a little too hurriedly, "Via enjoys working with you so much and I wouldn't want to uproot her over something like this!" Luckily, the little girl in his arms nodded in agreement, effectively covering for him. You smiled back.

"If that's what you want."

"It is." Stolas assured you with a grin, "It really is." There was a brief moment of silence between you both as you gazed into one another's eyes, and then the prince finally remembered where he was and what was going on as he composed himself by clearing his throat. 

"A-anyway," he spoke, "Thank you for saving my...wife." Your heart clenched at the word but you nodded.

"Of course." Then, you turned to Octavia, who was still in her father's arms. "I'll see you next week!" You told her, "Then you can show your dad how much progress we made today." She grinned and nodded excitedly.

"Yeah!"

With that, you bid them both farewell and watched as Stolas carried his daughter out of the pool building. Somehow, as he left, it felt as if a part of your heart went with him. 

[dr1lldash]

venture x medic!reader 1.4k, pure fluff (pls note i have not written in years and wrote this in like an hour bc i cannot stop thinking about them)

You met Sloan on a dig in Cairo. You were a medic, which was a relatively easy job with the Wayfinders. The dozen or so crew members were usually careful, the keyword being usually.

You were sitting in your tent, triple checking your supplies when you heard footsteps rapidly approaching. You barely had time to turn to the tent flap when it was whipped open.

“I’m fine, I swear!” someone protests as they’re pushed inside. “It’s just a little bump on the noggin!”

“Sloan, you passed out for almost a minute. You can come back as soon as (Y/N) gives you the all-clear, but not until then. If it’s really just a little bump, you’ll be back before the end of the day.” You recognize Carrie’s voice, but not the person she’s talking to.

“This stinks,” they mutter, kicking at the ground before looking up at you. You only had a moment to look closer at them, noticing a bruise forming on their forehead underneath a mop of curly, dark brown hair. One of their thick eyebrows is pierced, and it was slightly swollen. They look back at you for a second, unblinking, before wiping some dirt off of their face. “Uh, hi! I’m Sloan.” They stuck a hand out at you.

You look at their hand, covered in dirt, but shake it anyway. “(Y/N),” you respond. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” they insist. “I mean, I fell a little bit. But not that far! My head barely even hurts!” Your eyebrows narrow slightly in worry. You reach out and touch their forehead, barely brushing up against it, and they wince and pull back.

“This doesn’t look good,” you tell them. “Can you sit for a minute?” Sloan does as you say, almost onto the cot behind them. You turn around to grab an ice pack and some painkillers, and they look around the tent.

“It’s pretty nice in here,” they say, more thinking out loud than talking to you. “It gets so hot outside.”

“I can’t imagine that coat keeps you cool,” you respond, handing them some pills and a bottle of water. You hold the ice pack to their forehead. They wince again, but don’t pull away this time.

“No, but I’m not really outside that much. Once you’re a few meters in the dirt, it gets freezing.” They pop the pills into their mouth and swallow them with a swig of water. “Can I go back now?”

“I need to make sure you’re not concussed.” They pout slightly, letting out a sigh. “It won’t take long, I swear.”

“Okay, okay,” they concede. You ask them about symptoms, and they tell you that they’re not nauseous, lightheaded, or tired, but their head is pounding a little bit, which is to be expected from the size of the bruise that is slowly but surely still forming. Their loss of consciousness concerns you, and you have them lay down for a minute.

  “Did you eat breakfast?”

“I had a granola bar.” They pause. “Well, it was a cereal bar, technically, but it’s the same thing, right?”

“Uh, not really, but at least you got food in your stomach.” You check in your cabinet, and pull out a bag of beef jerky. “Can you eat?”

“Ooh, yeah!” They happily take the bag from you, and start munching. “Do you always have snacks in here?”

“Of course, you’d be surprised how many people don’t notice they’re hungry til they’re about to pass out.” The two of you chat about different things while they work through the bag, and when they’re done, they finish their bottle of water.

“So, am I okay to get back now?” You check the time on your watch, about an hour has passed since they came into your tent and they still seem fine.

“Yeah, but come back if you feel nauseous or anything, okay?”

“Uh-huh!” They swing themselves around so their legs are dangling off the cot before dropping to the ground. “I swear.”

“Alright.” You smile at them. “Be safe.”

They flash you a chipped-tooth grin back. “I always am! Well, usually. Bye!” They wave at you as they walk out of your tent.

You don’t see them for the rest of the day, so you assume they’re fine. The next day, however, they’re back in your tent as the sun is setting.

“Sloan, are you okay?” You’re worried as soon as they enter, but they flash you that grin again.

“Yeah, I just thought you’d miss me.” You can’t help but smile at them. “Plus, the bruise is kind of killing me. Can I have some painkillers?” You glance at their forehead, and their bruise is turning a deep purple. It’s normal, it should be expected, but it doesn’t look comfortable, especially with their goggles pressing on it.

“Of course, but you shouldn’t take them on an empty stomach.”

You turn to grab painkillers and a granola bar for them, but before you can, they ask, “So we should grab dinner?” You’re not sure why you’re slightly surprised, but you agree. So you can make sure they’re not having any concussion symptoms, of course.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You beam at them. You hand them the painkillers and the two of you walk out of your tent, towards the bonfire next to where the kitchen staff have set up. You tell them to sit as you grab plates full of food for the both of you, and by the time you get back to them, they’re twiddling their thumbs and watching the fire.

“Thank you!” They grin up at you as you hand them their plate, quickly digging in. They bounce their leg ever so slightly as they eat, leaving the two of you in a comfortable silence. You can hear the conversations of the rest of the crew around you, more murmurs than anything else. When the two of you are done eating, Sloan takes your plates back to the kitchen staff to be washed. You sit, looking at the slowly dying fire, and you’re slightly surprised when they come back to sit with you.

“Do you like ice cream?” You’re not sure what you expected to come out of their mouth, but it isn’t that. “I asked the kitchen staff to keep some safe for me, and I wanna share. I-if you want it, of course.”

The heat in Cairo has been getting to you the past several days, and even though the night was cold, the heat from the bonfire leaves you sweating. “That sounds perfect right now.” They stand up, holding a hand out to you.

“Follow me!” You take their hand, following them as they practically run to the kitchen staff’s trailer. You’ve been inside a few times, only to restock on water and snack foods, but Sloan seems to know where everything is. They grab bowls and spoons before dishing out a generous serving of vanilla ice cream. “I would usually bring a couple flavors, but they told me they didn’t have room this time.”

Sloan hands one of the bowls to you, digging into their own as soon as their hand is free. “Ugh, this is so good,” they practically moan. You take a spoonful, letting the cream melt in your mouth before swallowing it.

“I honestly can’t remember the last time I had plain vanilla.”

“What? But it’s the best flavor!”

You shake your head. “Strawberry.”

They tilt their head from side to side like a see-saw. “Hm, okay, I’ll concede to strawberry. Rocky road, too.”

“It’s been years since I had rocky road.”

“I’ll get you some once we’re done with the expedition.” They freeze as they bring their spoon up to their mouth. “I mean, if you want to. And if you can. I don’t want to assume -”

You interrupt them. “That sounds great, Sloan.” They continue eating their ice cream, a content smile on their face as a soft blush spreads on their cheeks.

“It’s a date,” they mutter. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it, but you’re glad you did. Once the two of you finish your ice cream, they clean the bowls and spoons and put them away.

They take you back to your tent, the two of you being as quiet as possible. You’re not sure how much time had passed, but it seems like everyone else had already gone to bed. They grab your hand and squeeze it for just a second, smiling warmly as they wish you goodnight.

When you crawl into your sleeping bag, there’s a smile that won’t fade and a warm feeling in your stomach.

[r0tt0nmagg0ts]

Very excited to see your page grow ! 🤍 sorry for the long request 😣😣❕

Can i request a Daryl x fem!reader where the reader’s whole love language was cooking for people before everything went to shit? But because to the outbreak and where they ran from place to place.. she just could never make anything and because lack of ingredients which sort of kills her morale.

However, when they’re staying at Alexandria.. One day she gets one look at their pantry and is strangely super excited and very much productive for the whole afternoon. Which causes confusion among the group because “woah reader is rlly happy, wonder what’s up.” And it’s because she can finally cook the food she loved to make and it’s now time for Daryl to test-taste each and every single dish made all with her love 🤍 .

Just some wholesome fluffiness bc i personally imagine Daryl had like food made by someone for him. He deserves the best as he just eats everything up bc its made with all of our love 🤍🤍🤍

Hello!!! I think this is an amazing idea! Can I just say that I’ve found my people 🤧

Here’s to my first X Reader on here 🥂

Warning: Talks about food/ fluff/ killing walkers (normal TWD stuff)

HOPE YALL ENJOY❤️

You a chef or something’?

For as long as you could remember, you always loved to cook for the people closest to you.

You would make them their favorite foods and the look on their faces when they would take that first bite was enough to make your entire day.

But when everything happened, cooking food that actually tasted good was the least of your concern, breaking your little chef heart. But when you walked into Alexandria for the first time and saw the plethora of food they had, your heart practically sung.

“What type of herbs do you have?”

“Just about everything, basil, thyme, rosemary, paprika. You name it we probably have it.”

“Where did you get all of them?” You said with a little giggle in your throat.

“Out scavenging, this area used to be a huge neighborhood so there was lots of herbs and seasonings that were left behind”

You were so excited for all of the possibilities! You could make so many different foods and you can now FINALLY show off to everyone how much you loved to cook. But there was one person who you especially wanted to impress.

He sat outside of the house cleaning his bow you and Rick’s group had decided to stay in until you could trust these new people.

You walked up to the house with a huge basket of cans, herbs, seasonings, and just whatever you could put into a meal.

“What gotcha all skipping down the street like a child?” the bowman said with his southern twang, an accent you been hearing since you joined the group back at the quarry.

“Just some herbs and seasonings”

“Whatcha gonna use tha for?”

“Uh, cooking?” You said in a questionable tone.

“Do you want me to cook you something?”

“Nah, you don’ gotta do tha. Whatcha gonna make with all of those anyway?”

“I have lots of ideas on what to make, you know it’s been a while since I cooked, maybe you could come inside and taste everything?”

Daryl gave it a second of thought, but in his normal gruff voice “Fine, but you gotta cook what I ask for”

“Okay!”

Ever since you first met Daryl and the quarry you always thought he was a hard working man. Always went out and got food. He was a survivor, a man the world couldn’t take down no matter what it threw to him.

When he saved you after the walkers invaded the camp, you began to not just think he was a cool guy but also to have a sense of respect for him.

“What do you want me to cook you?”

“Well, I got this squirrel that I plan of skinning, be nice to do somethin with it.”

And that got you thinking. “Maybe we could do a stew, or a baked squirrel, or maybe-“ “Woah, calm down ther’ just make a stew that’ll be simple enough all righ’?”

“Okay, a stew. Hmm.” You go inside the house and walk to the kitchen placing down the basket, and you start looking at the seasonings, and vegetables in your basket. You pick out the cucumber, carrots, squash, flour, and eggs “How many squirrels do you have?”

“I got five”

“Okay, I can make a broth from the squirrels and make a minestrone soup”

“The hell is a minestrone soup?” “It’s a soup from Italy, filled with vegetables.”

“Well okay, tell me when it done”

You gave him a big smile and turned around to get started on this soup, you had Daryl skin the squirrels for you, you baked the squirrel and toon of the meat, then placed the meat in a bag and put it in the fridge for the stew. You then got the bones and some meat from the squirrel, put it in a pot filled with garlic, carrots, onions, and you put it to the top of the got with water. Then you let it cook on the stove top for HOURS.

The next day you strained the broth and started on the soup. You chopped up the vegetables and you made the pasta. Using the flour and eggs you used 3 parts flour, and 2 parts egg. You than mixed with your hands and used a rolling pin to flatten it out. Daryl than came up to you to check what you were doing “Why ya just now startin tha?” “I had to make the broth, that took all night.”

“Ya didn’t have to do tha it justa soup I woulda had you make me somethin else if I knew it would take that long.”

“Don’t be an ass Daryl I’m doing this because I care.”

“But why do you care, why do ya care about the way food tastes n all tha, it jus ment for ya to survive.”

“I know, but mankind invented art, and I believe cooking is an art. You deserve some good food after everything you do, just let me show that I care.”

“Fine, just stop being philosophical.”

“That a big word even for you Mr. Dixon.” You joked.

He just scoffed and walked away. ‘Finally some peace to myself’ you thought. You loved that man you do but sometimes he can just get in your nerves. But you know he’s an ass out of love.

One hour later, the soup is finally now just simmering in the pot. You decided it would be a good idea to make a cake because you think Daryl might appreciate it for taking so long to cook the soup.

You ran down to the little ‘Grocery store’ they had down the street and picked up some sugar, butter, and vanilla flavoring.

You devoted to them start on the cake, also making your own butter crème frosting. After two hours, everything was perfect.

You decided to set up the table and piped open a glass of red wine.

“Daryl ! Dinners ready!”

Daryl walked slowly into the house to see you dressed in a beautiful floral summer dress and some fake pearl earrings from the mall back when you were in the quarry.

“Wha’ with all this?” He asked not knowing how to react. All he knew was this beautiful woman whom he adored had made him a meal that smelled sweeter than anything else.

“I thought you would enjoy it, so I decided to get some wine, and the nicest bowl I could find”

“Well, tha’ sweet of ya, wish I dressed up a bit more now.”

Daryl was wearing what he usually does, his t-shirt with his beautiful arms showing, with his angel wing vest and his cargo pants with boots.

“You look just fine Daryl, not like we have many clothes anyway.”

Daryl silently agreed and sat down

You served him the soup with a slice of buttered Italian bread and a glass of wine.

You sat yourself across from him and Daryl instantly started to eat.

“Oh wow-“ Daryl’s face looked as if he had never eaten before.

“This the best soup I ever had”

“Are you messing with me?” Daryl had never really given many compliments to anybody, so him saying so ment a lot.

“I’m serious, the carrots are nice, ion think I ever had squash before so that new.”

“Aw well thank you Daryl”

“Nah thank you, so tell me sunshine” and nickname he had given to you that just made your heart flutter.

“Why is cooking so important to ya?”

“I think it just the feeling that, I can make people happy, that I could make them something and they would enjoy it.”

“Mm” he replied nodding.

After dinner you and Daryl had a slice of the cake you had decided to bake last minute, he also said that the cake was and I quote “Fucking amazing”.

You two decided to hang out and talk while you both cleaned up the kitchen.

“Hey Daryl.”

“Ya what’s up sunshine?”

“Do you think I could cook for you more often? I mean I hope you liked it”

“Woman, I loved your cooking, imma be coming over every nigh’ now.”

You were so happy to hear that, Daryl actually loved your cooking. You felt so happy you couldn’t hold back your smile, making your face a bit red.

Daryl smiled and continued wiping down the table.

After that you decided to go to bed, Daryl had decided to as well, but he slept downstairs still.

You kissed him a goodnight kiss on his cheek and walked up stairs. Thinking about the day, Daryl fell asleep with a smile on his face excited for what tomorrow will bring.

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THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!!!!! So sorry if it shitty but thank you all for reading my first x reader on this app 🤧 ❤️

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Slowly but surely replying to older asks. I say it every time but I mean it: thank you for being patient.

One ask about Shroudcest and one ask about Rookvil today!

Anonymous asked:

Imagine imagine imagine.

Cause this is funny to me.

Someone's flirting with Idia, yeah? (or just talking to him, not even flirting) (well, I guess it'd be a one sided conversation....)

And Ortho was off doing whatever and he comes back and he notices-

And he gets all angry and whatnot-

And Ortho's got instant connections to the internet-

And he figures out who the person is and basically destroys their social life.

Like, in the middle of this conversation, this person checks their phone and finds out all their friends have ditched them and their entire online life is up in flames.

Simply because Ortho got a little jealous.

Anon, this is so unbelievably easy to imagine lol Despite Ortho really wanting his precious Idia to have more friends and connections, he is much more jealous than he thought! And much more of a little shit than people think… We really love this kind of scenario for them, to be honest.

Ortho is way too powerful for how emotionally unstable he is! Rogue little yandere robot :( His niisan is his and his only! That poor guy probably just wanted to talk about homework or something trivial like that…

Anonymous asked:

the rook hate be crazy, sorry for the nonsense you’ve been dealing with for doing nothing wrong. anyway rookvil appreciation hours. rook is so observant and reverent that he’s always looking out for his queen and vil is just a bit tsun lol but i love how vulnerable vil is with rook. like the lines implying vil has cried in front of rook before, that they sleep in the same bed, rook knows vil’s family situation, vil commenting on rook’s thighs in beanfest implicitly meaning he spends a lot of time looking at them lol, rook has access to vil’s room and waits for vil… as much as i love savanaclaw rook and mourn his loss everyday, he willingly changed himself to be worthy of being by vil’s side via his own free will; vil did not MAKE him do anything they just talked a lot. my mans is more whipped than heavy cream. idk about you but rook mentions he struggled to feel or express emotions before he knew about theater (specifically neige but let’s ignore that for vil’s sanity lol) so it feels significant that rook obviously feels and emotes so strongly over vil (also something something ortho struggles to feel or express himself before movies and acting so what i’m getting at here is they should spitroast vil at least once lmao.) if it was revealed they’re canonically dating the only part i’d be surprised about is that it got through disney’s censors.

It’s okay, Anon. The whole thing kind of made us appreciate Rook and RookVil more, to be honest lol I sketched them for a couple of days nonstop after that whole thing happened.

It also made you write this ask! It took me some time to reply, but every time I was rereading it I smiled because god this is such a good ship. Everything that you’ve listed is just so… wonderful. All those interactions, all this connection, all those moments that imply their closeness that is on a much deeper level than we get to see. Sometimes when these two talk, it feels like we’re eavesdropping lol they just have this vibe to them, as if every dialogue has some additional context that we don’t quite get.

Vil’s comment about Rook’s thighs and him bulking up though lol poor Epel didn’t know what to make of it and probably didn’t want to think about it…

You’ve made such a good point about Vil being more vulnerable with Rook, and I think this vulnerability is very important. Vil feels like someone who probably doesn’t usually allow people to get very close to him, but once he lowers his guard for someone, that person becomes very special to him. Or I guess it’s the other way around… anyways, he trusts Rook enough to always have him by his side, and he probably vents his frustrations with the industry and anything else that troubles him to Rook the most.

And this trust isn’t one-sided: I feel like Rook trusts Vil a lot too. We know that he has a lot of secrets, and even Vil probably doesn’t know a whole lot about his upbringing and stuff, but he certainly knows more than other people + listens carefully enough to understand implications without prying into it too much. They give each other enough space in general, I guess? I know it sounds funny considering Rook’s whole stalking thing but lol their connection is special. They learn from each other and from what they have together.

It makes sense that one person that Vil trusts so much and loves so much is a weird theater nerd who doesn’t quite understand tact, but is very honest, supportive and genuinely passionate and loving. It makes sense that one person that Rook trusts so much and loves so much is an obsessive perfectionist that takes care of him, enables him and inspires him every day. Both of them are kind of insufferable, but they are the perfect type of “insufferable” to each other lol And yeah, let’s not forget about the power of knowing all the obscure theater/film references the other one makes!

I also absolutely agree that it wouldn’t be surprising at all if it was confirmed that they are dating lol The only surprising thing really would be the fact that Disney allowed it.

[starhvney]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: garroth, laurance, dante, travis, zane, vylad, blaze, daniel, dottie, katelyn, lucinda, nana, & cadenza

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, slice of life, headcanons on the characters on a beach vacation!

𝐂𝐖: none!

𝐀/𝐍: justice for not including the zvahl siblings during love love paradise or starlight in mys, rip you guys would’ve loved a beach vacation. anyways it’s summer guys! i’m not even a huge fan of summertime but i kind want to go to the beach?? so weird cause i’m totally a zane when i’m at the beach

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

☆ if it’s a surfable beach, he’s going straight out to the waves

☆ i mean, look at him, he looks like the classic surfer boy from the 2000s

☆ gets really excited if you surf too or want him to teach you

☆ he comes back to slam down some sandwiches before he tries to run back out. you have to pull him back and restrain him to put on more sunscreen and let his food digest.

☆ he always wants to stay or at least come back to watch the sunset over the ocean. it’s the best part!

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

☆ also goes out to surf with garroth, but he’s not as good so he comes back to shore sooner than garroth does

☆ he’s the guy you go to for getting good beach pics, he just has that good artistic eye

☆ he actually prefers going out to the beach in the evening/at night, loves shell hunting and walking along the boardwalk when everyone is quietly fishing or minding their business. plus the weather is cool! he loves how peaceful it is.

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄

☆ this freakin goober 

☆ bro will purposefully let the ball out frisbee fall into the direction of groups of people he wants to talk or flirt with because so he can have an excuse to strike up a conversation

☆ when he gets bored he will be nagging everyone to go eat at the seafood restaurant “it’s like a five minute walk from here and i’m hungry guys, come on!”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

☆ professional swimmer here! well, not really, but he was really good at it in highschool! he competed and everything. someone always has to swim out and yell at him to not go out too far, cause he’s always trying to swim out to the third sandbar by himself

☆ comes back and his face and shoulders/back are always more tan because the sunscreen wore off and he was swimming all the time. (not the pale leg combo, is this just as bad as a farmer’s tan?)

☆ comes back starved from using all of his energy swimming and trying not to drift away from where you guys are on shore, ends upp eating too many sandwiches and everyone gets mad at him cause there aren’t enough

𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐄

☆ lathers himself in lotion and sunscreen and is either staying under the umbrella or dunking himself into the water

☆ he’s really not a fan of the beach, he’d rather vacation in the mountains or something like that, but he still goes since everyone else is going

☆ he just hates the humidity, the texture of the sand, and the stickiness of the salt water. it’s just not his thing

☆ he keeps how miserable he is to himself, but the silly little grumpy pout on his face says everything

☆ like someone get him a drink with a lil spike to it please the poor boy looks like he’s on the verge of death

☆ he’ll enjoy himself a lot more if you give him a sweet treat or if everyone goes to the pool after (except for the…incident)

𝐕𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐃

☆ so chill. he’s such a great guy to lounge with

☆ brings a book to read or a sketchbook, loves to sketch the different kinds of people on the beach and what they’re doing. (major people watcher)

☆ something about everyone else being busy and him being there so calm makes it so easy to get into a deep conversation with him, you two could talk for hours and not even realize the time has passed

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄

☆ oh my gosh

☆ he’s all over the place

☆ wants to build a sandcastle! no, wait, that’s too boring! wants to play frisbee! dang it, he threw it too hard and now he’s running through the ocean like a madman trying to get it back from the waves! shell hunting? nah, he’s gonna race that person’s dog down the shoreline cause it barked at him so now he has to show him who’s boss!

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 

☆ sandcastle building king

☆ spends the whole time dedicated to building the most extravagant castle, hauls a huge bucket of the sand molders and starts digging a moat immediately

☆ someone has to come regularly just spray him down with sunscreen cause he’ll forget the world around him and most definitely get burnt

☆ you might pull him away from building if you offer him a sandwich

☆ eventually you may learn that just bringing an extra umbrella and putting it over where he’s building is the best option

𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄

☆ she wants to be at the beach to play, not relax!

☆ beach volleyball? she’s in until there’s no one left to compete with! (her and katelyn could compete against each other for hours) frisbee? heck yeah, she wants to play frisbee!

☆ she loves going to those outdoor showers to wash off all the sand, then is so excited and looking forward to the crazy good nap she’s going to have back at the hotel/condo/rent house. won’t wake up until everyone decides to go eat at a restaurant for dinner

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐍

☆ if you can’t find any sunscreen, you can without a doubt go to her and she will have some

☆ gets super competitive with beach volleyball

☆ if no one wants to play volleyball anymore she ventures out into the ocean and doesn’t return until it’s time to leave

☆ if you’re not scared of going out too far in the ocean, she will go out with you to where you can reach the bottom and calmly jump over the larger waves. she could do it all day

☆ she’s another person you have a good bonding talk with while chilling out in the ocean, she opens up to you and you learn stuff you had no idea she had even experienced before

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀

☆ opposite of katelyn, has hawaiian tropic tanning oil on her at all times

☆ doesn’t go into the ocean unless she’s ready to go straight to shower off. can’t stand the sticky feeling of salt water and then going back into the sand

☆ is the one who brings the speaker, and she has such a good beach playlist

☆ sunbathes and sips on a drink the whole time, queen really enjoys herself

☆ she goes to whatever nearby beach bar there is to order the drinks that come in pineapples or coconuts and has the umbrellas in them for everyone

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀

☆ packs an entire picnic for the beach

☆ like, legit carries a full icebox with a selection of drinks and a bag full of sandwiches, chips, sweets, etc. 

☆ is obsessed with seashell hunting! she gets so excited when she finds large or colorful ones. she runs to everyone when she finds a conch shell telling them to listen to the ocean inside of it. brings home a small collection every time and has a box full of (mostly pink) seashells in her room.

𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐀

☆ has so many swimsuits and outfits planned

☆ if yours gets dirty or messed up she drags you to her suitcase to choose from like ten different pairs and combinations you can mix and match.

☆ makes handmade jewelry from different trinkets and shells she finds, she goes hunting for potential charms with nana

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[very-straight-blog]

TB so fast to criticize Aegon about his bastards but not *cough* someone *cough*. It would be totally understandable if he wasn't aware he had some and that it could also be possible that those are just some random dragonseeds but at the very least he had trueborn children with his wife and didn't even fantasize putting a bastard on the throne and straight up just thinking he can get away with it 😂 (and can I just say that lol, if he was aware at least he did it with people with recessive genes lol)

It's funny tho, how they turn their blind eye to all their faves fault and seem to carry T4rg entitlement with them as well like how can you say your fave will be a good ruler when she can't simply do her most important duty? 😭 And it's even crazier now that they have taken to blaming Jaehaerys for setting the precedent good lord

I'll answer both of these questions at once, because they're about the same thing. All the claims against Aegon regarding his bastards aren't entirely clear to me.

First of all, we don't know if this is his son (the boy from the ninth episode of the first season). We have no idea how often Aegon goes to this place or what he does there. The boy looks about 3-5 years old and what is he doing there anyway? Do bastards stay at the place of their conception? How did they track down who Aegon fucked a few years ago? None of this makes any sense at all. In general, Aegon could have bastards (so what?), but this particular scene in the first season was just ridiculous. We can't know anything for sure in a world where all Targaryens fuck around and there's no DNA test. Maybe he's Daemon's one, huh?

Secondly, even if this boy is Aegon's bastard, even if he has a certain number of bastards - what exactly do TB fans expect from him? He has some casual drunk sex with some women - and what's next? Does he have to keep track of his potential children in some way? For what? Do TB fans expect him to gather them all and drag them to the Red Keep? What for? I really wonder how they imagine it. I suppose, even if he ever thought about his bastards, the idea of them is present in his mind on the level of vague suspicion, no more. Most likely, he just doesn't care and I don't see any problem here.

Thirdly, we're in the Middle Ages. HE'S A PRINCE AND LATER A KING. Is it really shocking to someone that he cares more about his legitimate children than about his bastards? It's interesting. And yes - I'm going to say a terrible thought now, but affection for children doesn't come out of nowhere. Aegon takes care of Jaehaera, Jaehaerys and Maelor because he has an emotional connection with them, as well as with Helaena, their mother. He can't start loving some random children from complete strangers just like that.

[silvrash-797]

Hey Ash! Here’s my little gift fic for you for the baby shower— it isn’t much, but I hope you like it :) congratulations again! <3

-Sky Floor

...

Twilight was not pacing.

His footsteps padded steadily across the grass, yes, and he was walking back and forth, just as he had been for... he wasn’t actually sure how long. But he wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t nervous.

A distant cry caught his ear, and Twilight couldn’t help his flinch, pressing his fingers into the skin of his palms. It was fine. Everything was fine. It had been a while, sure, and the faint noises he could hear from the house had gotten more loud and frequent, but everything was fine. He hadn’t heard anything to dispute the fact, and just because it had been hours with no sign of Time or the doctor who’d shown up, it was—

“Rancher?”

Twilight flinched again, and he turned to see Wild walk up, blond hair looking more silver in the moonlight.

“Champion,” he greeted, and Wild gave him a little smile, though it faded when a faint noise came from the farmhouse again.

“Nobody’s come out?” he asked, and Twilight shook his head, going back to his steady not-pacing.

“Not yet.”

Wild gave his head a little bob, and he leaned against one of the porch supports, watching Twilight walk back and forth. Crickets chirped somewhere nearby, and the low hoot of an owl accompanied them, but Twilight was too distracted to enjoy the night, not caring the least about the bright swirls of stars above his head, with only a faint sliver of moon joining them.

“Twilight,” Wild spoke up after a minute, eyes still following him back and forth. They always seemed a little brighter than other people’s eyes in the dark, the blues shining just a bit. Twilight had wondered once or twice if that was because of the shrine, but he certainly wasn’t going to dwell on it right now. “Maybe you should come in the barn with everyone else.”

“No thanks.”

“The captain started a game of cards,” Wild tried again. “I think Wind’s trying to get him to bet his scarf.”

“No thanks.”

Wild pursed his lips, and Twilight jumped when another faint cry came from inside, speeding his steps. He appreciated Wild trying to distract him, but he wasn’t planning on taking a single step further from the farmhouse than necessary.

A hand settled on his arm, and Twilight paused, looking over at Wild.

“Twilight, all this pacing isn’t doing any good,” he said, voice pleading. “You’re just flattening all of Time and Malon’s grass and wearing yourself out. You sure you don’t want to go play cards? Or at least head inside with everyone else?”

Twilight shook his head. “Wild, I... I can’t. That’s my ancestor being born up there, I can’t just sit around playing cards right now, it’s...”

He bit his lip, crossing his arms over his chest.

“...I don’t know how to explain it,” he said quietly, and it wasn’t a lie. He truly didn’t know how to explain to Wild that he couldn’t just walk away and try to distract himself from what was going on, not with this, not away from his family.

Wild sighed and shook his head, but he gave Twilight’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Okay. But... at least consider getting some sleep at some point?” he asked. Twilight gave him a ghost of a smile.

“At some point. I’d say I wish I knew what time it was, but I really don’t want to know.”

“I’d guess around two,” Wild said with a glance up at the sky, and Twilight sighed.

“You know, I said I didn’t want to know.”

“Well that was just a guess,” Wild shrugged, but there was mischief shining in his eyes. “Maybe it’s more like three anyway.”

Twilight groaned at the thought of it being that late, and Wild chuckled as he gave him a light elbow.

Their ribbing continued for a few minutes, and Twilight started to relax a bit, Wild doing a pretty fine job of distracting him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he ducked in the barn for a few minutes. He should probably check on everyone else anyway, he’d barely spoken to the other Links since they’d gotten here...

The door inside suddenly opened, and Twilight looked over with his nerves shooting back to their frayed state. The doctor that had shown up was standing there, face neutral, and he scanned Twilight’s face for a second, gaze catching on his markings.

“You the one they call Twilight?” he asked, and Twilight nodded. “Good. Lons want you upstairs.”

“Really?” Twilight asked hesitantly, and the doctor nodded, stroking his beard.

“Really,” he said, and smiled a bit. “Said you were family. I think they want you to meet their new baby boy.”

Twilight’s eyes went wide, and the doctor chuckled, turninv to Wild.

“Son would you help me find Malon’s father? Need to tell him the news.”

Wild nodded, then gave Twilight’s shoulder a squeeze before leading him off to where Talon had been nervously holed up in the barn with the rest of them.

Twilight swallowed as they walked away, then went inside.

He crept through the silent living room and then upstairs, taking care to be quiet as he walked down the hall and towards Time and Malon’s room. Twilight hesitated before gently knocking, and then pushed open the door when he heard Time’s voice saying he could come in.

It was dim in the room, but plenty bright enough to see. Malon lay propped up with pillows, looking exhausted in bed, and Time sat beside her, looking at least as tired as she did. Seeing her okay made Twilight’s heart calm a bit, but the thing that really drew his focus was the tiny bundle in between them.

Twilight swallowed. It was so small...

“Hey Twilight,” Malon said as he slipped in, giving him a tired smile. Her voice was more worn than he’d ever heard it, but coated in happiness.

“Hi Miss Malon,” Twilight greeted back, his voice soft. He hadn’t actually seen her since they’d arrived at the ranch yesterday. “How are you doing?”

“Exhausted, but I expected that. It’s nice to see you again,” she smiled. “I’m glad you boys came when you did.”

“We certainly timed it well,” Time said with a smile of his own, and Twilight let out a nervous laugh. Time pressed a kiss to Malon’s hair, and she hummed, closing her eyes for a moment.

The look on Time’s face wasn’t one that Twilight saw very often— a more intense version of the loving look he would make when speaking about Malon. At the moment it was even more intense, filled with something soft and protective and fierce and loving.

He felt a brief pang as he thought what would become of that look in the future, but he was interrupted by Malon catching his eye.

“Twilight? You want to meet him?” she asked softly, and Twilight swallowed, then stepped over to the bed. Malon held out the little bundle, and Twilight carefully took it, his hands steady despite their trembling.

He’d held babies before, plenty of times, and knew just how to cradle heads and support their necks, but this... this was different. This was his ancestor.

Family.

Twilight swallowed and looked down at the baby in his arms.

He really was tiny, though maybe it just seemed that way in Twilight’s relatively large arms. Twilight had never seen a truly newborn baby before either, and he was a little surprised at how red and scrunched up he seemed, a tiny dash of reddish hair on his head. He looked almost more like a tomato than a baby.

Twilight ran a gentle thumb along his cheek, and the baby yawned, a tiny hand catching his finger and holding on. Something in Twilight’s chest melted and then turned into mush, and he immediately knew he would do anything for this kid.

“Hey buddy,” Twilight whispered, and the baby made an almost squeaking sound. “I guess you’re my however-greats grandad, huh?”

The baby squeaked again, eyes slitting open just a little, and Twilight caught a glimpse of brilliant blue, a mix between Time and Malon’s, almost as bright as Wild’s. Twilight held him closer, and was glad nobody except Time and Malon saw the tear that snuck past his defenses.

The baby snuggled up to him, and Twilight held him for a few more minutes, admiring every tiny detail, from his fingers to his toes. He began smacking his lips after a bit, squirming and making little noises, and Twilight carefully moved back to Malon’s bedside and handed her the baby.

“I think he wants to eat,” Twilight whispered, his voice thick. “Thank... thanks for letting me hold him.”

“Of course hon,” Malon smiled, and she ran her hand over his cheek before taking back her baby. “You’re family too.”

Twilight nodded, eyes stinging suspiciously, and Time gave his hair a fond ruffle, a warm smile on his face.

Twilight stayed a few minutes longer, talking quietly with Time and Malon a little, but he soon left them be to let them all get some rest. Malon and Time both smiled at him, and Twilight gently closed the door behind him, wiping his eyes.

Wild was waiting for him on the front porch, and he gave him a nervous look as Twilight walked over to him.

“Is Malon okay? How’s the baby?” he asked anxiously, and Twilight smiled at him, and put his arm around Wild.

“They’re all doing fine,” he said, and gave his brother a squeeze as he thought back to the pure happiness on Time and Malon’s faces.

Just fine.

Poor Twi! Labor can be scary when you have personal investment in it. Good for Wild in trying to distract him!

And OOOUGH Twi being the first to see the new baby because he's family 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

[thespiritssaidso]

They’re Not Rotten, They’re Overripe!!

Summary: Shawn is prepping to make banana bread, but Henry thinks the bananas have gone bad. And what do you do with bad bananas?

Notes: I wrote this in 30 minutes. Thank you psych discord for coming up with this brilliant idea.

—————

Cupboard doors banged as Shawn shuffled through them frantically, looking for something very important.

“Where are they, where are they…” he mumbled to himself, double- and triple-checking the counter where he knew for a fact he had left the bananas to over-ripen.

Shawn could’ve sworn he had only just taken the overripe bananas from the freezer and put onto the counter to let them thaw. But apparently they had vanished into thin air.

Henry, having been drawn to the kitchen by the noise, asked “Watcha looking for, Shawn?”

In a desperate attempt to find the bananas, Shawn opened the cutlery drawer. Of course, there was nothing but cutlery. Obviously. “I left out bananas to make banana bread for the station, but I can’t find them anywhere.” He opened the fridge as well, just to make sure his ADHD hadn’t made him put it in there. Just condiments and a few wilting vegetables along with a steak marinating in a baggie.

“Oh yeah. You left them out for too long and they went bad, so I threw them out for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Shawn froze. A tingly feeling spread throughout him. “Sorry, you did what?”

“I threw ‘em out. I mean seriously, Shawn, I thought I raised you better than that. If you leave bad food out on the counter it’s going to become rotten, and then it’ll attract flies-”

“No no no no no. Dad, they weren’t rotten, they were overripe. I was gonna use them-”

“To make banana bread, I know. But they were brown and mushy and disgusting. If you tried making banana bread with those you would’ve given yourself food poisoning. Trust me kid, I just did you a favor.”

Shawn felt himself let out a tiny hysterical giggle, despite finding the whole situation very unfunny. “Dad. Padre. Vater. That’s how you make banana bread. You gotta use overripe bananas.”

“Oh come on, Shawn. Just admit you forgot about them. I got you new ones anyway. All I want you to do is say ‘thank you’.” Henry had, in fact, gotten new bananas. He was holding the bag of them right now.

Shawn took a deep breath. “Have you ever baked before?”

“No. I don’t see why that’s relevant-”

“Then maybe don’t give me baking advice if you don’t know jack shit about it.”

Henry sputtered indignantly. “Now hold on, Shawn. I at least have some common sense, like how rotten food shouldn’t be eaten.”

“For the last time: they’re not rotten! They’re overripe!”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No it isn’t!”

Henry threw up his hands. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I try to help you and maybe teach you a lesson about keeping your food good, and you pull this. Typical.”

“Oh, would you stop playing the victim and just admit that-”

“No! I’m done. Give yourself food poisoning, for all I care.” And with that, he stormed off, leaving the bag of fresh bananas on the counter.

Shawn sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Leaning against the wall, he got out his phone to text Gus. Maybe he’d get lucky and Gus would have perfectly overripe bananas.

If not…

Well, he’d just have to wait until the ones his dad bought became overripe.

———

It had been a week since their argument. Henry walked into his kitchen and noticed a small ziplock bag with a loaf of bread. On top of it was a note in Shawn’s handwriting.

Made some banana bread for you. Don’t worry, I used extra ripe bananas, just to make sure you don’t have to worry about getting sick.

Henry smiled to himself. “Looks like the kid’s come to his senses.”

He shuffled through the cutlery drawer and grabbed a bread knife. Carefully, he cut himself a slice and bit into it. He immediately gagged on it, however. It tasted awful. How was this even banana bread?

Henry looked at the note again and turned it over.

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve eaten some already. Don’t ever try to a school me in baking again, I’m not seven anymore.

———

ao3 link